Page 66 of The Kat Bunglar

Khatira rolled her eyes in aggravation as she lightly pressed her fingers against one of the display cases, casually gazing at the diamond rings. “Relax buddy, you dialed a number, you didn’t solve world hunger.”

Hal stuck a toothpick in his mouth and coyly tucked his greying hair behind his ears. “We uh, ever gonna go on that coffee date you promised?”

Khatira was careful to suppress the shudder of revulsion that wanted to make its way through her body. “Well, that all depends on what I can offload my goods for, right?” she said lightly with that practiced smile of hers.

Hal blinked slowly at Khatira’s practiced charm. When shone directly on a person, it could be quite disarming. Hal nodded and stumbled his way back to the storage room. Returning with the two small duffel bags, he unzipped them both and whistled at the contents. “You got the motherload, didn’t ya?”

Khatira nodded. “The jewels, cufflinks, and luxury watches just happened to make their way into these specific bags. Go figure, huh?”

Hal chuckled. “Go figure. How much you want for the lot?”

“Sixty grand.” Khatira knew what every stone was worth and what she was worth.

Hal laughed. “Nice try, how about forty?”

“Fifty-five,” Khatira countered.

“Fifty. Final offer,” Hal said.

“Deal!” Khatira agreed triumphantly.

Hal knew in that split second that he was the one who had been played like a fine fiddle, but instead of being upset, he shook his head in admiration of her gumption. As he unlocked a hidden drawer underneath the cash register to count out the cash, Khatira continued to look at the rings on display.

“Did Joseph ever sell you an emerald ring set with an Urdu inscription?” Her tone was casual, but the flicker of urgency in her eyes was hard to miss.

“Not that I remember. You got a picture of it?”

Khatira studied Hal for a moment, then pulled her phone out of her oversized hoodie. She opened the photo—clear, sharp, and unmistakable: the emerald ring Laila had been wearing. The inscription was faint but distinct, an elegant Urdu phrase etched into the band. She slid the phone across the counter to Hal.

Hal took the phone, his brow furrowing as he examined the ring. “Nice piece,” he said, eyeing the details. “Where’d you get it?”

She didn’t flinch. “Doesn’t matter. I need you to track it down. Not just here, but everywhere.”

Hal raised an eyebrow, leaning back against his shelves. “Track it down? That’s a lot of calls, a lot of work. I can’t just shine a Bat Signal over to the other pawnshops, ya know?”

Khatira gave him a tight, amused smile. “I’m sure you’ve got the connections. Just... consider this a favor for me. And when you find it, we’ll talk about that coffee date. Maybe.”

Hal chuckled but took a picture of the ring set for his records. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”

Khatira didn’t respond immediately. She let her gaze fall on the rows upon rows of gleaming jewelry around her, her finger encircling the Virginia Woolf quote in her back pocket. She had made a copy of Laila’s favorite quote and kept it on her at all times. It made her feel closer to Laila.

She whispered the words slowly back to herself. “I am made and remade continually—” Before she could finish the quote, Hal’s phone vibrated loudly from his pocket. He fumbled for it, swiping the screen as he scanned the notification. His eyes widened slightly as he leaned forward, looking at the message.

“Hold up,” Hal said, glancing back up at her. “You won’t believe this.”

Khatira paused, her heart quickening. “What?”

He held up his phone, showing her the screen. “That ring? Just popped up in the inventory of a pawnshop over in Culver City. Same description, same damn inscription.”

Khatira’s breath caught. “Are you serious?”

Khatira stepped back from the counter, taking a long look at Hal as he dialed the pawnshop’s number.

Khatira’s voice was calm but insistent. “What’s the name of the shop?”

Hal glanced up from the phone, raising an eyebrow. “Culver Pawn and Jewelers. Big place. Been around for years. They just updated their inventory—seems like a high-roller kinda shop.”

Khatira’s pulse quickened. “Culver Pawn.” She filed it away in her mind.

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