Read Online Ethan Justice: Origins (Ethan Justice #1) by Simon Jenner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Simon Jenner
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As they neared their destination, a sense of unease overtook Savannah. She had never felt comfortable around George Tibbett, a well-established dealer in stolen goods, but desperate times demanded that she must suffer for her freedom. Lewd innuendo and personal space invasion would not kill her, and John, despite his mental state, would make it all the more difficult for the old man to intimidate her.
“Here we are,” Savannah said, as they reached a small shop with the windows painted out in what once might have been a brilliant white emulsion. There were no words above the shop, and it appeared almost derelict with flaky brown paint falling from small, old-fashioned, wooden window frames. Parted, concertina-style, metal security gates were the only indication that there was something worth protecting inside.
“Are you sure?” John asked. “Looks closed to me.”
Savannah knocked on the glass of the wooden door causing it to rattle loosely in its frame.
“I doubt they have anything of value in here,” John said, putting his hand above his eyes and attempting to peer through the opaque window. “I can’t see anyone inside.”
The window rattled again, and a cloth blind behind it lifted. George Tibbett’s wrinkled face peered at them before he undid several bolts and pulled open the door.
“Savannah, my dear,” he said, brushing his thick white hair back with his hand. He glanced at John and sneered before returning his attention to her. “Come to rob me again with your beauty?”
The spindly old pervert’s eyes flashed up and down her oversized jacket which thankfully hid her feminine curves from his gaze. It wasn’t the fact that he was in his seventies that made his lecherous behaviour so appalling, but it did make him all the more pathetic. His attempt to dress younger only made him more so. Designer jeans and trainers did not go with craggy, old, sagging faces. He brushed up against her. She forced a smile to override the need to cringe.
“Hi, George,” she replied, putting her mouth to John’s ear. “Let me do all the talking, okay?”
John nodded but appeared more interested in his new surroundings. The small shop was around ten feet from front to back, fifteen feet wide and dimly lit by a solitary low-powered bulb hanging by a grubby wire from the ceiling. Floor to ceiling shelves adorned the left and rear walls. Thick wire caging sat two feet in front of the shelves, allowing access to the valuables solely via a door at the far right of the room.
Another door to the right of the shelves, directly opposite the cage door, gave access to a back room. The area in which they now waited contained a small wooden table and chair where Tibbett must have idled his time away waiting for customers or just as likely, the police. A light blue metallic cashbox and lamp sat on top of the table.
Savannah recalled that there were separate lights above each shelf which Tibbett could operate to allow prospective buyers a better look at his mostly contraband stock. He clearly didn’t waste electricity on non-purchasing customers. Savannah handed Tibbett the watch. He felt the weight and took it to the table, turned on the lamp and examined it closely.
“How much are you after?” he asked.
“Three thousand,” John said, not looking back as he leaned against the cage wire, straining his eyes to examine a shelf of necklaces.
Tibbett looked over to John and then to Savannah. “Your friend has quite a sense of humour.”
“Don’t mind him,” she said, rolling her eyes. “He’s a bit simple. What can you give us for it, George?”
Seemingly bored of staring at badly lit jewellery, John shot Savannah a playfully offended look. She smiled back, grateful he wasn’t exhibiting any signs of anxiety.
“I thought he’d got a touch of nutter about him,” Tibbett said, tapping his forehead. If only he knew, thought Savannah.
As they neared their destination, a sense of unease overtook Savannah. She had never felt comfortable around George Tibbett, a well-established dealer in stolen goods, but desperate times demanded that she must suffer for her freedom. Lewd innuendo and personal space invasion would not kill her, and John, despite his mental state, would make it all the more difficult for the old man to intimidate her.
“Here we are,” Savannah said, as they reached a small shop with the windows painted out in what once might have been a brilliant white emulsion. There were no words above the shop, and it appeared almost derelict with flaky brown paint falling from small, old-fashioned, wooden window frames. Parted, concertina-style, metal security gates were the only indication that there was something worth protecting inside.
“Are you sure?” John asked. “Looks closed to me.”
Savannah knocked on the glass of the wooden door causing it to rattle loosely in its frame.
“I doubt they have anything of value in here,” John said, putting his hand above his eyes and attempting to peer through the opaque window. “I can’t see anyone inside.”
The window rattled again, and a cloth blind behind it lifted. George Tibbett’s wrinkled face peered at them before he undid several bolts and pulled open the door.
“Savannah, my dear,” he said, brushing his thick white hair back with his hand. He glanced at John and sneered before returning his attention to her. “Come to rob me again with your beauty?”
The spindly old pervert’s eyes flashed up and down her oversized jacket which thankfully hid her feminine curves from his gaze. It wasn’t the fact that he was in his seventies that made his lecherous behaviour so appalling, but it did make him all the more pathetic. His attempt to dress younger only made him more so. Designer jeans and trainers did not go with craggy, old, sagging faces. He brushed up against her. She forced a smile to override the need to cringe.
“Hi, George,” she replied, putting her mouth to John’s ear. “Let me do all the talking, okay?”
John nodded but appeared more interested in his new surroundings. The small shop was around ten feet from front to back, fifteen feet wide and dimly lit by a solitary low-powered bulb hanging by a grubby wire from the ceiling. Floor to ceiling shelves adorned the left and rear walls. Thick wire caging sat two feet in front of the shelves, allowing access to the valuables solely via a door at the far right of the room.
Another door to the right of the shelves, directly opposite the cage door, gave access to a back room. The area in which they now waited contained a small wooden table and chair where Tibbett must have idled his time away waiting for customers or just as likely, the police. A light blue metallic cashbox and lamp sat on top of the table.
Savannah recalled that there were separate lights above each shelf which Tibbett could operate to allow prospective buyers a better look at his mostly contraband stock. He clearly didn’t waste electricity on non-purchasing customers. Savannah handed Tibbett the watch. He felt the weight and took it to the table, turned on the lamp and examined it closely.
“How much are you after?” he asked.
“Three thousand,” John said, not looking back as he leaned against the cage wire, straining his eyes to examine a shelf of necklaces.
Tibbett looked over to John and then to Savannah. “Your friend has quite a sense of humour.”
“Don’t mind him,” she said, rolling her eyes. “He’s a bit simple. What can you give us for it, George?”
Seemingly bored of staring at badly lit jewellery, John shot Savannah a playfully offended look. She smiled back, grateful he wasn’t exhibiting any signs of anxiety.
“I thought he’d got a touch of nutter about him,” Tibbett said, tapping his forehead. If only he knew, thought Savannah.
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