Pulp Fiction Pawn Shop Scene Novels & Stories

It's not yet time. I slowly walked on the dark alley and covered behind the post. I pointed the gun to the pimp when I saw him open the case for Leo's men to check. Two of Leo's men walked in front of the pimp and checked the case before one of them closed it. I saw the way three of Leo's men dropped on the ground instantly. I shoot the pimp's hand. "Mamba now!" I yelled when I saw the pimp's guard pushing the door close. Mamba threw the tear gas quickly and punched the guy who's closing the door.

If she asked about it, I’d tell her the truth: I gave it to someone who made me better. Someone who made me believe I could actually be more than the leather and the guns and the empire built in blood. I pushed the door open and stepped into the damp night. It wasn’t supposed to rain, but it had anyway like the sky changed its mind mid-afternoon, just like I had so many times. The warehouse lights flickered on as I entered, casting long shadows across the crates stacked along the walls. My men were already waiting. Mason nodded. “Shipment came in. Colombian side.”

"You said it was tacky. You were right. It doesn't match anything I wear, it's not practical, and it's not worth keeping if it means—" "I was wrong." The words come out as barely a whisper. "I was so wrong." The pawn shop owner looks between us, clearly uncomfortable with the emotional drama playing out in his store. "Look, folks, if you need a minute—" "We'll take it back," I tell him, pulling out my phone. "I'll transfer the money right now. Twelve and a half thousand." "Caroline, don't." Knoxx reaches for my phone. "You can't afford—"

The person, who I presumed could be his mother and owner of this pawnshop, said and took my pendant from his hold. Hmm, hopefully, she could see with just her one eye clearly since the other was covered with a patch. She examined it for a moment, and OJ and I looked at her, full of hope that she could tell its exact worth. After a few minutes, she looked at the man and told him something, and he nodded his head and went to get some papers from a table on the left side inside their establishment.

Sweating palms and foreheads they are, fidgeting and gulping for every second, not meeting any of their eyes and head low. "Who the f*ck smoked in the f*cking warehouse?" No one answered to his question, his gravely voice boomed the whole house. No one dared talking in fear of the gun hanging on his belt. "That f*cking warehouse has drums of gallons of ether, together with my 12 f*cking millions of money you f*cking wasted by putting it on fire and now I need to know who f*cking did that!" He pulled his gun from his waist and everyone started to tremble. JB walked to the kitchen, being used to this scene, he took a can of beer from the refrigerator and drinks it before going back to the livi

It wasn't a request. I looked at him, this man who had never seen a day of "bloodshed" in his life. "This isn't a business meeting, Pierre. There will be guns. People will die." "I don't care," Pierre said, his jaw set. "I promised you I’d take care of her. I failed. I’m not staying behind while you fix my mistake." I didn't have time to argue. "Fine. Get in the car." We roared through the streets of the industrial district, Celine giving directions from the backseat. We reached an old, rusted warehouse near the docks. It was a place of shadows and mafia elements, the kind of place where people disappeared.

I'm bounded into a chair, my eyes scan my surroundings, and I notice that I'm being held hostage in an abandoned building, a cliche scene from a mafia film where I'm about to meet my maker. My eyes well up with unshed tears as I reflect on the amount of pussy I've had and the amount of pussy I'll miss out on. It's been an exhilarating ride, but I wouldn't change a thing. "I'm sure you and that piece of garbage over there were instrumental in bringing Malayinas patèras to the club." His voice carried a deathly tone that should not be taken lightly.

“Alright. Come on, but don’t try anything stupid, or I’ll blow your brains out.” “Relax,” I said sweetly, forcing a shaky smile. “You think I’m dumb enough to try something? I just need the damn toilet.” “Move,” he ordered, shoving me forward. I walked ahead with my hands folded in front of me, hiding the nail up my sleeve, and my eyes darted around as we moved. That’s when I saw it… We were in a warehouse. Not a big one, but big enough, and a few bikers lounged on old couches, drinking beer, watching TV while two others played cards at a rickety table, laughing loudly.

Becky let go of her arm and shifted to sit across from James so she could see his face. "What do you mean?" she asked with a furrowed brow. James picked up a canvas that had been torn apart because he had stabbed it with a kitchen knife. Becky smoothed the holes in the canvas so she could see the whole picture. And when she could see it clearly, she covered her mouth in too much shock. The painting depicted a middle-aged woman who was of course Nora Johnson, she was standing with a gun at five teenage boys who were kneeling in front of her.

Jasper's subordinate said. Jasper flicked his hand, and three or four burly men surrounded me. One of them knocked the lamp out of my grip with barely any effort. Another slammed me down across the table. "Don't touch me! Get off!" I struggled and accidentally kicked someone in the shin. A slap came at me right after. Half my face swelled instantly. I could taste blood. These men were brutal. Unless I came up with an idea quickly, I would surely die here. Jasper walked up with a whip in his hand and tapped the end of it against my cheek. "Hold still. I'll show you what happens to people who don't pay their debts!"