Second Hand: A Tucker Springs Novel 2

placed it on the counter. “I need to return this.”
He stubbed out his cigarette and rubbed the back of his head with his other hand.
“I don’t normally take returns. That’s sort of counter to how pawnshops work, you know?”
No, I didn’t know. I felt a blush creeping up my cheeks.
He took his feet off the counter and tossed his magazine aside. “Lucky for you, I have a soft spot for redheads.”
That made me blush even more, and I automatically reached up to touch my own hair. I’d described it on my driver’s license as light brown, but it wasn’t the first time I’d been called a redhead.
He seemed unaware of my discomfort. He reached out and took the box, opening it to check the necklace.
“Girlfriend didn’t like it?”
“It’s probably more accurate to say that she doesn’t like me. Not anymore.”
His eyebrows went up again, and he stared at me, not as if he was unsure of what to say, but as if he had several options and was debating between them. I rubbed my forehead and wished I could take the statement back. Nothing like blurting out uncomfortable truths to total strangers. “Can I get a refund or not?”
“I’m going to do you one better than that, my friend. I’m going to buy you a drink.”

    The pawnshop owner had long legs and an even longer stride, and I had to hurry to keep up with him. “What’s your name?” I asked as we turned the corner and headed east.
    “Emanuel. But this ain’t Walnut Grove, my friend, so don’t even think about calling me Manny.”
“Huh?”
“My friends call me El. You the kind of guy who’s gonna freak out if I take you into the gay bar?”
“No.” I’d never been in one, but that didn’t mean I was opposed. “I don’t dance, though.”
He laughed. “Good. That makes two of us.”
At the end of the block was Lights Out. It wasn’t the only gay bar in the Light District, but it was certainly the loudest. Rainbow flags flew above the door, and the bass from dance music boomed from the building. At the door, we were greeted by a bouncer who made the Jolly Green Giant look like a sprout. He flexed arms the size of fire hydrants as he smiled at El.
“Look who got out from behind the counter, and not to do laundry.” He pounded Emanuel’s shoulder with a hand as big as my head. “Must have had a rough day.”
“Not me. Him.” Emanuel hooked a thumb in my direction.
Paul Bunyan looked back at me, first in surprise, then with obvious curiosity. He smirked and raised a questioning eyebrow at Emanuel.
“Don’t even start,” El said.
The big man laughed and moved aside to let us in. He didn’t take his eyes off me, though. I was sure I could feel myself shrinking as I squeezed past him into the club.
It seemed like a meat market, which worried me a bit. I hadn’t wanted to seem rude about being taken to a gay bar, but now that I was in one, I felt more than a little exposed. It was one thing for someone to mistake me for gay by accident— which had happened, even when Stacey and I had been out together—but to be at a gay bar seemed to invite speculation I wasn’t interested in courting.
I was trying to think of an excuse to leave, but El led me up a flight of stairs before I could work up to the act. The second floor was quieter and a lot smaller, with only a few patrons visible, each of them with “local” all but stamped on their foreheads as they hunched over their drinks.
El motioned to the bartender, who came over and grinned at El, extending his hand. “Good to see you, El. What brings you out of your dusty old shop today?”
El shook his hand and gestured between us. “Paul, this is Jase, who owns this firetrap. Jase, this is Paul, who’s had a very bad day.”
“Pleased to meet you, Paul. What are you drinking?”
“Uh . . .” I hardly ever drank, and I had no idea what to ask for.
El waved his hand at me dismissively. “Two 90 Shillings for me, and whatever guys like him drink.”
The bartender looked me up and down with an appraising eye that made me blush. “He looks like the rum and Coke type to me.”
El looked me up and down too. Unlike me, he seemed completely unembarrassed. “Better make it a tall.”
The bartender laughed, and the next thing I knew, I had a pint-sized glass in my hand.
“Patio open tonight?”
“For you, it’s always open.”
Emanuel handed him a ten-dollar tip. “Thanks, Jase.”
I followed him past the bar, down a narrow hallway, past the bathrooms, through a door marked