Shamar

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

‘How much would it be worth to you?’ Jake asked as he swirled the dregs of his beer around his glass. He probably should have spent the last of his money on something else like food or a bus ticket, but he craved something that could silence the whispers and beer was all he could afford. The pub was starting to look busier, with people beginning to head away from the pokie machines to find something to eat. He’d tried his luck there too—unfortunately his charming personality didn’t win over the machines.

The woman drinking next to him had straight black hair, which she left loose to frame her gaunt face. She was pretty except for the pinched look around her eyes. Tattoos of Asian symbols lined her arms. She probably thought they said lovely spiritual things like ‘peace’ and ‘luck’ and ‘eating organic foods will make you live forever’. More likely they were Chinese slang for ‘bicycle’ and ‘brick’ and ‘sucker’. In her late twenties and already weary of life, she’d found her way to the backwaters of rural Victoria to hide, although she claimed she was ‘expanding her locational and cultural boundaries’. Yeah, right. In Mildura. Tell yourself whatever you want. You’re still hiding, he thought as he watched her consider his question.

‘A secret that will change the way I see the world? Let me think. I had two of those last week. It didn’t last. The world is still crap and I can still see it,’ she replied, running a finger around the top of her glass. ‘Tell me more about your shoulder. Did you really get stabbed or are you bullshitting me?’

‘Stabbed by a guy who once saved me from school detention by owning up to something he didn’t do. I guess people change. I’d rather not talk about it. I have a more interesting question for you.’ He tried hard to keep the slur from his voice. ‘Have you ever heard of the Garden of Eden?’ He leaned toward her, searching her eyes for a connection.

‘Oh, no,’ she wailed. ‘Tell me you’re not one of those. Give me a break. Just because I have a few tats and smoke some weird stuff doesn’t mean I need you to save me. My soul is fine and feisty, thanks anyway. Save your speech for someone who hasn’t seen the things I’ve seen.’

Then she was gone, leaving her barely touched drink behind. Jake was stunned. It had been a long time since anyone had walked away from him when he really paid them attention. She must have been determined to avoid anything that sounded remotely Christian. So much for being open-minded. Perhaps he should have coaxed her into coming back to the hostel with him and shown her the sword. That would have opened her mind a bit. Only, every time he thought about showing it to someone else, he felt reluctant. No, not reluctant. Afraid. He was afraid of letting anyone else see it. How was he supposed to sell it if he refused to let anyone even see it? Maybe for the right price he would overcome his fear—once he found the right buyer. The girl had been a waste of time.

He sculled her abandoned beer, ignoring the scowl from the bartender when he tried to put the glass down and missed the table. Damn shoulder wound. Somehow he had to track down the right sort of customer, someone who would appreciate what he was offering. It was unlikely he would find that person in a bar in Mildura. Maybe he could send out some feelers on the internet. Find someone who dealt in rare antiquities, perhaps. That could be done from almost anywhere and could result in a nice quick response. All he needed was access to a computer.

Antiquities? His foggy brain couldn’t even fathom where that word had come from. Seemed like a good plan, though. Funny how all his best plans seemed to emerge when he was off his face. He looked at the cluster of empty glasses that had obediently stayed on the table where he’d left them and then frowned into his empty wallet. He couldn’t even buy more beer, let alone a computer. Did libraries still let you use them without paying? Did libraries even still exist? He had no clue. Either way, it was time to do something about his money situation. Something that wouldn’t attract the attention of the police department. Something … charming.