Chapitre 63: DCM Volume 2 - Chapter 8: Pawnbroker Part 3
A singled gloved hand emerged from the dark, fingers wrapping around the lone knob and turned gentle. Swinging the open with an audible creak that almost sounded too loud in this quiet environment. So much so that Albert kind-of expected the neighbors to hear and come knocking to cut the racket.
'Or maybe the rats will..'
In his past-life, New York's rat problem had become a massive in the world. Or maybe a mark of pride for the city's residents. To make things short, their rats were known to big, not just a little bit bigger but large enough to be confused for a raccoon. And if that wasn't bad enough of a picture, they had completely mastered the skill of stealth, meaning that there could've been a cat sized rat rattling around in your room and you would have not even the faintest idea. Hell, there were even some memes about how if a rat moved in, they were like that annoying roommate that never left the apartment.
And with Gotham having been inspired by the 'City of Dreams', the rat problem here was also mirrored. There had been plenty of scares on his part due to this fact, much to his blonde companions delight.
'Enough of that.' The teen scowled at his wandering thoughts and pushed the door open, even now despite not being present that blonde was still distracting him. 'Must be a superpower or something.'
As he walked into the dark room with only a single beam of light being his guide, the area became clear to him. The room itself wasn't large in the slightest, maybe being the same size as a home office or even a few feet larger in each direction. Large, rusted black filing cabinets lined one side of room, each with a stick of some sort that had the year scrawled in a neat handwriting. The singular silver colored flash of light over each of them was enough to dowse any excitement he might've had. Just to make sure, tugging on one of the cabinet's doors was enough to tell him all he needed to know.
'Locked.'
While it was disappointed, it probably was for the best. Espeically given his ever dwindling time table. It really wouldn't take long for Rueben to realize his key missing and come running here first and foremost. Taking a rather reluctant step away, he instead focused in on the large metal desk pushed flush against the wall. An old beat up chair pushed underneath, but what really drew his attention was the nostalgia inducing computer that took up the majority of the space. It's thick, boxy frame was already more than enough to almost flood him in memories with the same feeling as pillows surrounding him from all sides.
Taking up the seat, the memories dashed away in a fit of giggles. A sigh soon escaped his lips as he stood up once more and leaned slightly on the desk to get a closer look at the computer. A single gloved finger pressed into the familiar button and a similar start up sequence that filled his childhood.
'Better make sure,' Albert turned back to the darkness and tried to silently stalk down the hall until he found himself again in that backroom. Flashing his light over the backdoor, eyes locked onto the lock still in place and immediately felt a sense of relief. 'Maybe I'm being too paranoid.'
He couldn't help it, other than the whole hiding in garbage bit things had been far too easy so far. It was like there was a sword dangling above his neck, just waiting to send him hurtling back into the dark. Maybe it was his conscious eating at him, breaking and entering wasn't really his thing as law-abiding person in his past life. Hell, the closest he got was when the occasional spy or heist movie came out.
'Could that be where this unease is coming from?"
The young detective mused as he made his way back down the hall and slipped into the office once more, completely unsurprising by the computer's boot-up sequence still not being completed. Ignoring the echoing laughter that followed him, he plopped back into the chair and tried to resist the urge to pace.
'In those movies, something always goes wrong. Could've been the lazy security guard finally doing his job or some nosy neighbor reporting something strange. Something out of the characters control always happened that thoroughly ruined their plans and it usually always ends with them being forced to fight their way out. Whether or not that's just Hollywood forcing an epic fight scene to fill their quota, it doesn't matter. That can't happen to me, the only remotely combat oriented still is Fire Arms (Handguns) and I'll probably kill someone by accident. Getting charged a breaking and entering charge is one thing, a murder charge is another.'
Just thinking of possibly being sent to Blackgate was already more than enough for the cold metal pressed tightly against his body to lose that reassurance it once had. Raising his eyes off from the ground, browns eyes flickered across the familiar green rolling hills and blue sky. A lock screen with Rueben's name plastered across the screen with a single blinking prompt. There, Albert became completely stumped. He knew very little about this man, barely enough to writing out a psychological profile on him and especially not enough to go around guessing passwords.
There were answers behind that locked screen, but they were being guarded by an impenetrable wall of human making. In times like these, he really began to regret his skill allocation.
'Would it had killed me to put in some points in Computer Use or Electronics?' But if wishes were quarters, the entire world would be rich. There was no point complaining now that everything was said and done. He would just have to move onto to plan B. 'When my mundane skills are lacking, lean into my supernatural abilities.'
Albert found himself relying more and more on this 'Plan B' a lot of as late. Even tonight, due to his nonexistent pick pocketing skills, he had to rely on a near reality warping talent just to get the key he needed to break into his building to begin with. And now, here he was doing the same exact thing.
Hand deep into a nearby wastebin, he switched that metaphorical latch and activated his talent for the second time that night.
[LCK: 25/45]
Those grains surged down, not in as big of a clump as before but still enough to make him feel a bit uneasy. The protection they provided dwindled all the way down to a barely perceptible thin film that made him feel as though he was wearing a plastic bag before an all too eager gunman. Running along his arm and down his finger tips, providence reached out a single greedy claw. Warping probability, pushing the scales to the point where mere chance became a certainty. A guarantee. Deeper, and deeper his hand slipped into bin until eventually they touched down onto the hard bottom. Pulling his arm out with a sigh, he wasn't in the least bit surprised when he saw a single green postage note sticking to his jacket sleeve.
Like a turtle, those grains snapped back in place. Slamming back into the tide of particles swirling around him, slipping beneath their more energetic brethren and began to recover in their own way. Looking down at the small postage note filled with a rather dizzying array of letters and numbers, a small smile twitched at his lips.
'Rebecca, learn this login before tossing it. DO NOT LOSE IT!'
'Despite you probably being the source of all this trouble, thank you Rebecca.' As he typed away at the keyboard with a steady hand, Albert couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. If he could find Rueben's financial records or even his listed inventory, then things would become a lot easier for him. Like taking candy from a baby kind-of easy.
It didn't take long for the last character to pressed with an audible click before the solid rolling hills suddenly gained a multitude of icons. Blurry folders, a couple document based applications and a generic web browser. A swirling fox alight with an orange flame wrapping it's tail seemingly around a solid blue Earth.
'Show me the money.'
Thus began the storm of clicking that filled the room, eyes flickering across a deluge of folders opening and closing. He gazed past a multitude of dated folders, peeked into every document and scanned over a stack of photos. Each of which were of rather nice or expensive looking objects, coming with both a date, name of the object and, if it was sold, name of the buyer along with the price paid.
Some of the items were quite strange to say the least.
'Who would pay ten-thousand for a single shoe? It's signed sure, but still?'
The item in question was a rather ugly looking cleat that showed heavy signs of use, from the scuffed toes, to the worn string that barely kept itself together, to the heavy green that stained every remaining spike. But there was something besides the price itself that drew his attention, instead it was the signature scrawled across the side.
Victor Stone.
Or better known, at least to Albert, as Cyborg. An aspiring athlete that had taken the world by storm. Everything was in his grasp. Money, glory, relationships. All of it was his for the taking. Until a tragic accident left him completely unable to even appear in the public eye. But by overcoming the lost, he would become an aspiring hero for the world over. Easily exceeding any influence his sport's career would've had, by a far margin. A quick search was enough for him to know that Stone hasn't appeared since the accident in question.
'And with Dick still running around with Batman, I would say I appeared before the Teen Titans formed.' If there was one thing those group of super-powered (mostly) teen's was ill equip to deal with, it was staying under the radar. Each of the members were too high profile to not be plastered across every teen's wall. 'I'll be taking this.'
Hitting the print button near the top, the sound of the old printer kicking to life could be heard in the dark room. Filling the building with that beeping anyone would recognize. With that bit of fancy done with, he dug back into the dizzying amount of folders. Navigating through the informative mire that was Rueben's neat documentation, Albert's heart began to beat rapidly. Cold sweat down the middle of his back as that metaphorical sword began to drop, he could already feel that his time was quickly coming to an end.
'Maybe I shouldn't have gone so deep…'
Clicking back a spots, his eyes skimmed over the dated folders. Going down further and further until eventually the desire date came in view. There were two different dates he would be checking for, the month in which Bethany actually pawned the watch and the month in which it was sold. But given that Rueben didn't want the accessory sold, it was likely that it wouldn't be in one of them but if he was anal as he seemed about these kinds of things then it wouldn't hurt to check.
Opening one of them, his suspicions were vindicated. There at the top of the folder, a single small folder only a few megabytes big was labeled with Bethany's name. Digging further, he found both the pawn receipt and a photo of the watch in question. Albert let out a silent whistle as the silver time keeper took up his vision, Appraise already pointing excitedly at the screen like a child before an entire store full of candy and other assorted treats. There were no gems embroidering the edges, nor any other fine decoratings.
But even after looking at the photo for a bit, it still didn't match up with the price. Sure it atleast had some silver plating but surely it wouldn't be valuable enough for Rueben to go through all this, right? Clicking on the next button, everything came quickly into place.
There, on the back of the watch was a year stamped deep into the metal itself. That both explained the price and why the pawn shop owner had been so frantic.
'1916.'
Or better known as the era of the first world war.
'Bethany you're an idiot.' Despite the woman being his client, he felt it was fair thing to call her. That watch had probably been passed down in her family for generations and she up and pawned it? Her ancestors must be rolling around in the grave after that. If that wasn't bad enough, she didn't even get a good price on it! 'Why only a thousand dollars? She could've gotten at least five with it being vintage…'
Albert would have words the next he saw her, but that would be for later. For now, he fingers clicked the mouse and sent the entire folder to be printed. After that, he continued to scroll through the dated folders until the second date came into view. There, there was a sold price to a buyer along with the number of said customer near the bottom. A snort nearly left him as the price came into view.
'Finally someone who knows what they're looking at.' The series of zeroes that followed was proof of that, that folder too was sent off to be printed. 'While that would be enough to prove Rueben's store went back on their word, I want more. Something more concrete to make sure there's no wiggle room on his part. After all, when worms wiggle they burrow.'
Comparing the two dates, it showed that there was a week difference between them. Nowhere near the thirty days they promised to every potential customer they come across, if this were to come out this store would be completely ruined.
Scrolling down further, Albert sifted through every single folder in hopes of finding something else. Anything else to use as further ammo. He came across many more items, some were cheap knockoffs while others were valuable pieces of jewelry… A lot of jewelry in fact.
'Wait a minute….' He leaned closer to the screen, the scent of blood permeating the water. Most of these pieces of jewelry were sold in bulk, and if they were something like an earring, they all seem to be missing their partner. Golden watches, rings, broaches and even a tooth cap. And if that wasn't strange enough, all the other pawned entries had a name and phone number connected to each one. As some way to keep everything on the books, but for these entries there was nothing. No name or phone number anywhere in sight. Rueben had been smart to separate each as their own entry, but with that slight tugging sensation at his mind it showed that the man's weariness wasn't enough. These strange entries were somewhat routine, coming near the beginning of each month and paying out a good chunk of change.
He had a suspicion, but continuing to look through the endless folders only further locked Rueben in his sight. Brown eyes greedily tore through secrets, a calculative mind stitched haphazard theories together and a small smirk twisted at his lips as he finally came across a lone document. A spreadsheet listing both the man's monthly earnings but also kept track of every expense, including the price to actually buy these pawned items. And something told him this spreadsheet and the public records would be off by some degree.
After all in the eye of Uncle Sam, the greatest sin an American can commit isn't murder or assault of any kind. No it was the unforgivable sin of not paying what's due. It wasn't the country's police or degree of secret services that took down history's most notorious crime boss, Al Capone. It was the Internal Revenue Service, or better known as the IRS.
Hell, even the Joker pays his taxes. That's enough to tell anyone not to try anything like Rueben here was doing.
Hitting the send button, that familiar sound of paper rustling filled his ears like a trumpet blaring. A victory to be celebrated, whole heartedly. He would carry these documents with him like some sort triumph hunter bringing back a superb kill, it was like he could already hear those cheers of exhalation entering his ears.
'Wait a minute…'
Shaking himself out of the relaxed state he found himself in, Listen curled itself out like some sort of predatory plant. Extending it's strands of those barbed tendril along the walls, floor and ceiling, they crawled through the building. Blocking out the repeated sound of the printer, more became apparent to him that shatter that feeling of victory. A voice could heard, low and mumbling but still a voice nonetheless.
Standing slowly to his feet, Albert stalked through the building. Those barbed tendrils fully unfurled, licking through the air for even the barest hint of vibrations. His feet twisted and curled, back slightly hunched and hands out stretched wide to run his gloved fingers across the wall to guide him through the dark environment. It didn't take long before he found himself before a normal looking door, the scent of fresh cleaning supplies that hit him full force in the nose told him all he needed to know.
Suddenly, his gloves felt so incredibly hot in that moment. Growing equally in dampness that only match that ever growing beat that hammered deep inside him. The world momentarily froze as the voice became clearer to him, that same weaselly voice hissing out.
"-care how late it is!" Rueben, or the person he suspected was him, wheezed into what Albert assumed was a phone. Pushing ear against the door, the conversation became ever clearer to him. "Just get here as soon as possible! If you don't, I'll call James down the street and get him to unlock MY store! Who knows? Maybe he'll get a permanent customer if I have deal with your incompetent ass!"
Silence soon followed the tirade before a soft mumble could barely be heard through the layers of wall and door," Can't ever find good help these days! He better get here within ten minutes or else I'm going to call James instead…"
More mumbling blurred together into an unintelligible mess, forever draping the man's words in secrecy but that was beyond Albert in that moment. Heart thumping, sweat beginning to pool down his back, he crouched down and scurried away like some sort of rat with their tail nearly nicked by a trap. Suddenly, his current attire felt much too stuff as he collapsed back into the small office. Frantic eyes scanned over the small pile of documents that would make his case actually solvable, snatching them up, a single finger held down the power button and he suddenly found himself submerged in that thick, inky darkness.
Plans whirled in his head as he stood there as still as a statue, muscles held taught and sweat running down his face.
'Going out through the backdoor doesn't sound like a good idea, it's likely Rueben will be waiting around there given the key he 'lost' is used there… Maybe I could knock him out?' Memories of his noddle-like arms was enough to dash that particular idea with the force of a runaway train. If there ever was a physical altercation between the two, Rueben would come out on top even if he only relied entirely on his size alone to handle everything.
'Could I threaten him with my gun?' That idea was too dashed against the stones of reality, their yoke gleaming in the light as they dripped to the metaphorical floor below. Albert's greatest strength here wasn't the system or any of the powers it 'gifted' to him, it was his anonymity. His ability to be just some scruffy kid in a crowd, which would be lost if his face was caught even once by even a glance. It would make these a lot more difficult if he had to wear a disguise everywhere in fear of being spotted as a suspected criminal.
The idea of shooting the man to end this farce didn't even slip into his mind. This was Gotham he was talking about, the moment he pulled that trigger it would sign away any distance between him and the Bat Family. They would be on him in days and bring the full force of their wealth down on his head without a single once of remorse.
Possibily killing someone just to escape just wasn't worth it in this situation, he wasn't being kidnapped by Rueben but instead was about to be cornered and caught like a rat.
'Maybe I could just run? Burst through the door and run like there's fire beneath my feet?'
While the plan wasn't ideal, it could work if things go really desperate and even then, he felt no matter which option he chose parts of this idea would be used in some ways or another. It would just become a race to see whose stamina runs out first and judging from Rueben's rather portly frame, he should begin to flag first.
'There has to be something else,' Albert felt the need to pace in place as that metaphorical clock ticked down the seconds to whenever that poor locksmith got there,' If not a plan on it's own, something to add some degrees of distance between me and the chase that'll assuredly ensue.'
Pulling on his memories, he tried to dredge up anything relevant to aid him. His conversation with Rueben came to mind. The entrance holding a certain gravity to them that continuously dragged him back into the mire, eyes turning to the hall one last time as a plan slowly began to form.
After making sure the stacks of paper were folded safely in his jacket, the young detective began to prowl through the store. Past the bathroom door and through a door that led him somewhere he only saw one side of. Before him stood a large counter that took up the entire width of the building, a single cash register off to the side with a multitude of drawers running along it's back and of course the large bullet proof glass window that gazed out into the pitch black room.
Looking closer, what he came for was obvious for all to see. Next to the cash register, a small plastic box lied. Being around five by eight by five, the object had a small cord running through the a hole into the counter itself going off to who knows where. The box in question possessed only a single button, a comical crimson button that glowed ominously in the dark.
It was the kind of thing a vaudevillian would place in their base as plot convenient self-destruct button and be infinitely surprised when a group of plucky heroes actually have the nerve to actually press.
Or in Rueben's case, this button probably controlled the locked front door to pop open with the insistent buzzing sound that normally would've gone unnoticed in the middle of a busy street. But here at night? Albert wouldn't be surprised if the man was mobbed for waking up the neighborhood with this obnoxious sound. Before pressing the button, he fell into a few stretches.
After he was sure his body was a limber as possible, the teen pressed the button and immediately dashed through the building. Not towards the front door, nor the obnoxious buzzing that blarred through the street. But instead he sprinted to the backdoor with due haste, with a prayer on his lips as he quickly unlocked the door and slammed it open. He nearly tumbled out into the back alleyways but quickly caught himself and took a frantic look around.
Rueben's loud cursing could be heard from around front, the words unintelligible as they blended in with the consistent blaring. Just hearing the sound was enough for Albert to feel a small spike of sympathy for the people that needed to get up in a few hours, but throwing the pawnshop owner as sacrifice to their wrath sounded like more than enough compensation. Tossing the key to the ground, he turned and dashed down the alleyway. His feet slamming into nearby puddles as any attempt at stealth was completely unnecessary, the growing outcries of nearby residents began to match the pitch of the blarring and after awhile, even began to outgrow the sound in a general roar that shook at the shabby walls he passed.
Just as his lungs felt ready to give out, the mouth of the alley came into view. Overhead streetlights illuminating his freedom from the clawing darkness at the corner of his vision, stepping out into the open street he took heavy mouth fulls of less disgusting air. No longer did the scent of week old restaurant food plague him.
"Is that Rueben's place blaring like that?" A deep, tired voice shook him out of his state and resisting the urge to whirl around, he eyed the figure standing besides him. The man didn't look well. Looking to be in his late fifties with thinning gray hair and a full scruffy beard that hung all the way down to his chest. He wore a set of oil stained overalls and well worn boots that looked to be held together only be their owners pure force of willpower alone. In his hands, he held a rusted toolbox that slightly jingled with that familiar tone of metal on metal. "Do yer what hear I said kid? Are yer deaf or somethin'?"
Instead of answering the man, Albert kept his face turned and instead only pointed down the alley. The man mumbled out a curse, rolled his shoulders before stalking down the alley with a scowl evident on his jowl. He could hear his cursing slowly turn inaudible as the locksmith stepped past a certain point.
Without waiting for someone else to question him, he turned and ran down the streets. Maneuvering through the labyrinth that was Gotham like he had some kind of golden thread to guide his way.
L’AVIS DES CRÉATEURS 
EldritchFictor
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
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