Defiant (an Ell Donsaii story #9) (25 page)

***

Jarel looked up as a young woman came in and seated herself at the counter. Not someone he’d seen in his little restaurant before. He wondered if she might be a lost tourist. Her skin was fairly dark but her features weren’t Jamaican. With short, straight black hair, she might be Latina but didn’t look right for that either. Perhaps she was Indian? He took her a menu and his fresh pot of coffee. Setting down the menu, he turned over the cup waiting on the counter and made to fill it.

The young woman put her hand over the cup, shaking her head and saying, “I’d prefer a Coke, but first, will you take American dollars?”

She had a Latin American accent.
So,
Jarel thought,
not from India after all. She must be Central American but living in the States if she wants to spend dollars.
His eyebrows rose, “Sure.”

She slid out a twenty dollar bill.

Jarel’s eyebrows rose, “Cash?”

She nodded.

The girl was very pretty Jarel observed. “Americans always want pay electronic. I take electronic, no problem.”

“I’d prefer to pay cash.” She held the twenty dollar bill out to him.

Jarel took the bill and stared at it. It had actually been years since he’d seen one. His fellow Jamaicans still used cash quite a bit, but even they were going more and more to electronic money. This bill looked much the same as the American twenties he remembered from years gone by, but he wondered how he would convert it. He supposed the bank would know what to do with it, but what if it was a fake? He looked back at her, “You don’ have no Jamaican money mon?”

She shook her head. “But you can have that twenty for…” she glanced down at the menu, “three of your egg sandwiches and a Coke.”

Jarel considered. Three egg sandwiches and a Coke would be fourteen American. Not worth it, considering the trouble and the possibility that the bill might be counterfeit. He shook his head slowly and regretfully.

She pulled out another twenty. “They’re good bills. I’m in a bind. Forty dollars American for three egg sandwiches and a Coke?”

Jarel looked the two bills over carefully. They really did look like real money. One was more worn than the other. He checked and the serial numbers were different. He shrugged, “OK. You got a deal, but,” he winked and grinned, “they not good, I come lookin’ for you.”

When Jarel brought the pretty lady her sandwiches he expected her to leave or call in some friends from outside, but to his amazement she wolfed down two of the big sandwiches by herself. She did ask for a bag for the third.

When Jarel brought the bag she touched his arm, “I still need money. Do you know someone who would give me a good deal for gold?”

“You sellin’ you jewelry mon?”

She shrugged and nodded. “You know someone?”

“You try CashWiz in Montego Bay? It not too far.”

“Not too far,” turned out to be several miles further into town. She’d already walked three miles in from the hillside where she’d parked the hoverbike and was tired of walking. She considered trying to negotiate with a taxi to take one of her twenties. The bills had been hard enough to get. The bank had looked at her like she’d grown extra eyes at the mere thought of someone wanting not just a few, but thousands of the twenties. You’d have thought that she’d out and out told them she was running drugs.

The difficulty in
getting
cash had suggested that there might be difficulty spending it, which was indeed proving to be a problem. That was when she’d decided to buy the gold as an untraceable, multinational form of currency. It also represented something she could stock in some of her hideouts as a reserve. She’d been worrying about how spendable the gold would turn out to be as well and thought she ought to try converting some of it for local currency to see how well that worked.

Having decided that negotiating with a taxi over using dollars would be harder than walking, Ell made her way to CashWiz on foot. After all, she couldn’t leave Jamaica until dark anyway, so no great hurry.

Joel looked up when the door opened. A pretty young woman entered, glanced briefly around and immediately approached him.
So, not interested in buying anything. Probably another desperate person selling trinkets from their past.
His eyes swept over her, looking for evidence of a drug habit, but she looked very healthy.
Probably an addicted gambler from the casino.
They got quite a few of those in the pawn shop, sure that the next throw would put them back on top, sometimes bragging about how they’d be back to get their jewels shortly. Not that they ever did return…

“I’ve got some gold…” she said uncertainly.

Unsurprised, Joel shrugged, “Let’s see it.”

To his surprise she didn’t bring out necklaces, rings, bracelets, earrings or any of the usual items. Items that gamblers always claimed were worth far more than they turned out to be. When he told them what he would actually pay for their items, they usually stormed out of his shop—cursing him for trying to cheat them. But, the truly addicted would be back, sheepishly accepting what he’d offered.

This girl though, she put her hand out and opened it to display… he counted, twenty small gold beads.

Joel picked one up expecting it to be a light shell bead meant to be strung for a necklace. Not expecting its weight, he didn’t grasp it hard enough and it slipped from his fingers to the countertop. It fell hard onto the counter with a loud clack. His brows drew together.
Could it be solid gold?
He looked up at her, “What kin’ of…”
jewelry,
he’d been about to say, but solid gold balls weren’t used in any jewelry he knew of. He changed tacks, “Are ‘dey pure?”

She nodded. “99.9%,” she said, rather than the more common, “24 carat.”

He narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin, “How you come to have little gold BBs?”

She shrugged, “An Uncle left them to me.”

He weighed one in his hand. It was surprisingly heavy but he simply doubted it could really be gold. “I test them?”

She nodded.

Joel pulled out a small digital scale and set a weighing dish on it. Pushing the tare button, he put the ball in his hand in the dish. He motioned to the dish and the girl put the other nineteen balls in the dish. To his surprise the scale registered almost exactly ten grams. 10.01 to be exact. Eyebrows up he said, “Each one, half a gram?”

She nodded.

Joel picked up the tare dish and stepped to a scale which had a weighing dish submerged in water. Zeroing it he carefully poured the small gold balls into the dish. Submerged in the water, they weighed 0.518 grams less than they had in air, indicating the total volume of the balls was 0.518 cubic centimeters. Joel’s AI told him that ten grams divided by 0.518 ccs equaled 19.3 grams per cc, the correct density for 24 carat gold.

He scratched his chin. The balls were more like bullion than jewelry. The little balls could be gold filled, and if they had tungsten centers their density would be 19.25 grams per cc, close enough to gold that he couldn’t tell it with the accuracy of his equipment. He could try to test for paramagnetism, but that was a pain. Unlike jewelry, the balls’ value didn’t depend on their shape. He looked up at the girl, “Can I crush one of them?”

She blinked, “Sure. Why?”

He shrugged, picking up a pliers. “See if filled wit’ tungsten.” He put a random ball in the jaws of the wire cutter part of the pliers and squeezed, easily cutting the soft gold ball in half. Both halves were gold all the way through. “Couldn’t do that with tungsten” he said. He gazed at the little balls again for a moment. “I gi’ you 45,000 Jamaican for ‘dem.”

She tilted her head, “Ten grams of gold should be worth five hundred thirty American, or 57,250 Jamaican.”

“You right, but I mus’ make a profit.”

She narrowed her eyes, “Twenty percent?”

Surprised at how quickly she’d done the calculations, Joel shrugged. She couldn’t cash in her gold anywhere else and these gamblers always gave in.

The girl shrugged in return, “OK, I need cash.”

Joel’s eyebrows went up again, “I don’ t’ink I got dat’ much cash.” He scratched his chin again, “One minute, I check.”

While he was gone, Ell put her hand under her shirt and had a cash chip delivered to her palm from her umbilical port.

Joel returned a few minutes later, “I only got 28,000 Jamaican.”

She tilted her head, “Twelve balls.”

Joel spoke to his AI and had it run the numbers, then grinned, “27,000 Jamaican.”

She rolled her eyes, but nodded.

He lifted his chin, “Why not take t’ res’ electronic?”

She shrugged, “OK, put it on this cash chip?”

“Why not your bank accoun’? You draw intres’ den.”

“I don’t have a bank account.”

“So? Set one up. The bank is just two doors down ‘der,” he waved vaguely down the street.

“I lost my papers, so I don’t have any ID.”

Joel looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, then said quietly, “I have a frien’… help you get you ID back.”

She looked at him as if considering it for a moment, then shook her head no. She took the bills Joel counted out to her. She watched as he put the rest of the money on the cash chip and made sure it confirmed the transfer. Then she left without looking back.

Having quit the last crappy job he’d had a couple of weeks ago Marcus slouched at the corner where he’d been selling dime bags of weed.  Sales were weak in the morning and so when the pretty young woman had walked past he really had nothing better to do. Stepping out behind her, he followed her for a couple of blocks toward the downtown area of Montego Bay. At first he’d had some vague idea of trying to strike up a conversation. She was
very
attractive. She’d probably tell him to go to hell, but… if you didn’t even
throw
the dice you
never
won.

Then she’d turned into the pawnshop. Musing, he’d leaned against the building across the way and watched her dicker with Joel, the owner of the pawnshop. Joel was a hard man. Marcus had never made a satisfactory deal with the man. However, if the girl was getting some jewelry out of hock, the gold she’d be carrying would make her an excellent target. Marcus’ heart rose when the girl was done. Instead of her giving Joel money, Joel gave her some. Marcus saw her fold up a wad of bills and put them in her pocket.

Cash! The fact that everyone used e-money was making petty theft difficult because, even if you did make someone transfer you some money, they’d just have the bank cancel the transaction and take it back once you were out of sight. Taking jewelry could be lucrative, but fencing it could be difficult. But, cash, that was a different deal! He leaned away from the wall and followed the girl into town.

After a block or two Marcus felt dismay. The girl was heading for the casinos! Someone who’d pawned their jewelry to get cash and then went to a casino would soon be broke. Lackadaisically considering a number of options, Marcus had felt no urgency before, but now he realized that he needed to separate the girl from her cash before she wasted it. He began walking faster and palmed his switchblade.

The street she was on was a little wide open for his liking, but they got even wider as they approached the casinos. Realizing she was about to pass a narrow alley, he rose onto his toes and ran a few steps to close the distance. Before he could force her into the alley though, she ducked into it on her own. Because she’d done it quickly, Marcus had the impression she was about to start running. He turned the corner leaning into a full sprint.

The alley was empty! He skidded to a halt. A woman’s voice came from behind him, “You looking for me?”

Marcus turned and found, to his astonishment, the girl was just standing there, in a nook just around the corner, looking at him. She stepped fearlessly out toward him.
Maybe she’s a whore and thinks I’m a trick? If so, she’s in for an ugly surprise.
He pulled the switch and the blade popped out of his hand. Raising it casually in her direction he lifted his chin and said, “Gi’ me dat money.” His eyes dropped to her right front pocket to indicate that he knew where she had the bills.

Instead of the widening of the eyes he’d expected, they narrowed. Stepping back she said, “You should get a job instead, you really don’t want to do this. You’ll be very sorry.”

“Gi’ me dat money!” he growled starting to close the distance between them.

Instead of backing away, she stepped closer.

A sudden flicker of motion and Marcus felt a stunningly hard thump against his wrist.

With surprise he realized that his blade had just flown across the alley to his left.

Just as the pain from his wrist arrived, her foot shot up to strike hard in his crotch.

As Marcus crouched down in agony she leaned forward and patted him sympathetically on the shoulder. “You really
should
get an honest job,” she advised. Moaning, Marcus slowly sagged to his knees then put his left hand on the pavement for balance, cradling his injured right wrist against his stomach. Lifting his head, through his tears he watched the girl disappear blithely around the corner.

Glancing blearily over at his knife, Marcus saw that it had broken its blade when it struck the wall. “Shit!” he said in disgust.

Ell walked through the casino. She watched a couple of the games and paused for a moment to watch people getting chips. A man brought a stack of chips to the window and turned them in. To her relief the lady in the cage counted him out some bills.

When the man had left, Ell approached and said, “Will you take a cash chip?”

The woman said, “Sure. Put it here.” She indicated a square on the counter where the nearfield electronics for cash chip transfers must be imbedded. “How much you want to take out?”

Ell said “One thousand, American.”

Picking up a small numpad, the woman keyed in the figure and turned the display so Ell could see that it had been correctly entered.  Ell stroked her finger over the ID sensor on the cash chip and its display also lit, showing “$1,000.00.” Ell hit the little “approve” button on the chip.