The Rolex was worth at least £20,000. It was a fucking Rolex after all, and she badly  needed £2,000. Vicky pushed  it over to the pawnbroker. 

‘Give you £20 quid.’ He looked bored.

‘What do you mean? You having a fucking laugh?’ Vicky’s agitation was evident, bouncing from one foot to the other, she leaned forward and  snarled in his face, ‘What’s your game?’  

The pawnbroker had seen it all before. ‘Told you it was real did he?’

‘Bastard!’ Vicky kicked the counter twice, imaging with each blow it was  Desmond’s crown jewels she was hitting. Lucky for him he was on remand. 

The pawnbroker tossed it back at her. ‘My best offer.’

What the fuck was she going to do? Her probation officer explained, this was her last chance. She needed her car to get to work and the garage wanted £2,000 for the repairs.

‘Look I don’t want to do this but…’ She reached inside her Chanel bag, another gift  from Desmond! 

She pulled out a small revolver; remembering it was his parting gift before the cops arrived.

The shutters suddenly clattered down.

‘What the hell!’  She looked on indignantly. ‘Call yourself a fucking pawnbroker. How much for this and the Rolex?’