“Fifty bucks,” said the pawn shop broker.
We blinked at the guy. “For a gold and diamond ring?” said Benny.
The guy blinked back and set the ring on the glass table. It clinked upon impact. “Gold-plated and zirconium.” He swirled the chain around with his index finger. “This is real gold. Fifty bucks. Take it or—”
“We’ll take it,” Benny said.
I grabbed his hand below the counter and whispered in his ear, “But it was your mom’s.”
He turned my way, eyes locking, butterflies flittering. “My mom, who gave me a fake ring.” He grinned and whispered in my ear, “Good to get rid of that memory, too. Get rid of it all. All.” All didn’t include the gun, though. That still sat in my backpack. Was the omission on purpose or forgetfulness?
I turned back to the broker. “How about sixty?”
The broke
