Page 50 of Grind
“Are we allowed…? I mean, Frank told me it’s not safe to go there.”
Jag waved his hand. “It’s safe if you’re with me. I’ll show you what to look out for. Frank is overcautious. The junkyard is filled with adventures if you know how to navigate it.”
Ezra hadn’t looked at the surrounding mountains of trash that way before, but Jag was like a kid about to show him his den. And that was kind of exciting. Ezra hadn’t played this way for ages, always afraid of what someone would think of him, of getting dirty, or having an unflattering picture taken.
None of those things mattered here, so after a moment of hesitation, he followed Jag into the unknown. At one point, Jag lifted an old mattress laying on its side, revealing a passage leading to a parallel path. It made Ezra feel like a kid again.
They chatted about Jag’s favorite spots to source the treasures for Frank, but while hidden away behind an old truck with rust eating up its entire side, the container that turned out to be their destination was only a short walk from Frank’s home.
The doors were locked with a padlock, but Jag climbed to the top of the container and, moments later, leapt off with a key in hand. The storage unit was open in less than a minute, and when Jag switched on the flashlight left inside, lighting up three rows of metal shelves filled with boxes and loose items alike, Ezra felt as if the ground was about to crumble under his feet. Because What. The. Fuck?
“Is that…?”
“Dane calls it Aladdin's Cave.” Jag opened the other side of the door from the inside, letting in more light, and Ezra was sure he spotted glimmers of silver and gold all around. There were also whole sets of dishes that looked antique, and even a crystal chandelier tucked into the very back of the compartment.
“Oh my god—” Ezra’s breath caught when he picked up an elongated art deco sculpture. He knew this style, because one of his former clients was a vintage car fanatic, and hood ornaments like this one could fetch quite high prices, if one knew where to sell them.
It was Aladdin’s Cave indeed.
He was so stunned by the wealth of items around him that his voice came out high in pitch. “Why didn’t Frank sell any of this?”Is he a hoarder?Came to Ezra’s mind, but he doubted Jag would understand that concept.
“He does sell things when he has the time, but usually only those he already knows the value of. Things he needs to ponder or research or fix end up here. Though sometimes he just doesn’t have the time for them at all. Which is a shame,” Jag said with a sigh, picking up a porcelain Siamese cat.
Insanity.
Yet when Ezra thought he now had a chance to help Frank out with a task that likely overwhelmed him, determination burned deep inside him like a hot coal. “Maybe if we could sell some of this, Frank would get a bit of a break? Take some time off?” Ezra mused, trying not to get overly excited about the items. He didn’t yet know their value after all. But that wasn’t something the internet and a friendly pawn shop couldn’t fix.
He’d start by cataloguing things, starting with those items he recognized as easy sells—
Ezra gasped, approaching one of the shelves so fast he almost tripped over a vintage travel chest. “That’s a Birkin. That’s a fucking Birkin bag!” he said, grabbing the elegant, nearly pristine leather bag. He needed to verify all the details, but he could swear it was a Birkin. From the golden lock to the precise stitching, everything about it screamedluxury.
Jag approached him with a smile. “And it was filled with cash when I found it sewn into an old coat, which was stuffed with a bunch of other clothes in a wardrobe someone brought here.”
Ezra stared at Jag’s satisfied smile, but he wanted to scream, because this was fucking ridiculous. Why was Frank spending his time moving rusted cars from one place to another when he could be focusing on all this? Instead of complaining though, he muttered, “You’re a great tracker. I think we need a camera.”
He’d been wrong to judge this place.He’dbeen the shortsighted one. Sure, it was filled with trash, dangerous, and dirty, but it hid all these treasures. He looked out through the door, at the piles obscuring the horizon, and instead of a trap, he saw endless possibility.
Chapter 16
Ezra
Jaghadlonggottenbored of painstakingly going through item after item. Last time Ezra checked, he’d fallen asleep in the doorway, his mouth wide open as he snored and panted between episodes of growls and mumbling, but that did not interrupt Ezra’s focus. Many of the items would need to be double-checked—some online, some by experts he could help Frank find, but there was thousands of dollars’ worth of stuff rotting away in the container, money that might help Frank renovate his home, or get a new truck.
And while he wanted to make Frank’s life easier by helping him with this, he couldn’t deny the excitement of discovering brand stamps and features the Internet promised distinguished copies from genuine articles. He could get all those things in top shape, put them up on eBay or at pawn shops. Some he might even contact physical auction houses for. He was on the cusp of something new, and the excitement it filled him with resonated in his skull, until the perusing turned almost meditative.
A yelp at the door pulled him out of his hyperfocus, and when he looked up, he saw Jag half-asleep, but already scrambling up with his pipe-spear in hand.
“Who… goes?” he muttered groggily.
“It’s just me,” Frank said, lifting his palms, but glancing over Jag’s weapon, and to Ezra.
He was kind of… elegant tonight. Sure, he had jeans on, but they were clean, not the torn ones he wore for work, and instead of a hoodie, he wore a black shirt under his favorite leather jacket. Seeing him like this made the slouch of Ezra’s sweatpants feel more prominent. He only then realized that the air had a tart tinge of his sweat, and the T-shirt surely stuck to him in places that felt damp.
“Oh, you’re... early,” Ezra said, grabbing the rain jacket and covering himself with it. He tried to always look his best around Frank, and this outfit was not it.
“Yeah, I have a surprise for you. I just wasn’t expecting to find you here.” Frank threw a glare at Jag, who just shrugged.
Ezra blinked when his eyes readjusted to facing the open door rather than well-lit items. When had it gotten dark? How long had he been here? “Frank. Sit down. This here is a real Birkin bag,” Ezra said, picking it up. “I’m ninety percent sure of it. You have so much valuable stuff in here!”
