Quicksand Page #4

Can I do anything for you, sir?

Are you Dan Brady?

Yeah.

I'm Moriarity.

California Investigation Service.

You bought a watch yesterday

at Jay's Jewelers, didn't you?

Yeah, I did.

And took it straight to Uncle John's

and hocked it.

What if I did?

Don't play dumb. Why would you buy

a watch for a hundred dollars

and hock it the same day for thirty?

Well, I...

Because you don't intend

to pay the hundred. That's why.

Wait a minute.

Don't holler before you're hurt.

I signed up to pay that thing

ten bucks a month and when the month's

up, I'll pay them the ten bucks.

No, you won't.

Because Jay Jewelers don't think you're

going to be here when the month's up.

They think you're going to skip town.

So you'll pay up now or Jay's going to

swear out a warrant.

Warrant?

Warrant for what?

I'll give it to you in words

of one syllable, my friend.

When you buy something on the

installment plan you sign what they call

a conditional sales contract.

Yeah?

This contract says that the watch

the radio or the easy chair

don't belong to you till

you make your last payment.

It says that if you sell,

mortgage or hock

something you don't own yet,

you're guilty of larceny.

And a hundred dollar watch

is grand larceny.

That's three years in the penitentiary

in this state.

You're kidding me, aren't you?

Kidding? Me?

Not on your life.

You signed a contract like this,

didn't you?

Yeah.

Read what it says right there.

Debt is payable...

Within 24 hours

or charges will be brought.

Look, I...

I can't get a hold of a hundred bucks

just like that right away.

Well, you better dig it up somewhere.

Because if you don't pay it by noon

tomorrow, a little man's

going to call on you with a big warrant.

That's all, brother.

Till noon tomorrow.

Hey, Chuck.

- Yeah?

What does a guy do when he

needs lots of dough?

Me, I usually hock my watch.

That's a great idea.

Maybe I can get some dough on my jalopy.

I wonder how much

they'll give me for it.

No dice. What good is

three hundred bucks?

I still owe the finance company

three fifty.

By half past eight I'd tried everything

I could think of

and I still hadn't raised

a hundred dollars.

I hadn't raised a buck and a quarter.

So I threw in the towel and headed

for Phil's Place.

To knock off a couple of beers.

The longer I sat on that silly stool,

the more I felt like slugging somebody.

I could've socked old man Mackey

for being so tight.

Or the guy in the jewelry store

for sending Moriarity after me.

Or the fellow standing

next to me at the bar.

Because he had money in his pocket

and I didn't.

How much do I owe you, Philly?

Three sixty, Shorty.

OK. I gotta get home

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