Second Hand: A Tucker Springs Novel 2

giving Stacey imitation stones, but it was definitely the nicest necklace he had. Even used, it was more than I could really afford, but that chipmunk in my brain was enamored with it, positive it was the only thing Stacey would want.
“I can pay you half in cash and half on my card. Is that okay?”
“No personal checks, but cash and credit both work.”
“Do you have some kind of nice box or something it can go in?”
He laughed, revealing perfect teeth that seemed extra white against his bronze skin. “No, I’m gonna give it to you in a Ziploc baggie.” I wasn’t really sure what to say to that, but he laughed again. “I’m kidding. Yeah, I got a box around here somewhere. You think I’m running some kind of second-rate establishment?”
The way he said it, it wasn’t a challenge. He seemed to be mocking himself more than anything, admitting that of course this was a second-rate store. That was, after all, the entire idea of a pawnshop. Second owner. Second hand.
I hoped very much that in my case, it would mean a second chance.

chapter 2
    E
    l watched the necklace-buyer leave, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. The whole thing had “long-term disaster” stamped all over it. Sometimes his customers were desperate. Sometimes stupid. This one? Mostly he’d seemed perpetually confused.
    When his cell phone rang, El was still smiling, thinking about Clueless Joe as he answered. “Tucker Pawn.”
“Aren’t we all bright and cheery this evening?” Denver Rogers’s voice was rough, full of drawl that didn’t quite come from the South. “If my ears don’t deceive me, you might actually be smiling. You take someone home and get snuggly last night?”
“I don’t snuggle.”
“Well, something’s got you sounding like Suzie Sunshine.”
El smiled at the image of the necklace-buyer as Suzie Sunshine. Oddly, he kind of was. “Just a customer.”
“Oh?” There was a world of innuendo in that single syllable.
“Just a customer.” Brownish-red hair, pale skin, little freckles across his nose. El couldn’t help but imagine the soft, white skin in the places that didn’t see the sun. “He was damn cute, though.”
Denver whistled through his teeth. “Well, goddamn. Somebody call the Tucker Gazette. Emanuel Mariano Rozal is showing signs of humanity. Next thing you know, he might settle down and start collecting cats.”
“Whatever.”
“So we on tonight, or what?”
“Looks like or what.”
Denver’s huff belied his irritation, and El could picture him scowling. The two of them had a weekly “date” at the Tucker Laund-O-Rama, which wasn’t nearly as kinky as it sounded. It had nothing in the world to do with sex, and everything to do with having somebody over the age of twenty-two to talk to while their socks ran the spin cycle.
“What is it this time?” Denver asked.
“I told Rosa I’d watch the kids.”
“Come on, man. Your entire fucking family, and she picks you?”
“Miguel’s on call for the fire department, and his wife can barely deal with their own kids. Rosa’s fighting with Lorenzo’s wife—”
“About what?”
“I’m doing my best not to know.” If there was one thing El had learned, it was not to get involved in family drama. Especially when it came to the women. Especiallywhen it came to his little sister Rosa, who made the stereotype of the fiery Latina woman look like Tinkerbell. “She’s been leaving them with her neighbor, but she got busted for possession—”
“Nice.”
“That leaves Abuela, and she’s too old to have to deal with those little shits on her own.”
“What about your mom?”
Leave it to Denver to notice the person El had left off his list. “Look man, it’s me. I said I’d do it.”
Denver sighed. “Someday, you’re going to wake up and wish you’d gotten out from behind that counter a bit more.”
“And you’re going to wish you hadn’t bulked up on ’roids.” El was pretty sure Denver didn’t actually use steroids, but when a man was built like a fucking barn, he could take a bit of ribbing.
“Why can’t you bring the kids along?”
“You serious?”
“Why not? They might liven things up a bit.”
El thought about Rosa’s three kids running around the laundromat. They’d scare away any little frat boys in a heartbeat, no doubt about it. “You’re on. Eight o’clock?”
“Sounds good.”
“Hey, Denver?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t snuggle.”
He laughed. “Fine. But I take back that ‘signs of