Chapter Eleven: Breakfast and Pawnshops

The next morning, Newkirk gingerly removed the wraps from his knuckles. His expression was grave as he examined the damage. The skin was still an angry red tone, but the wounds had begun to scab during the night. They would heal soon. Still, he didn't reapply the wrapping. The bandages just drew attention to his hands, and if he didn't have anything on them, maybe Nina wouldn't see his wounds when he went up to breakfast. A quick glance in an empty silver bowl told him that his facial wounds had also healed during the night. The swelling had gone down a lot, but light bruising was beginning to take place. It was still pretty mild though…maybe she wouldn't notice.

When he reached the main workshop, Marty, Harry, and Nina were already there. The tailor was bent over a pattern for a new suit, measuring the dimensions with one hand while the other brought a piece of toast to his mouth. Harry dipped his toast in a bowl of some sort of soup while Nina finished dishing out a bowl for Peter. "Good morning," the tired magician greeted.

"Morning," came the group reply.

He took a seat and was soon eating. Harry leaned over and said quietly, "You think you can find a time to run by the pawn shop today?"

Newkirk remembered the partially successful day they had had yesterday. They had lifted four wallets and one pocket watch within a few hours. The money was extracted as soon as they got home and it was then split evenly between the two. What was left over was set aside to pay Marty his rent money. But they still had four empty wallets now, not to mention that pocket watch. Newkirk and Harry usually went to a local pawn shop after they had accumulated enough merchandise to sell off the wallets and whatever was left over from the theft. The billfolds weren't usually worth very much, but it was more than they would be worth sitting under Newkirk's bed.

He nodded as he sipped his soup, "Yeah, I'll have time for that today."

Harry nodded his head and sat farther back in his seat. "So," he said, raising his voice from its earlier tone, "How did your date go last night?"

Peter noticed the way Nina's attention was piqued with that question. He shared a knowing look with Martin before shrugging slightly and saying, "All right, I guess."

"Well, where did you take her?" Nina asked.

"We went to Allen's pub."

Nina looked discouraging, "Now, Peter, you could have found a nicer place to take a young lady, couldn't you?"

"It was fine."

"Well, what'd you do after that?" Harry asked.

Again, Newkirk looked at Marty. The older man just gave a look as to say, 'Don't ask me.' "We both 'eaded 'ome after that." That was truthful enough. He didn't happen to mention that she was attacked on the way. That information could go unmentioned for now.

Harry eyed his friend suspiciously. He knew Newkirk was a pretty private person, especially when it came to personal affairs. But Newkirk was also pretty haughty when it came to his dealings with girls. It was rare for Newkirk to remain so prudent in his date descriptions. Harry could tell he was holding something back; but he also knew how strong his friend's resolve could be, so he knew it wouldn't do to press the issue. "So are you goin' to keep seein' her?"

Peter nodded, "Yeah, I think so."

Nina beamed at this information. "How wonderful! What's her name, Peter?"

Newkirk hesitated slightly. He glanced at yesterday's paper, which was now in a pile of scrap paper, waiting for its turn to be used as tinder for the small fire place. He made a mental note of trying to rescue her picture before that happened. "Stephanie," he said at last.

"Stephanie…what a lovely name!" Nina exclaimed, "Does Stephanie have a last name?"

Newkirk looked up at the woman. "She does," he said, "But I'm not about to tell you what it is."

Nina's expression was shocked, "Why ever not?"

Newkirk gave her a knowing smile, "Because I don't think I want the wedding invitations drawn up just yet."

Newkirk entered the pawnshop to a flash of blinding light. Instinctively, his hand came up to shield his face. "'Ey! What's that for?" He demanded, blinking hard with a scowl.

From behind the desk, the shop owner lowered the camera. "Oh! Sorry about that sir," he said with a certain level of enthusiasm. "Just got it in and wanted to give it a test before I sold it."

He held the camera out for Newkirk to see more clearly; although, with the green and gray spots dancing all across his vision, it wasn't likely that Newkirk would be able to see anything clearly for a few minutes.

The emphatic shop owner continued, "It's practically a new model. See, it has a latch built in right here to hook the flash handle into. That way, the bulb is stationary and you always know that the light is coming from the right angle. Ingenious isn't it?"

Newkirk nodded his head just to get the man to shut up. "Brilliant," he said unenthusiastically.

"It's a fine piece of equipment. I'd be willing to give you a good deal on it if you're interested."

"I'm not really the picture takin' type," Newkirk said shortly.

"Uhhu…" the pawnbroker noted his customer's irritated demeanor. Still, he had yet to meet a client who he couldn't break into making some sort of purchase. "Of course, sir," he said, putting down the camera and clasping his hands together over the glass countertop. "What can I do for you?"

Newkirk reached into the pocket of his black jacket and pulled out the wallets. "I'm here to increase your merchandise." As he spoke, Newkirk put the wallets on the counter, spreading them out with one hand so that each one lay flat against the glass.

The pawnbroker looked at the wallets and then at Newkirk. The thief held the gaze steadily, daring the shop owner to inquire as to the origin of the commodities. The other man wisely turned back to the wallets and picked each of them up individually. He stretched them apart and eyed the wear of the leather. Most of them were in pretty good shape. All of them were empty. "For these…" he said, placing the last billfold back onto the counter. He leaned over them and shook his head as he came up with a figure. "I'd give you…sixteen pounds."

"Sixteen? Any one of these would cost at least that in the stores. I've got four of 'em here and you're offerin' sixteen for the lot?"

"That's my price."

Newkirk sighed and stepped backward a bit. "Alright," he said, reaching back into his pocket. "What about this?" He pulled out the pocket watch and held it out to the pawnbroker.

The man applied his glasses before taking the watch and dangling it in front of his own face. He examined the back and chain. It wasn't an authentic gold, but it was a good imitation and the chain showed no rust. He tested the dial and held the face to his ear to listen to the ticking. When he was done, he set the watch down next to the wallets.

"For all this…" he said, waving a hand over the merchandise. "You're looking at thirty pounds."

"I want forty."

"Forty? For this? No."

"Thirty-five, then."

The pawnbroker flipped one of the wallets open and studied it again. Reaching up to scratch his neck, the man nodded, "Okay, I'll give you thirty-five."

Newkirk nodded in agreement and turned to look at the rest of the shop, leaning against the countertop while the shop owner scooped the merchandise into a small bin and began to draw up the receipt.

The shop resembled every other pawn shop he had been to before (he didn't like to use the same one multiple times in a row). Musical instruments hung across the walls and windows, everything from accordions to single zither, with a large population of brass instruments in the middle. A stand-up easel stood in the corner next to several bird cages of various sizes, one of which actually housed a green parrot. There were also several articles of clothing such as shirts, boots, kilts, and even a full Royal Air Force uniform, but Newkirk's gaze passed over these items fleetingly. He noticed that there was a large supply of cookware as well: pots, pans, cutlery and baking sheets lay across large tables, dwindling in size as they stretched closer towards the back wall.

Newkirk's eyes landed on a sewing machine in the corner. Interest piqued, he shoved against the countertop with his hip and mildly stepped forward. He bent to examine the machine. "Does this thing work?" he asked turning his head slightly towards the front counter but remaining to peer at the mechanism closely.

He heard a distant, "It sure does. And it's marked at a reasonable price too!"

Newkirk looked at the price tag. It read, "£200.00". 'Huh…reasonable price indeed.' Newkirk thought scornfully. As visions of Martin's hands working skillfully under that needle vanished, Newkirk straightened once again to a standing position and rejoined the pawnbroker at the counter.

"Here you are, thirty-five pounds…" he counted off the bills into Newkirk's hand and then placed the receipt on the top. He looked up at Newkirk and smiled, "And if you come back after I've done the developing, I'll even let you keep your photograph."

Newkirk shoved the money into the pocket of his black jacket and said, "No thanks," before turning and heading out the door.

As he walked home, Newkirk's mind drifted back to Stephanie. They were supposed to meet for another date tomorrow night. Hopefully it would go better than the last. He was determined to make it so. His talk with Marty had done a lot to encourage Newkirk, and humble him. He knew that he had been too harsh on her before. 'I really can be a prig sometimes,' he confessed to himself. Stephanie wasn't to blame for her family's fortune. And did it really matter that much? Were all the rich exactly the same? No, most likely they weren't. After all, were all the poor the same? Newkirk could attest against that. He wasn't very well off financially, but he was not morally bankrupt to match. He still had hopes and dreams. He still tried to treat people with kindness. He laughed at himself, 'At least when I'm not chewin' their 'eads off for bein' wealthy!' he chided.

But he would make it right. He would apologize for hurting Stephanie, and he would make it up to her. Angry as he was at her, it had still really affected him when he saw her crying. And he was affected once again when he saw her attacked. Something about this girl just seemed to really pull at his heart strings. He had a desire to protect her…to get to know her…to care for her the way he saw Marty and Nina care for each other. Yes, he would make this thing work, and he'd do it right.

Author's Note: In the description of the pawnshop, I mention a bird cage housing a single green parrot. That was actually a reference to the movie Paulie. I saw that movie when I was very young and loved it! The movie itself unfortunately has no connection to Hogan's Heroes, though. Until now, I guess!

Canon Inspiration for this chapter: Ironically, Newkirk's eyes passed fleetingly over the uniform he would wear for years and years during the war. And he also told the pawnbroker that he wasn't the "picture takin' type" when later, working under Hogan, Newkirk would take countless pictures of Nazi battle plans and blueprints.