Shopped – Bentley 22

 

[For back story go here: Story so far at 27 July 2020 and more recent Bentley posts.]

[Relevant back story also in embedded links.]

A small bell tinkled as the door opened and an elderly man in a dark coloured bobble hat stepped inside. A little unstable on his pins, thought Melissa, and near impossible to see the guy’s face, between the bobble hat that had been pulled down as much as was humanly possible, and the face mask. You got all sorts in this place, she thought, even before everything kicked off. Those looking for something for an occasion, browsers – fewer now of course as you really weren’t meant to touch the merchandise unless you intended to buy – and those who were clearly collectors. They knew what they wanted, rarely paid the price on the ticket and yet nonetheless wouldn’t think of leaving the shop without having bought whatever the thing was they’d found.

And so she watched this man as he carefully, slowly, possibly too carefully, followed the arrows on the floor to negotiate his way around the display cabinets, shelves and occasional small piece of furniture stationed around the shop. Dealer, thought Melissa. Although not your typical. Uncertain of choice, but clearly after something of value. Perhaps he really didn’t care what it would be – it just needed to be good enough to mark up when sold on.

The man respected the non-handling rules and instead performed a mad cap pantomime which involved craning his neck in all kinds of contortions to be able to see around every item. In addition to this, however, he was also studying various areas of the shop itself. As far as Melissa could tell it was about fifty-fifty between this man looking at the merchandise and looking at the shop. Almost as if he were looking for clues on the walls.

This was not a typical kind of customer, decided Melissa, and she was right. The man finally came to around two metres away from her cashier’s display desk and spoke.

“Does Jaguar still work here?” he asked.

“Who?”

“Jaguar. Jaggers. Mr Jaguar. Used to own this shop – or one very close to here – and some years ago – but I think he’s still around?”

“No,” said Melissa. “No one called Jaguar around here. Why are you asking?”

The man paused slightly then scrunched his eyes.

“Why are you asking me why I’m asking if you don’t know anyone called Jaguar? Seems to me you might be trying to find out who I am before you…”

Melissa made a line out of her mouth. Having breathed heavily down her nose, closed and opened her eyes she replied: “Just making conversation. Trying to be friendly. I’m sorry if that wasn’t right.”

“Do you deal in rings?”

Melissa slid out two trays from underneath the counter and placed them on the top surface.

“All we have.”

The man studied them for a while.

“That’s it?” 

Melissa did the line mouth again and thrust the trays back under the counter.

“If you don’t like them…”

“Do you know where he gets them from? Or who he sells them to if he doesn’t have any customers?”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Jaggers.”

“I’ve already told you…”

“OK, your boss then. Whoever he is. Does he sell to a supplier? Or where else do they go?”

“Firstly, I might not have a boss and secondly…“

“‘Might’,” picked up the old man. “You said ‘might’. That means you have got a boss. You wouldn’t have said ‘might’ if…”

“I might be the boss,” Melissa said firmly. “Oddly, I am not going to confirm or deny that to you because I don’t know who you are, what you want or why you’re asking. Usually, normal people come in, look at what we have, buy something and leave. Any chance of that happening here?”

Beneath the mask Melissa was sure the old man’s mouth turned down, mainly with frustration. Above the mask his eyes screwed up again with judgement and suspicion.

“Are you a fence?” he asked.

“I’m a shopkeeper,” said Melissa.

“Answer the question!” said the man.

“Leave my shop,” said Melissa.

“You can’t deny it!” said the man.

“Leave my shop,” said Melissa again.

“You’re losing a very valuable customer,” said the man. 

“It’s a risk I’m prepared to take,” said Melissa.

The man shuffled out.

Outside, the man looked back at the window and critically assessed the front of the shop. Did he recognise it? Was there somewhere else that fitted the bill better than this? He moved off down the lane shaking his head.

Once she knew he’d really gone, Melissa speed dialled on her mobile.

“Jay? It’s Melissa,” she said. “I think I just met Bentley.”