The Pawn Shoppe was more like The Cave than The Hole across the street, it was actually a full restaurant, the two places couldn't have been more different. Smooth gold lighting illuminated the space which was interiorised with distressed mahogany. In some spots the walls were lined with shelves which sported various types of antiques and collectables, the reservation desk was actually a glass showcase displaying rare and valuable items most of which Emma couldn't identify, and one whole wall which led to a secluded looking alcove was completely covered in books. Actual leather bound books with gold or silver stencil lettering on their spines, Emma could see them glinting in the light.
A beautiful highly polished bar ran along in front of the book wall and a varnished dance floor to its left of centre.
"Table for one?" the pleasant looking hostess behind the desk asked Emma as she approached. She had short black hair and a friendly smile, her name tag read Mary Margret.
"Actually I'm here to speak to Mr. Gold, is he available?" Emma asked in equal politeness with a gentle smile.
Somewhere to her right came the distinct noise of dishes falling then a sudden furious shout.
"You stupid girl, what are you doing?" it was a slightly older than middle aged man dressed in a fine dark suit with greying, almost shoulder length hair. Mr. Gold.
"No-nothing broke, look it, it's just a chip" the young waitress replied shyly holding up a cup to show its minimal damage.
"Just a chip?" Mr. Gold repeated, "It's no good, I can't serve my customers their drinks out of chipped cups. Bin it." He said before storming off as well as he could with the support of a fine ebony cane.
"Are you sure you want to do that?" Mary Margret asked as though she was asking Emma if going swimming in a shark tank was the best way to spend her holiday.
"Yes please" Emma replied with certainty, "It's a matter of some importance."
Mary Margret gave Emma an apologetic smile before dashing off after her employer.
Emma went back to inspecting the showcase, on top sat a little plaque that read anything can be bought, for a price. Inside the case among the glass vials and fancy cloak pins, one item stood out from the rest, a twisted silver dagger. It held her enraptured.
It wasn't long before the exotic voice of Mr. Gold broke her thoughts "How can I be of service to you Mrs. …?"
"Miss Swan," said Emma extending her hand, he shook it as she explained. "Graham Hunter from the sheriff's office sent me over."
"Ah, perhaps we should talk somewhere more private then" with a wicked grin Mr. Gold turned to head to his office knowing Emma had no choice, but to follow.
Mary Margret was still hovering nearby and Gold eyed her wearily.
"I'll send for ya dearie when were through" he said by way of dismissal and she scurried off to look after her section of the bar.
Leary, Emma followed Mr. Gold through the door behind the desk that led to the kitchen, and his office. The office was small only a single leather chair sat behind an imposing carved wooden desk. It seemed any guest here were few and forced to stand. It too was filled with ancient looking books and an odd assortment of knick-knacks.
"Is everything in here for sale?" Emma asked suddenly remembering the sign on the front desk.
"Anything can be bought, for a price" he confirmed, "but most people aren't willing to pay it, why Miss Swan, has something caught your eye already?"
"No, just wondering."
"Ah-ah, you are lying, and that's bad manners, but I'll forgive you as you're here to help me."
"Yes, from what we can gather Mr. Walsh is plaining on coming here tonight to rob you and then leave town."
"We can't have that, now, can we."
"No, we can't. That's why I'm here; it's my job to stop him."
"No offense princess, but how do you plan to do that?" he asked eyeing her up.
"With all due respect Mr. Gold I have six years of experience working as a bails bond woman, Mr. Hunter wouldn't have sent me over if he thought I couldn't handle the job."
Something in the tone of her voice must have finally convinced him because he smiled then, a wide toothy, crocodile smile and said "very well dearie I should let you get to business, anything you order is on the house."
Accepting that as a dismissal Emma turned to leave when she reached for the door Gold spoke again, "and dearie, if you change your mind, if something catches your eye, don't be afraid to ask the price."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Mary Margaret led Emma to a small table that had a good view of everywhere except the tucked away alcove. A blue light shined down on her and Emma noticed what appeared to be a mobile hung above the table. It was strung with blue glass unicorns that danced with a gentle breeze from the AC system.
"Where does he find this stuff?" Emma marveled aloud.
"I have no idea" said Mary Margaret following Emma's gaze. "are you sure you don't want a drink?"
"I'm fine, really." Emma confirmed
"Well if you need anything don't hesitate to call me over." With a final warm smile she was off helping another couple with their bill.
Instantly Emma relaxed, she liked the woman even though they had only just met, she just hated being coddled.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Emma dance in the middle of the floor not caring she danced alone it allowed for freer movements. There were others crowded onto the varnished wood, couples and larger groups but she had avoided them all. Soft rock from the 70's and 80's flowed freely out of the speakers and just as Abracadabra started up a very solid form came up behind her.
"A gentleman never lets a lady dance alone, that's just bad form" whispered a dark, husky voice in her ear. It sounded slightly familiar too. Emma looked down and recognized the black studded motorcycle boots, and dark-washed ripped jeans as belonging to the guy who had been playing pool at The Hole.
"It's a shame I don't see one then" she whispered back.
"That's because I'm behind you love" he said clearly gaining confidence.
"I meant a lady" she snarked back, and she could've sworn she heard him growl, but she didn't push him away.
It had been ages since Emma had let loose and danced like this, she worked too hard and often to have a good time, and her best friend was a hooker. The only other grown-ups Emma had regular contact with were August and Neal, and Henry's teacher Ms. Mills.
Emma's dance partner thrust against her in a way that if she were younger would make her think he wanted to take her home for the night. Emma always gave as good as she got though and rubbed herself back into him, and oh that felt nice.
"Easy on the goods love" he expelled breathlessly, rubbing his nose against the shell of her ear.
Between that voice and those fiery touches Emma was barely holding herself together. His rough hands explored her tight thighs, gently tugging her hips into him on every other pass, it was nearly enough to make Emma forget why she was here. Why was she here, at this club, dancing with a beautiful stranger when she could be somewhere else doing other things with him instead?
Whoa where had that come from? Too far, things had already gone too far.
"Wait stop" she said finally turning around to face him, splaying her hand on his chest to hold him back. Instantly his face fell, she had to save this. Did she? Why did she?
"I'm parched, lets grab a seat and some water" she gave him her best reassuring smile and cocking his head he let her lead him off the dance floor to the table she had claimed earlier.
Almost instantly Mary Margret was there with two glasses of ice water with lemon wedges. Emma nodded her thanks before gulping down big mouthfuls.
Emma's dance partner had shed his leather jacket, how had he managed this long, and was polishing off his own glass of water by the time she was ready to talk.
"Like what you see?" he asked her casually.
Emma had been staring at his arms, or rather the tattoos on his arms. Each forearm was delicately inked, his left forearm boasted an anchor with rope looped through it while a compass graced his right.
"What are they for?" she asked rather abruptly, "I mean do they have meanings?" she corrected.
For a moment the man seemed stunned into silence then explained "Aye lass they do. The anchor" he ran his finger down it "is for my brother and father, both of whom I lost at sea. It is a symbol of my past, something to keep me grounded and tied to my roots. The compass is my future something to lead me forward, point the way."
He sounded sad and Emma was almost sorry she asked when he suddenly perked up, "and now you know more about me, than I know about you, so do I at least get a name?" he smiled and the way he smiled made it hard to resist.
"Emma Nolan" she half lied, she couldn't believe she'd almost told this man her real name. she had felt so comfortable with him, it had felt natural.
"Pleased to meet you Emma, you can call me Jonesy" he said flashing another brilliant smile.
Emma was about to suggest they get out of there, convinced Walsh had decided not to show tonight after all when her phone buzzed from her jacket pocket.
Looking at the call display she saw a new message from Red, and reading the message, she didn't like at all what she found there.