Faust

Unmarked

"Well, there's something else I'd need you to take a look."  Javier aimlessly waves his hand in the air as in 'Yeah, why the hell not'.
       "Hurry up then, I want to get some more sleep before eating."
"Cigs ain't enough?" Uncle's eyes survey the counter and the ashtray closely before he tilts his head under the counter.
"You can smoke through breakfast, lunch, fellatio but never dinner." I let out a snort as I pull Qin's dagger out from the slug for fiddlestick while Uncle's going through the drawers.

"Your secret for longevity?" A single, dry laughter echos the empty pawn shop.
"Acojonante, callejero.....aconjonate. " A hand reached from under the counter and slams a new pack of bidi on it. Loosen the hemp rope, unpack, bite one down, lit it. All done in three seconds.

"So......" Hands-on the counter, body leaning forward. "What else can I do for you?" Parting his chipped lips, a chunk of smoke escaped between his teeth.

Thoughts ran through my mind as I grip the ebony color handle. I don't care much about the Qins, but not to the point that I would waltz in the hotel and have them put it on auction, the best bet still is for Uncle to see if he can find a potential buyer who knows discretion or better yet, buy it himself.

My eyes peek at the closed solitary door and the curtains covering the bay windows unconsciously as I put the sheathed blade on the counter and lean forward as well.
     ***

"Are you changing lanes? Wanna be a nighthawk? Hm, Forget about it. The field's oversaturated with scums worse than you and me." Words leaked out of his mouth continuously and slowly like an old man taking a piss as he pulls the DIY spotlight up to position it on the sheath.

I shrug and watch him get to work. "Perhaps." Been stumbling upon shit from a museum exhibits anyway.

"Maldito chiflado. Didn't I teach you not to turn dead man's bones long fucking time ago?" The mumbling carries on as he adjusts the switch two turns to shed a somber white light on it, the gold-plated lock and pommel glint quietly.

"You did. Though I thought you were just trying to snatch the dead chick's high heels yourself." Javier stopped what he was doing completely and abruptly,

He takes the smoke out of his mouth and raises his face at the ceiling, sound of a generator breaking down came out of his throat before spitting a fat brown sputum at the ashtray, knocking out two cig ends and flooding the rest.

"Let's get this straight, Callejero. I've never, robbed from the dead before. It is the most degenerate, accursed way to make a living, hijo de puta are worse than grubs. A maggot, a fucking worm eat carcasses to live, while a bone turner snatch them of the last they have to make a penny..." With a slow, articulated tone he vomits those words along the stink of his smoke at my face. "They see the deceased as an object..... De puta madre! Well, I fucking don't, and the doers ought to rot in the lowest of hell."

         A spite towards what most think is right and a pity for the opposite...

        "Noted and repentant." I lower my head into a nod. "I didn't know you were so insistent on them. Sorry." A very small ripple of shame waves somewhere in my chest and I ain't going to act like a son of a bitch when in the wrong.

        Uncle look at me closely, with those plated grey rolling inside his eye sockets, like a lottery machine.

        Breathes between us lengthen, till two more seconds later he's content with whatever traces of remorse in my eyes or nothing at all. Drawing a curved line in the air repeatedly with his half-burnt Indian cig, telling both of us to forget about it.
Funny, after all those years. These exchanges are the few things unchanged.