Free Olympus Device 2: The Olympus Device Book Two by Joe Nobody Page A

That place charges me less than any of the others.”
    “Charges less?” Dusty mumbled , already having guessed the station owner took a cut. “Why don’t you use a bank?”
    The driver’s brow wrinkled, “I can’t go to a bank; I don’t have a social security number. And the banks in Mexico, they charge more to cash a U.S. check than this place.”
    Dusty thought back to the line of landscapers, construction workers and other laborers waiting patiently. There was a longer line here than at most banks , he mused. Talk about an underground economy.
    A few minutes later, Dusty was again curious, “I’m not trying to pry, but I receive the occasional check myself now and then. How much do they charge back there?”
    “It depends on the check and if they know you. The ones I just cashed were from large corporations that own the restaurants in Kemah, and I frequently cash them at the station. They took 3%, which is much less than typical. For a new customer, they will skim five or even ten percent.”
    Amazing , Dusty thought. He’d never considered where the undocumented workers banked. He filed the information away. That might become important for a man living on the dodge .
    Their route lead into an even denser cityscape, and before long the driver again slowed the truck. He pointed toward the motorcycle helmet resting on the floorboard. “I found this today. I think it has value. I’m going to see if this pawn broker will buy it from me.”
    They parked at the Frontier Pawn and Jewelry, the motorist wasting no time heading inside. Before following, Dusty took a moment and studied the nearby businesses, trying to memorize the landscape in case he had to make a hasty departure. There was a low-end hotel nearby. That’s probably where he’d end up tonight. He also noted what stores and restaurants were close, as he would have to walk for food or any other supplies required. He didn’t really know how long he’d be staying.
    When he realized what he was doing, Dusty had to chuckle. “What interesting habits an outlaw develops,” he whispered to the evening air. “I might actually get good at this living on the run.”
    He turned and entered the pawnshop, thinking a used laptop computer might help him become acclimated to his new surroundings a little quicker. “Gotta love the internet,” he whispered.
    T he swarthy, muscular man behind the counter was still consuming his fast food drive-thru hamburger, casting the occasional semi-uninterested glance at the motorcycle helmet the farmer was holding up. Dusty closed the front door, noting the heavy iron bars that secured both the front windows and the doorframe. After glancing around for a few moments, Dusty wondered about the security arrangement.
    The fortress-like exterior was an obvious attempt to protect the valuables stored within from burglars and nighttime thieves. The problem for Dusty was he couldn’t figure out exactly why anyone would bother breaking into the place.
    Row after row of what appeared to be yard-sale merchandise filled his vision. The assortment included power tools that were well past their prime, rusted wrenches and a shelf of televisions that looked like they had been manufactured in the 1960s. The early 1960s.
    “Looking for something specific?” The counterman asked , obviously not that interested in the helmet – or at least trying not to act as if he were.
    “I need a laptop computer,” the gunsmith replied. “Nothing fancy, but it has to have wireless communication and a reasonable screen.”
    Without moving anything but his head, the man indicated Dusty should look along the south wall of the store. He then returned to examining the farmer’s windfall merchandise.
    Sure enough, there were several computers displayed in the far corner, some of them looking to be in reasonable condition.
    He heard the pawnbroker offer $20 for the helmet. The old man seemed happ y to accept. After receiving his money, the farmer approached