Page 53 of Furious

El pulls out her phone, swiping to the address Riley gave us. “This is the place,” she says, showing Rita the phone.

Rita raises one eyebrow, saying everything with that small gesture. Like: How did you two get into this mess? What are you doing here without parents? Why are you stopping at this pawnshop? Who are you looking for? Should I really drop you off here, even though it’s my job?

All very, very good questions.

“Do you think Riley was just fucking with us?” I ask in a low voice. “How do we know Max works here?”

El bites her lip, her confidence visibly evaporating under my question. She was magnificent this morning as she drove us here to find Max, but the Gold Star has left her stumped.

“I don’t know … for sure …” she says. “But Riley was so wildly specific. He could’ve just said she was in Richmond, but he said Clark’s Gold Star Pawnshop, on East Oak Street. He even wrote down the Harley-Davidson garden gnome in the window.”

I peer at the pawnshop window, and, sure enough, beyond the grimy glass and collection of for-sale knickknacks sits a small ceramic gnome in a Harley vest and leather chaps. It’s hideous, but certainly memorable.

“I don’t think Riley is smart enough to lie in such detail,” El adds.

That is probably true.

“Do you think you can wait for us?” I ask Rita.

“I don’t normally do that, and I can’t afford to miss another ride,” she says, eyeing her watch.

I pull a twenty out of my wallet and hand it to her. “I’ll give you another when we get out,” I promise. “But, please, just wait? We won’t be long.”

With another eyebrow raise, she takes the money. “Five minutes, girls. Be back in five or I’m coming in after you. This isn’t a place for kids like you.”

“Or a place for Max,” El mutters beside me.

Even from inside the minivan, I can see Max isn’t in the shop. Not unless she’s suddenly turned into a bulky white guy with tufty gray hair and a fondness for pinkie rings.

“Be careful in there, girls,” Rita calls as I open the door.

“We will.”

Once the door is slammed shut behind me and Rita has locked the doors behind us, I turn to El. A strand of her hair has popped out of her half ponytail and I smooth it behind her ear. She exhales softly at my touch.

“Ready?” I say.

“I think so.” She has Max’s jacket draped over her arm and there’s a hard glint to her eyes.

“Do you need to go into the shop alone?” I ask.

“Not even a little bit. We’ve come this far together; we’re not splitting up now.”

Ignoring the guys on the sidewalk, we push open the pawnshop door. A bell jingles as we walk in, and the guy behind the L-shaped counter just grunts, not looking up from his phone. Behind him, next to the guns, hang rows of acoustic and electric guitars, looking like they miss their owners. On another wall are rows of designer purses, some of them in bright colors and all of them secured by a loop of metal wire and padlocks. For a moment, we look around at the display cases, running our fingers over them. Beneath the glass are watches, rings, earrings, and necklaces.

“You here to sell something?” the man behind the counter booms at us, still not looking up from his phone. “I take gold, silver, coins, some stamps, designer bags—but no fakes—only on the days when my bag girl is here. Also, we buy guns, guitars, electronics—”

“Your bag girl?” El interrupts. “Who’s that?”

It’s clear from the note of hope in her voice that she’s hoping this is Max.

The man finally looks up at us at El’s question. “Not in the habit of talking about my employees to customers,” he says.

“She’s not just an employee!” El bursts out. “I’m looking for my sister. Max. She’s supposed to work here.”

The man’s eyes narrow. He looks toward the back room quickly in a way that’s utterly suspicious and then scratches his nose with one paw of a hand. “How do I know you’re not lying? Max told me she got into some trouble. How do I know you’re not here to turn her in to the cops?”

“Do we seriously look like the cops?” I ask, gesturing between us.