The men spun. Pedro pumped the shotgun once. The sound echoed like a final punctuation.
On Thursday night, the pawn shop’s back door was jimmied open. Three men in black ski masks swept through, flashlights slicing the dark. Pedro watched from the mezzanine, a sawed-off resting on the railing. They tore apart the fire extinguisher. Found nothing. They tore apart the cash register. Nothing. scarface pedro 39-s pawn shop bug
Pedro turned it over. The wood veneer was peeling, the dial cracked. But underneath, his fingers found something odd—a second, newer screw where an old brass one should be. He smiled with half his mouth. The men spun