Page 55 of The Devil

“Show me,” the old man says after a pause. “Camera is over your head.”

Jet raises his hand where he wears a ring in the shape of a human skull.

“Let me see the inscription.”

“Are you opening the door or not? I’m sure you know how sensitive this is.”

The man hesitates and there’s a part of me that doesn’t want him to come downstairs because I’m not sure what Jet’s going to do. But greed gets the better of the old man. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

The intercom goes off. “What are you doing?” I whisper-ask.

Jet puts a finger to his mouth. A light goes on inside. He shifts slightly so I’m behind him as we listen to the lock turn. The old man peers out from between the bars to get a look at us before deciding if he’ll let us in. Jet must look the part because he opens the door.

He’s about six inches shorter than Jet and he studies his face before his gaze shifts to me. I pull my hood back and he recognizes me instantly.

“You!” the man cries out. He tries to slam the door in our faces, but Jet’s already got the toe of his shoe blocking it and forces his way in.

The man backs up, stumbling, pulling a gun on us. He must have tucked it into the back of his pants.

“Jet!” I call out although there’s no need. He’s seen it.

“Now what the hell are you going to do with that?” Jet asks calmly because he’s quicker than the old man and has his wrist in hand. He squeezes, turning the gun to the far wall before relieving the man of it. “Sit,” he orders the man who is clutching his chest and breathing heavily.

Jet empties the old revolver of bullets, pockets them and sets the gun on one of the counters. He shifts his gaze to the man who drops heavily into one of the antique chairs that has a clear sign on it that it should not be sat in.

“You sold my watch?” I ask the old man who shifts his gaze to me. “You promised me two more weeks.”

“I didn’t think you’d be back, considering,” he says.

“Considering what?” Jet asks.

“Well, she’d stolen it from powerful men. It was clear as day.”

Jet looks between us but ignores the comment. “Who bought it from you?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“And how did he know you had it?”

He hesitates.

“I’m the dangerous man she stole the watch from,” Jet says I suppose for motivation. “Now how did this man know you had the watch?”

“The inscription. I had a number to call if ever anything with that particular marking is brought in.” His greedy eyes move to Jet’s ring. “I can give you good money⁠—"

“Fucking—” Jet takes one step toward him, his arm moving as if he’d hit the old man who cries out, setting his hands in front of his face as I grab Jet’s arm. “I’m not here to sell. Now what’s the number you called?”

“I have it.” The older man’s voice is quaking now. He points. “Back here.”

“Lead the way.” As we follow him, I notice a camera over the register.

I get Jets attention and point to it.

He nods.

We move toward the back of the shop where a half-wall separates the space from the shop itself. The man switches on a light. It’s a messy office with stacks of books and ledgers and paperwork on every surface. But from one of those stacks, he pulls out a notebook and opens it, putting his glasses on to search through it.

“There,” he says, pointing to the number and turning the notebook around for Jet to see.