Broken People (Serial)

Twenty

The number columns added up evenly. Although she had several accountants on her payroll, Aurore periodically made unannounced visits to the jewelry stores and pawn shops she owned to look over the books. What people tended to ignore when faced with her golden arms and legs was that her brain worked better than any machine. She was good with numbers and possessed a fantastic memory. No one cheated on her twice.

Her bodyguards helped, but it wasn't just the manpower. Making it to her blacklist represented the equivalent of business suicide. If word got out the Golden Lady refused to work with you—and she would make sure it did—all doors closed in your face. People trusted her judgment when it came to business. She had created a small, comfortable empire for herself, so whenever things ran out of the known pattern, she became suspicious.

"Shaz, why are people bringing in so many spare parts all of the sudden?" Aurore asked the older lady sitting behind the counter.

The woman briefly raised her eyes from the trashy novel she was reading, gave a disinterested shrug, and returned her attention to the book.

"It's not winter yet, so they're not freezing or starving." Aurore ran her fingers through her hair and tightened the ivory clasp holding it back. "If anything, they should be desperate to buy parts so they can have them adjusted and installed while the circus is here. It's cheaper than buying new ones."

"Don't ask me. I'm only buying and selling this stuff," Shaz said. "I never ask where it's coming from. It's the firm's policy."

And it had been working fine for years. Nothing was reported to the police, but each shop kept logs on the items passing through—prices, buyers, sellers, dates, everything. If an item needed to be tracked, the best place to start was here. So when confronted with an avalanche of similar items, one could be sure that, sooner or later, someone was going to come and ask questions. Better stay ahead.

The chime of the doorbell announced a new customer. The bulky man stayed away from the cluttered shelves, ignoring their contents, obviously not wanting to have anything to do with them. A seller then. If Aurore hadn't worn her gloves, the man might have given her a second look as she sat at the round, antique table, leaning over her book. But common people didn't expect to run into the Golden Lady at a pawn shop.

He dragged his feet to Shaz, and from the pocket of his large sheepskin coat, he retrieved a small package that he placed on the counter.

"I ... I've got something." He unfolded the wrapping.

Shaz looked down her pointy nose at the gleaming metal inside the folds and raised her voice, startling him. "We've got another one!"

Maintaining her composure, Aurore rose from the table and joined them. She recognized the prosthetic as part of a more complicated wrist holder. They had first been introduced a decade ago and still circulated in various circles. Given its size, it had been designed for a child.

"It still has blood on it." Aurore wrinkled her nose at the brown spots decorating the joints.

"Well, how else would you get it out?" the man retorted, but beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead.

"You could have cleaned it," Shaz said, turning the prosthetic around with a pair of tweezers. "It's not totally useless." She cast a glance at Aurore.

The man looked from one woman to the other, his gaze shifting and refusing to make eye contact.

"Relax. She'll take it," Aurore said. Firm policy: never turn down a customer's goods because you may never know when you'll need them. She nodded at Shaz to take the package to the storage room in the back of the shop, then turned to the man. "I just want to know from where you got it. It's obviously not yours." She pointed with her chin at the man's big fists.

"My-my niece needed it a while ago ... but she outgrew it." He shifted his weight on his feet and mumbled, "And we don't want it in our house."

"Why not?" Aurore asked. "You can barter with it or sell it to someone for more than you'll get here."

A snort came from the back room, conveying Shaz's opinion on Aurore's way of doing business.

"Those who need this type of thing—" the man nodded towards the back door, "—fall into two categories: either they can afford to buy new parts, or they don't have money for both the procedure and the parts. Neither will come to me."

"But that's not why you're selling it," Aurore said.

The man let his head hang. "The war is coming. People say the enemy has machines able to detect us because of our prosthetics. And when they get here ... We don't want to take any risks. I don't have implants, but my wife does. When they get here, we'll have them removed. It will be tough." His voice trailed off as tears welled in his eyes. He rolled a shoulder and cleared his throat. "It's not much of a life, but it's all we've got."

"Shaz, give him a bonus ... for the story." Aurore granted them a thin smile and returned to her seat at the table, leaving them to argue over price. It was not her job to get a good deal. "Wrap that for me, will you?" she said after the customer left. "I've been looking for one of those for ages."

"And how will you be paying?" Shaz's eyebrows rose. "We only accept cash."

"Don't get cheeky with me." Aurore barely hid a smile. "I'll send you a fresh fruit basket from the market. Deal?"

"Sold."

Shaking her head to herself, Aurore buried her nose back into the books. "I should so fire you ..."