Concept by BWC

Elizabeth had always wanted a big diamond since as long as she could remember. She gazed down at it now and wept.

She knew what she had to do. The ring slid off her finger — a perfect fit. The pawn shop wouldn’t give her any grief. Joe had always liked her. He liked her legs anyway.

Joe Pawn was covered in hastily drawn posterboard signs advertising deals of the century and items of the week. The door had been busted ever since Amos kicked it down one night looking for his stolen bike. Joe had already sold it — he didn’t come looking for Amos — considered it fair.

He was a legend in town for his turnaround time. Elizabeth needed a fair trade…and fast. She walked in at a brisk pace — her nervous smile plastered with lipstick far too red for her complexion. The gel in her short, spiky blonde hair was crunchy. Her mood bristled with tension and Joe could always sense a sale.

She carefully laid the ring down on the table and pointed to a pistol hanging on the wall. It was shiny just like the ring. Joe furrowed his brow and raised his ears in mock pained concentration.

“Hmmmm…”

Elizabeth parried — leaning over the counter and displaying just enough cleavage. She followed his eyes intently — smiling, letting him know.

“Ok. You’ve got a deal, but the bullets are extra.”

“Always a hard bargain,” rasped Elizabeth sensually. She slammed $20 on the counter with unusual force and Joe handed her a box of shells.

“Good luck.”

She blew him a kiss and headed out the door. Right on time. Headed to see the lawyer.

His kind of law was none at all. Raised by Apartheid. He did not relish the diamond business — it found him. His exploits were legacy. Death surrounded him — class warfare was a given.

He’d come to visit the birthplace of Michael Jackson. Gary, Indiana hadn’t turned out to be the sun-shiny destination he’d hoped. Alone in his hotel room, he called an escort service. Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

She stood dressed in a black skintight pfeifferesque suit. The gun was in her purse. She could feel it there with a heartbeat of its own. Wasting no time on perfuctory pleasantries she pushed him onto the bed. His shock quickly slipped into an easy grin. This town wasn’t so shabby after all.

She hadn’t planned to enjoy it. Riding him decades into his past, she remembered her purpose…remembered her purse. His eyes rolled back in his head. The timing was right. Somewhere inside she’d known all along: how to shoot the gun, where he would be, what he’d look like.

The bullet sunk into his chest. She hasn’t considered the blood. It was everywhere now. Her whole body — she knew — would reak of…him. And then something else she hadn’t expected. A smile spread over his lips as he faded out.

She took the wallet, the briefcase, and the room service for good measure. He’d rot there in that swanky motel waiting for housekeeping. It could be days. Days she had.

Years she did not. The Colorado winter was cold, but she’d been sick awhile. The doctors all told her she should have signed up for the flu shot. One day she knew.

They didn’t make shots for what she’d found. It was then that she slid her shiny pistol under her chin and pulled the trigger. Diamonds lost forever.