Hell's Pawn Read Free

way. The robber collided with him, knocking them both to the ground.
    “Mine!” a male voice called out from a few paces away.
    J ohn disentangled himself from the robber to see a face staring down at him, one somewhere in its forties that had probably been a ractive at one time. Pallid skin, a fiercely stubbled chin, and manic eyes all suggested a person who had enjoyed a lifetime’s worth of illicit pleasures within a few decades. Despite this, the black spiky hair was still thick and untainted by gray. Decked out in a punk’s leather jacket and a ra y T-shirt, the man’s fashion choices hadn’t been updated since the eighties. He reached down toward John, his fingers covered in cheap tattoos.
    “Thanks,” J ohn said, reaching up to him, but the man’s hand passed his by and snatched away the bag of money.
    “I t doesn’t ma er if you knocked him down,” the stranger said. “I chased the bastard all the way here. The reds are mine!”
    “R eds?” The term could have been foreign slang, considering the I rish accent. J ohn shook his head, deciding that it was of li le consequence. His more immediate concern was ge ing out from underneath the body on top of him. He squirmed, but the robber didn’t budge. “Did you hit him over the head or something? Feels like he’s dead.”
    “Him?” The stranger rolled the robber over with his foot. “He’s just a P rop, and anyway, dead ? Bloody hell, you’re a fresh one, aren’t you?”
    “Yeah.” He managed to get to his feet and offered his hand. “John Grey” The I rishman eyed it wearily, holding the money bag behind his back before finally accepting it. “Dante.”
    “No kidding?” J ohn snorted. His new companion didn’t share his amusement, so John stifled his laughter. “Look, we’re dead right?”
    “As nails in a coffin, yeah.” Dante shrugged, as if it didn’t ma er to him. “Did you miss orientation? I barely paid attention myself. Took ages to believe any of it until—” Dante stopped speaking and stared at J ohn’s crotch. J ohn was beginning to feel self-conscious when he realized that Dante was looking at the triangular device.
    “Now that’s something,” Dante murmured. “You say this is your first day?
    Shouldn’t you be in the acclimation dorms?”
    John tensed and eyed the alleyway entrance.
    “No need to run from me, mate. I say fuck the rules. I’m just curious is all.”
    “I got a little freaked out,” John admitted, “broke away from the group.”
    “They forget to switch you on?”
    J ohn shook his head. “I f ‘on’ means being made into a zombie, they didn’t forget. I was out of it until I put my hand through the beam and it broke.” Dante scoffed. “Touching the blue is enough to put any soul down for weeks.
    There’s no escaping a dampener.”
    “Maybe mine was defective.”
    “L et’s see if it still works.” Dante made as if he were going to press the bu on and laughed when John jumped backwards.
    “Don’t!” J ohn protested. He reached down and tugged at the device until it came off. Dante’s eyes widened twice as much as before.
    “I don’t suppose I could have that?”
    “B e my guest.” J ohn tossed it to him, happy to be rid of it. Already he had worried it might contain some sort of tracking device. Now it was no longer his problem.
    “Well,” Dante said after quickly pocketing the dampener and turning to leave, “I have to return this money to the bank. O r give it to an orphanage or something.
    Whatever gets me the most reds.”
    “Bank robbery halted.”
    The voice was high-pitched and monotone and came from the fallen robber. J ohn turned the body over and looked into an empty face. The only details were two black pin pricks for eyes and a slit where the mouth should be.
    “Split Reward,” the non-living entity continued. “Dante S tewart: 146 redemption points.
    John Grey: 146 redemption points.”
    “That’s just great,” Dante spat. “S tupid P rops can’t even