Juncture 5.5

There was a tinkling noise as I opened the door to the jewelry store. It was called Mason’s, and it didn’t take long to find. The name was embellished over the top of the storefront in garish, cursive letters. The exterior of the building was shockingly different than the inside, though. Here, shattered glass was the main feature, making appearances throughout the room; on the floor, on counters, and even embedded in some of the walls.

On the far side of the room, there was a dark, almost perfectly circular burn mark plastered on the wall. Whatever tool or weapon had done that wasn’t from this time, that was certain. I stepped gingerly over the floor, being careful to not puncture myself with the strewn glass.

The owner of the store was behind one of the shattered countertops, sweeping up the mess. I felt a pang of pity for him; he shouldn’t have had to deal with something like this. Hell, he probably couldn’t comprehend exactly what happened; nuclear cell batteries for weapons this powerful were eons away.

I examined him. Cold reading was a skill that I had picked up over the years, and it hadn’t stopped being useful. A quick look up and down; he wasn’t wearing any visible bandages, so he hadn’t actually been harmed during the robbery.

He wasn’t a bad-looking man necessarily. I would even say that he would have been quite attractive if he were ten or twenty years younger. His hair was just beginning to go grey, but it had already managed to recede from his forehead quite a bit. He was kind of short, and was in the beginning stages of the tragic weight-gain of middle age.

I walked over to the counter, and he held up a finger. I stopped, and he continued sweeping. It was only after several seconds that he looked up at me. His eyes flickered to my hat and his face turned to a look of distrust.

That was one of the disadvantages of the press disguise.

“I’m very sorry, but I’m not conducting interviews right now,” the man said as he dumped a full dustpan into a nearby trash can. The glass made a high-pitched clinking noise as it cascaded in.

“That’s… fine,” I answered, “I’m not here on business. I actually live right near here. In the Towers, actually.” His face softened a little bit, but he still looked suspicious. I took off the hat and held it in both hands for good measure. “I was worried when I heard about the robbery, so I came to check out what happened.”

“Oh. Engaged, citizen I see,” he said with a chuckle. “We don’t get too many of those anymore. The times sure are changing.”

“Heh, yeah it’s unfortunate.” I put my hat down on one of the least shattered surfaces and held out a hand to the man. “I’m Marc.” The man gingerly put down his broom against the scorched wall and grasped mine. His grip was surprisingly firm.

“Frederick. Frederick Mason. It’s a real pleasure to meet you.” He looked me in the eyes as he said it, and managed to make me believe it. This guy was legitimate; he meant it. That was extraordinarily rare, and I was mildly taken aback.

“Here’s an idea:” I said as I pulled my hand back, “You look like you could use a break from cleaning. I could use a coffee. Why don’t I treat you to lunch?”

Frederick nodded, “Well sure. I’m always willing to eat out on another man’s treat.” He chuckled at his joke. “Just let me put this broom away and lock up.”

At that, I gave a pointed look at the windows lined next to the doors. They weren’t there enough to prevent anybody from walking in and grabbing… there was nothing to grab either. The place was cleaned out by King’s crew. Nevertheless, Frederick took his time twisting the key in the old, rusty lock, and shaking the door to ensure that it was well and truly locked.

While he was doing this, I crossed over through the shattered window back into the shop, and back out. He didn’t notice.

We walked to a nearby café, a small outdoor affair – complete with umbrellas and wicker chairs. As soon as we sat down a waitress came over and took our order. I got a coffee with sugar and cream, and a bagel, Frederick got a black coffee and an open-face egg sandwich.

We shot the shit until our food came out. I managed to finagle some information out of him that I wouldn’t have been able to otherwise. Our discussion hit on a lot of topics about the area, the changing times, his shop. After a while, I finally managed to convince him to tell me about the robbery.