The moment McKenzie landed in this small town, on the outskirts of Scotland, he knew he was going to have a good time here. Stonehaven was a harbour located to the east of Scotland, distinguished for being a lovely spot to stay. And now he understood why. This little borough had it all: the lush greenery, the lovely folk, the tranquil tourist spots, and above all, the serenity it held. That was what drew him the most.

But, he was not here to stay; he had only one job to do here, and it had to be a quick goodbye. David, for one moment, wished he was just like everyone else: a happy family, a tedious office job, a stable retirement, and a place like this to spend his last days. But, he was not like everyone else; he shared a dangerous line of trade.

David McKenzie was a rigid man in his early sixties, but his physique was as stocky as a middle-ager. Yet, his features did nothing to conceal his age; the wrinkled skin and the neat hair combed over to the left gave away the gentleman’s love for the ’60s. He always wore a suit; his line of trade persuaded him to do so, and he had no reason not to love it. He perfected his coat as he got out of the cab--work habits.

David had left the resort almost twenty minutes ago; an overnight stay to get him ready for the job. A flawless false ID won him all the way through until then, in this little town, but he could not ignore the possibility of doubt in the dubious of minds: the local souls. So, David had to get it all over soon, before things got out of hand. He raised his head and assured whether he was at the right location, and for someone’s misfortune, he was.

The pawnshop looked nothing more than ordinary. But this day, it meant a lot, lot more for some personages. It homed some treasures that it could never have even dreamed of possessing; some valuables that belonged elsewhere, in safer, more powerful hands. And that was the reason why McKenzie was now in front of this store. He had some possessions to retrieve.

David pushed open the front door and let himself in. The insides of the shop lit by the evening sun, it all was perfectly normal. A stout young man came in from behind the hall; his brown hair all messy, his eyes red and sunken. David could now understand what he was dealing with; it had made things easier for him. The young man observed David top to bottom; he didn’t have many customers in suits. And when he had them, it meant jackpots. So, the ‘junkie’ was undeniably interested in the deal that was about to happen; so was David.

“Well, sir. How can I help you?” the ‘junkie’ asked, his tone almost mocking. He was already awaiting someone, and this stocky, aged man seemed to satisfy the criteria. But he needed to confirm, and sure as hell, they had their silly little passcodes. “Well, I share a dangerous line of trade, kiddo,” David replied casually, resting his arms on the desk; this was a procedure with which he already accustomed. And his years of experience had him report this line even more times than he ever beckoned his mother.

The young man smirked at the comment and retraced his path, back to the hall behind the desk. “Come with me,” he announced as he stepped outside the room, and McKenzie followed. The ‘junkie’ locked the door behind them as McKenzie entered, and strolled over to the opposite side of the hall. The hall was gloomy and was a complete mess; overturned chairs and a heavy wooden table filled the room. But, David couldn’t notice any other cabins inside; his confused eyes followed the young man.

“Name’s Chris,” the young man spoke as he pushed the heavy, wooden table out of its position. A hidden vault, McKenzie was enjoying this endeavour; it was approaching his expectations now. He assisted Chris in moving the table over. The young chap was in no condition to move the furniture all by himself. When the table was out of frame, Chris hunched down on the floor and yanked open a tile, and as David anticipated, he found stairs that led to a bunker. Now, this is getting better.

Chris hopped down the stairs and switched the lights on. But as fit as he was, David still found stairs difficult; his legs had faced grave injuries in the tumultuous past, and the pain grew with him. When he reached the ground, he was impressed by the little cellar; the insides were mostly wooden, illuminated by an ordinary filament bulb. The yellow light almost strained his eyes; old age was affecting him in various ways. The cellar was not very spacious, but it provided enough space for these two to move around.

Chris tossed many items around, grabbed a suitcase, and sprang onto the slab, his eyes inspecting David all over again. “So, how about the payment, old man? You got cash? Cheque? ‘Cause cheques don’t work for this stuff.” David stayed silent for a moment. Then, he pulled something out of his coat pocket and walked towards the young man, “I was thinking about an exchange.” He slipped the thing that he carried across the slab. The ‘junkie’ leapt off abruptly on the shocking sight, his eyes and mouth hanging open.

“That’s, that’s the Medallion of Orkzestar,” he stammered. “Freak, this stuff can get you millions, if--if not billions. And you want to swap this with some silly papers from the 15th century? You are a psychopath.” David smirked at the comment, and replied, “Well, it’s an emotional thing.” His reply was brief, and Chris was beyond amazed by this gentleman. He sauntered over to the other side of the cellar, swaying his head sideways; something seemed wrong about all this; but still, the amount of profit blinded his intuition.

“Alright, it’s all in the suitcase. Farewell, sir, may we never see each other again,” Chris stepped back, saluting David with a confused look on his face. Child’s already dreaming, David grinned.

He leveraged the suitcase from the desk and turned about to face Chris. The next thing he did, however, drove Chris bothered; David again pocketed the Medallion. Now, he was preparing to leave with both the Medallion and the suitcase. “What are you doing, man? You can’t do that. Put the rich stuff down.” David didn’t bother; he just continued on his way to the stairs. Chris could not hold it in anymore; he grabbed his pistol and pointed it at David, “You are not going anywhere, sir.”

The next few seconds were too quick to perceive; the moment the bullet left Chris’ pistol, McKenzie made a swift turn, impossible for his age, grabbed his gun from behind, pulled the trigger and Chris was down on the ground. “Ah, shit! Shit! What’s the problem with you, dude?” Chris muttered loudly; deep in pain, he clenched his teeth together at the sight of a gap between his elbow and palm, his flesh hanging limp, blood now flowing in all directions. But, David did not stop; he came closer to Chris and pointed the gun at his temple, his face stagnant of expression.

“Woah, Woah, cool down, man. Just leave. Take whatever you want. Please don’t kill me. I am sorry. Sorry. Jesus! You are a freak. Give me, give me a chance, man. I won’t do anything. Just go, please.” David didn’t flinch; he kept the gun pointed at Chris’ temple. “I don’t believe in second chances, kiddo, ’cause I never got one.” Another gunshot reverberated inside the cellar. David climbed back up and arranged the hall all over again, the table back in its position. A hidden vault; it’s always interesting.

*****

This is a challenge I have been wanting to do for long. Now that I have done it, I am confused whether it actually fits or not. Still, thanks a lot, @MariAntoinette, for giving me something really good to work on, I really enjoyed creating these characters and this plot. Thank you so much! And guys, I hope you like this! There might be a contradiction with the so-called protagonist’s ethics and morality. But still, I hope you enjoy this.

#fiction

Hey guys! Quick announcement: There is now a third characters challenge! I love reading your stories, and I just picked the winner for the first one... so congratulations to @TW for a magnificent coffee shop short story! You can find their coffe shop story here: https://theprose.com/post/391470/eddy-the-incel-part-1

Thank you to everyone else who joined the first one as well:

@Danceinsilence https://theprose.com/post/387503/warsaw-poland-restauracja-polska-rozana-1-35-p-m

@HandsOfFire https://theprose.com/post/391901/coffee-beans

@MeeJong https://theprose.com/post/387140/just-cream

@TheDreamer https://theprose.com/post/386441/bus-stop

@NJDunn https://theprose.com/post/386693/best-of-friends

@AJAY9979 https://theprose.com/post/386475/coffee-with-a-shot-of-hatred

@ZBean https://theprose.com/post/390977/dayton-and-park-mystery-agency

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o . . . If you have NOT already joined the Characters 2 challenge, the link is here for easy access *blinks innocently*: https://theprose.com/challenge/11266

The conductor quickly glided back his chair, bumping into the wall, but the phone was at least answered in time. He sobered at the mayor's voice, but politely listened to his third warning for the week.

To his left side, he noticed a shadow and then somebody appeared in front of the ticket window.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Mayor. I understand." He interrupted. Too many bills to pay, and he didn't have a cent left for it anymore. Maybe he was getting too old for this business. All but that one strand of black hair had turned grey. He had creases, wrinkles, and crinkles everywhere; from his hands to his face. He couldn't hear that well anymore, but at least he could still read lips. If only his eyes hadn't decided to act up lately.

Many of his peers had already retired, either to their home or to the grave. But he kept working, believing in his passion and his dream. Even if it meant he would work himself to the grave, he was determined to keep on going.

He quickly ended the call, and then faced the person in front of the window. It was hard to distinguish the person's features from this far back in the room, so he slowly rose from the chair and shuffled over to the window.

Outside the window, the snow started shifting down again, promising a blizzard in no time. He sighed and then looked out, surprised to distinguish a woman's face almost hidden in the depth of her coat. She had the furry hood pulled over her head, and the fur almost hid her petite face.

Two blue eyes stared back at him, shadows turning the depths into a turbulent gray. There was a sad tug on the fine little, red mouth. Her cheeks were tinted pink and her breath a little ragged, speaking of her rush to get here.

"Excuse me, sir. I would like to buy a ticket, please." She breathed out, her voice soft and timid.

"Little lady, you might have to speak up a little. My ears don't work as well as they used to." He said with a smile and pulled his ledger closer. "Now, where do you want to go? We have three magnificent winter destinations, and the train departs anytime you want it too."

"Oh..." She mouthed and fiddled with her hands. "Um..." She cleared her throat and raised her voice's volume a bit. "Which one is the farthest?"

"The farthest?" He placed his spectacles on his nose, and then peered over them at the girl. "Why? Did you have your heart broken?" Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but she bravely bit her lower lip and nodded.

"Yes..."

"Ah...Well, then I have the perfect destination for you. Stuttner's Peak." He proclaimed, and then fiddled among the other papers, before producing a small album. He flipped it open, turned the book for her to see and pointed to the one picture. "There. A nice lodge right there on the peak."

"Well, I'd rather not be in contact with people on a day to day basis..." She answered hesitantly. He nodded his head in understanding.

"Ah, yes. Of course." He closed the album and pushed it to the side, his eyebrows knitting together as he thought. Then, he broke into a smile and leaned forward. "Do you want a wooden cabin all to yourself, Missy?"

"Well..." She hesitated but then smiled a little more enthusiastically. "If possible, yes. It would be nice." Her eyes glazed over a little, losing a shadow in each depth. "Yes, I would love a wood cabin all to myself, if there is one."

"Ah! There is!" He proclaimed excitedly, trying to stop his shaking hands. "But, it might cost a little more..." He eyed her, his mind racing. "And it depends on how long you want to stay..."

"I'd like to stay indefinitely for now...I'll pay weekly." She offered. "Truthfully, sir, the price is of no consequence to me. Money is money. If it can't buy you happiness, it can buy you the cure. I am willing to pay everything I have for this." He raised his hands and shook his head.

"No, no. It's not that much. Let's say a fee of fifty shiels per week?" She nodded her head in agreement. "Well then. Oh, you just have to also pay for the train ticket. That would be ten shiels." He remembered. She smiled faintly, and then produced her purse from the depths of her coat.

Her snuggly-gloved hand slipped inside and produced the money. She slipped it through the open window, safely placing it in the conductor's hands.

"Sixty shiels. And I'll pay every other cent as well, sir." She tucked her purse away again, and shakily accepted her ticket.

"Thank you, Missy. Thank you." He said with a hitch, desperately trying not to cry. "When would you like the train to leave?"

"As soon as possible, please..."

"Well then, fifteen minutes until departure, Missy."

"Grecil. Grecil Pruitt." She said with a hint of a smile.

"Huh?" He asked confused. "Oh, I'm Granger Hale, Miss Pruitt. I'll be your conductor." He grabbed his cap from the hook and fit it onto his head. "You have nothing to fear with me in control. I might be old, but you will be safe."

"You have to fill my name into the ledger, Mr. Hale." She giggled softly. "But, it's a pleasure to formally make your acquaintance."

"Oh!" His cheeks shot a faint red as he shook his head and pulled the ledger closer. "The downfall of growing old. A failing memory." He scratched in her name and the departure time. "There. Now everything is in order. You are allowed to go aboard now, Missy Pruitt."

"Thank you, sir." She muttered and turned away, her hands disappearing into the deep pockets. She headed towards the only passenger car, and stepped in. With a sigh, she fell into the nearest seat, but then shuffled over to the window.

She threw off her hood, and her chocolate brown pixie cut stood upright, her hair static. She rested her forehead against the cold window, the tears finally spilling over. She was leaving. Her broken heart would have time to heal now...And she would have the time to fortify it and never love again.

When I had agreed to go shopping with her for the first time, I had barely known her. I met her through my husband when they had started working together. She mentioned to him that she never has anyone to shop with and my husband had mentioned that I often had lamented similarly. He suggested we go to together and that would help us get to know each other better.

I was no stranger to the mall, in fact, it was like a second home to me at that point in my life. I worked two jobs there and basically ate all my meals in the food court. I knew the sounds of the halls early in the morning when none of the shops were open and the only people in the building were employees or the gray hairs that speed walked before getting breakfast. I knew the darkness of the building after closing, the eerie quiet of the unoccupied stores, and the set up and takedown times of all the seasonal displays.

My intricate knowledge of the mall was no match for Estie. I was like a lamb to the slaughter when we met that first time to shop together.

I had just gotten off work and was wearing my short sleeved graphic tee from the Back to School collection, denim shorts, and Converse shoes. Through the course of my shift my hair had may its way into an intentional looking messy bun. I looked on brand and approachable; exactly how you want a store employee to look who is selling graphic tees and jeans to 16-30 year olds.

She came waltzing through the automatic doors like she was stepping into a private photo shoot. She was in high end denim, full face of makeup, hair perfectly flat ironed, and strappy wedges. Who wears high heels to the walk around the mall? She came up and gave me a hug. She felt ten feet tall in those shoes, but I could have sworn she was quite a bit shorter than me.

She stepped back and looked at me. The look on her face said it all; I was not a suitable shopping companion. She was disappointed.

We started walking and making small talk. I suddenly realized that she was passing all the stores that I normally stop in. She was blazing ahead, talking about herself. As she went on, it became very clear to me that we were heading to the part of the mall that I never, ever shop at and the only part of the mall she shopped at. She had been slumming it to come pick me up on my side of the mall.

We walked into a shoe store that had big red "SALE" signs. I glanced at a sale tag and it was more than the total of every shoe I had ever purchased in my entire life. She was so pleased at the price reduction and asked the associate to try it on in three different colors.

"Do you ever wear shoes like these?" She asked as if she was showing me what shoes were for the first time.

"Not really, because I just wouldn’t really have anywhere to wear them to, you know? I can’t wear them to work …”, she interrupted me.

"Doesn't Jordan take you out on dates?"

"He does, but those are still a little too fancy for the likes of Olive Garden I think." I chuckled a little and realized that she didn't think it was funny.

"Olive Garden is fancy?" This was obviously rhetorical. I was starting to stress sweat. She was way out of my league. How could my husband think this was going to work out? This was going terribly.

The sales associate came back and gave Estie the shoes to try on. I thought of running away, back to the side of the mall that I was comfortable in. Maybe hide from her under a pile of reasonably priced hoodies. Get a pretzel along the way. She might not even realize I was gone.

Just as a I was inching to the door, Estie decided not to take any of the shoes because they made her feet look big and she left the shoes on the ground, box open, tissue paper strung about. As a retail employee, this made my blood boil. She obviously has never had to clean up after anyone like her before and it showed.

"Let's go get something to eat" she said as she grabbed my arm to interlock with hers. I was confused and stumbled next to her. I gave the sales associate that look of “I’m so sorry, I know what this is like” as she bent down to pick up the mess left behind.

We went to the food court, neutral territory.

We sat down and as we chatted over teriyaki chicken and egg rolls, she told me how cute I was but that I needed a serious makeover, of which she would be delighted to administer. The next stop would be the makeup store that I never, ever go in followed by trying on clothes that my husband would never, ever let me spend the money on. If this backfired and bankrupted us, I would blame him for recommending this little bonding activity in the first place.

I wasn’t a shopping companion anymore, as I deemed unworthy. Now, I had become her project. A fixer upper friend.