Money and Dreams

Chapter 4

“Jenny,” the name tumbled out of his mouth before Trent even knew he was awake. He lay still, trying to match a face to the name. For all of him he couldn't think of a single person. Going back through half his life he couldn't think of anyone named Jenny. Not in school as a kid, not in college, and certainly not in the past few years where he considered it an accomplishment if he remembered what day it was. He gave it up as a lost cause and opened his eyes.

Erin was gone, and there was no proof she had ever been there beyond fractured memories of a pleasant night.

His clock rapidly flashed between three and five, and the light signifying pm was blinking frantically. “I don't speak Morse Code, little buddy.” His voice crackled dryly out of his throat as he rolled out of bed.

Once mobile his usual routine ensued with the unpleasantness of a freezing shower that pulled more than a few curses from between his chattering teeth. After shivering his way in to a pair of clothes a worrisome thought struck him: Where was he going to get enough money to live on? Dreams of becoming a big writer sounded all well and good while suffering under the scrutiny of his Nazi girlfriend, but in the light of day dreams didn't pay the bills.

After a few seconds of standing in the middle of room and shivering he snapped his fingers and grinned. The mp3 player he stole from Josh was in his kitchen, along with two others the twit had magically lost. Three mp3 players could fetch $100 at a pawn shop if he was lucky. The money might get him through a week or two, but that was all he was looking for. Something else would come along before then.

He exited his room with purpose, a mission to accomplish.

Lex was the only person left in the living room, and he was passed out on the couch with a threadbare blanket draped over him. There wasn't a single joint left on top of the TV; his friends wouldn't have been foolish enough to leave any of the drugs behind. Trent pulled Josh's mp3 players and their tangled earphones out of a cabinet hanging slightly away from the wall and studied them for damage. They weren't in great shape so it wouldn't be a huge payday, but selling them beat trying to eat the couch.

Trent ran his gaze around the apartment and smiled gloriously. There was an unfinished bottle on the floor next to Lex's place on the couch. Drinking immediately after waking up was a fantastic way to start the day. It was also a great way to forget how intensely unsatisfying his shower had been. He shook his head as the alcohol burned its way down his throat, and gave a lazy laugh at nothing in particular.

By the time he reached the street he had a cigarette lit and was smiling at the day ahead. The few people Trent saw were so wrapped up in their own problems and their own lives that the man headed to the pawn shop walked by without a second look, and in most cases he didn't get a first. The only ones that noticed his passing were the thugs prowling certain corners and blocks, and Trent passed by acting as if he never saw them. It was safer not to acknowledge that you knew exactly who and what they were.

The walk took him in a direction he didn't often go. He went out of his way to ignore anything and everything to do with the gangs in the area, but there was no shrugging off the dangers of passing from one territory to the next. Crazy Pete controlled the area he lived in, and the pawn shop he wanted to go to was in the area controlled by the Clans. There were a lot of things that could go wrong when he crossed over the border, but he kept his fingers crossed and acted like none of it bothered him. Ignoring the danger was much easier than trying to come up with a plan to circumvent it.

Crazy Pete was a rather beneficent crime lord when it came to the citizens in his realm. The Clans, on the other hand, allowed their members to prey on anyone they liked. Trent much preferred the calm of Crazy Pete's group of businessmen to the blatant anarchy the Clans perpetrated.

It was especially dangerous to cross the boundary right then. It had only been a week since Crazy Pete and the Clans called off the truce they had lived under for two years. Lex had gone out of his way to warn Trent about it, knowing his friend kept his head in the sand when it came to the activities of the gangs. The two groups were essentially at war, and anyone on the boundary line was considered a danger to one side or the other.

It was reasonable to assume that a young guy crossing the borders was being watched closely. Neither side knew who he was affiliated with, and an unknown was more suspicious than any other type of person.

Trent felt the eyes on him as he crossed Martin Street. It was the true boundary between the Clans and Crazy Pete. The road was cracked as badly as any other, and the buildings were just as dilapidated. But this was the one street that was occupied by all walks of life. There were stores on either side that were still open, and the sidewalks were full of people.

Martin St. was only somewhat safe, though. Half the people trolling the sidewalks wore the the gray and red of Crazy Pete's troop or the blue and orange of the clans. Anyone else tried to pretend they didn't know who any of the gangsters were, but eyes were constantly darting toward the flamboyant characters glaring at each other from opposite sides of the road. A sneeze from one side or the other at the wrong time could explode in to a fullblown gunfight.

The boundary at Martin St. always made Trent's skin crawl. There were so many people, yet everyone spoke in whispers. The noise level was way too low for so many human beings to be in a crowded environment.

Trent reached the other side of the street and continued on as if he had no clue what was going on. The pawn shop was two blocks further into the Clans territory, and he wanted to get in and get out as quick as possible.

He arrived at the pawn shop without any problems, although he was sure at least a couple of the Clans guys from Martin St. had followed him into the area. The shop was just another little door among many, but Trent had been using the pawn shop for quite a while. It was where all the furniture from his 'furnished' apartment had gone.

Trent looked around at the random bits of junk the proprietor had haphazardly thrown on two rickety shelves along the walls. The goods were left out for whoever wanted to pick through them, and the owner probably didn't care if the junk was bought or stolen, as long as it was taken out of his store. A locked cage and bullet-proof glass in the back protected anything that was worth any money. The clerk was just a kid, at his ease reading a car magazine in a fold-out chair in the bubble of protection behind the glass.

“Sup?” Trent said as he laid the three mp3 players on the little counter that was the only access point between the two areas. He had never seen the kid during his previous visits, so there was no chance he could demand a better price for being a good customer.

The clerk nodded back and looked at what Trent set on the counter rather than start a discussion about the weather. His hands moved quickly over the three devices with an efficiency that said he had done this more times than his meager years would argue.

He looked up and stated simply, “Forty.”

Trent's jaw dropped. The shop could easily get three times that. “Seventy-five,” Trent shot back. So much for a hundred dollars.

The clerk groaned and made a sound that had Trent wondering if he was trying to fart. “Fifty.”

Trent tried keeping his face clear of the chagrin he felt, but it was more difficult than he liked. The clerk sighed and folded his arms on the counter.

“Look, buddy, I gotta be able to make money on what ya bring in.” The clerk picked up one of the mp3 players. “These things are a few years old, and most people just use their phones, anyway. Even givin' you fifty is pushin' how much I'll be able to make on 'em. Fifty's all I can do, take it or leave it.”

Trent didn't care what the guy said. He knew exactly how these places worked. The kid wouldn't buy anything unless he knew he could make money on it. He probably used that same speech three times a day.

“Fine.” Trent shrugged, too lazy to argue the point. Money was money, either way he walke out with more than he had before.

It only took a few minutes for the clerk to do the little bit of paperwork required to process the transaction. He laughed when Trent wrote down the name 'Suzanne O'Reilly' on the forms, but neglected to ask for ID.

Trent walked away from the pawn shop hurriedly, but felt better with the money in his pocket. His eyes swept the alleyways and stoops, but no one was around to see Trent walk out. Relieved at getting out without a chase, he began wondering what he could do with the rest of his day.

And with the money in his pocket.

Then he spotted the shape that stepped out from behind a set of stairs on the other side of the road.

“S**t...” He muttered.

Author's Note

Short chapter, but always welcome criticism as mean as it gets

Reviews

[Xavier Lee]

As I stated in my review of your first chapter, you've created a fascinating story in a genre I typically don't enjoy. You're characters are interesting and the suspense of the cliffhanger in this chapter does exactly what cliffhangers are supposed to do, piss me off because I want to know what happens next. I believe that fact alone is a testament to what a wonderful world you've built. It's intelligently written and fun to read, so I finish by yet again saying excellent work.