Simone paused, mulling over her response. His subdued demeanor reminded her of clients who came in to her office, seeking help, but she was reluctant to assume the role of therapist with a man who had kidnapped her and her daughter-and who had attempted to rape her barely a half hour ago. Psychotherapy worked by the therapist establishing a dialogue that helped the client develop expanded awareness of irrational and harmful patterns of feeling, perception, and behavior, and for that breakthrough to occur, the therapist herself needed to have an open mind and spirit, but she had no interest whatsoever in helping Leon become more aware of anything. If she had the weapon and opportunity, in fact, she very well might have killed him.
But this could be a chance to establish a rapport with him that she could turn to her advantage. His mother, she believed, was his Achilles’ heel.
She said, “Your mother beat you because she said you were like your daddy? That doesn’t sound fair at all to me.”
Grunting, he twisted around and hiked up the back of his shirt, exposing his lean, muscled back. There were faint, dark, dime-sized marks scattered across his flesh, from the small of his back all the way up to and across his shoulder blades.
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “She did these with her cigarettes when I was a too small to fight back. Pinned me to the bed and branded me with her Newports.”
“That’s terrible, Leon.”
“Mean, crazy bitch.” Sneering, he flipped his shirt down. “Like it was my fault that I reminded her of my old man.”
“What was your father like?”
He shifted to face her. He tapped a cigarette out of a pack, lit it. He offered one to her, and she declined.
He blew out a wisp of smoke, gazed at the ceiling. “Daddy was a small-time hustler, he sold whatever was hot-jewelry, TVs, phones, whatever-bounced around from the joint to our crib or some other woman’s crib, whoever he was messing around on her with at the time. Didn’t help her with me or my little sister. He was a real positive role model. You know I’m named after him?”
“Is that so? I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, they left that out of my profile. Sort of pisses me off, but I don’t know why it does, ’cause my old man’s been dead for ten years, and when he was alive I hardly ever talked to him anyway.”
“What profile are you referring to, Leon?”
“Damn, C-Note’s really kept you in the woods, hasn’t he?” He squinted at her through the haze of smoke. “I’m on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted Fugitives list. Got featured on the TV show, post offices, the whole nine. You’re looking at a celebrity, baby girl.”
Her heartbeat skipped. She wondered if he was lying, but the pride in his voice led her to believe that he was probably telling the truth.
Jesus. Had Corey known this earlier and not said anything to her? Why would he have kept it secret?
“You’ve overheard some of my chats with your hubby,” Leon said. “You’ve gotta know by now that he’s got some skeletons buried twenty thousand leagues deep. You aren’t that stupid.”
She had come to that conclusion, but she didn’t see the point of discussing it with Leon. Later, when the time was right, she would have a very frank conversation with Corey about his past with this man.
“You said your father is deceased,” she said. “How about your mother?”
“She’s dead,” he said flatly. “She OD’d twenty-some years ago, she was a heroin addict, used some bad shit that got her sent to Sheol for good. There won’t be any kissing and making up in this lifetime.”
“Growing up with an abusive parent can be difficult on a child,” she said. “So often, the child questions what he did to deserve such treatment. He worries that it’s his fault.”
“What if it is?” He stared at her. “Maybe he isn’t worth shit, like she told him every day. Maybe he was born bad.”
“Children aren’t born bad, Leon.”
“No?” He smiled. “I was six when I stole something for the first time. There was this mom-and-pop store on the corner where my mama would always send me to get her smokes. This one day, I got it in my head that I was going to steal a pack of Twinkies. You remember Twinkies?”
“I remember them. I used to love them until I found out how quickly they can add on the pounds.”
He gave her a small smile. “So I put like three packs of them under my shirt, right? I go up to the register to get my mama’s cigarettes, and they fall out of my shirt, right in front of the Pakistani guy who owned the place. He tossed me out of there on my ear and told my old man what I did-this was one of those times when my dad was living with us.”
“How did your dad respond?”
“Daddy wore my ass out with a clothes hanger. Told me, ‘The next time you try to steal something, Junior, your black ass better not get caught!’”
Leon laughed so hard that tears squirted from his eyes. Simone offered a thin smile.
“That’s quite a story,” she said.
“I’ve got a million of them.” He took a scrap of paper out of his pocket, folded it into a tiny bowl, and tapped ashes into it. “You’re a good listener. I dig that.”
“It’s easy to listen to someone who has so many interesting things to say.”
The moment the words left her mouth, she feared might have gone over the line and come across as insincere, but he winked at her.
“Flattery will get you everywhere with an important man like me. I’ve got a lot of charm, a ton of smarts, to have been born bad, don’t you think?”
“For the record, I don’t believe you were born bad,” she said. “I believe your environment played a major factor in the choices you’ve made. If a child is constantly told that he’s a bad seed, and punished for it, it’s often inevitable that he’ll grow to make decisions that reflect those low expectations. Children are like blank tablets-we can write anything on them that we wish.”
Leon was nodding. “Like blank tablets, huh? So I had the misfortune to have some fucked up shit written on me, then?”
“But those words that were written so long ago can sometimes be revised, if you will.”
“Revised? We’re sort of like works in progress, I take it. Like the novel I’ve been working on for the past ten years.”
“All of us are like that, yes,” she said, convinced that she had actually gotten through to him on a meaningful level. “None of us are irredeemable, with the possible exception of those suffering from severe mental illness, and even they can be assisted to some degree with proper therapy and perhaps medication.”
“Like my partner, Billy.” He tapped ash into the paper tray and snickered. “Let me tell you, that dude needs serious therapy and meds.”
At the thought of his pervert accomplice in the bedroom with Jada, Simone’s jaw tightened.
Leon blinked at her distress. “Oh, hey, sorry about that. Your little munchkin’s fine. I’m serious, Billy won’t touch her, he won’t dare cross me.”
“I thought Corey was going to pay you the money and we’d go free. Why are we still here?”
Anger twitched across his face, and she regretted that she’d asked the question.
“Why don’t we ask Corey?” Leon said. He checked his watch, and flipped out his cell phone. “It’s about time I tell him the rules have changed.”
42
With a new vehicle and a wallet of cash, Corey was back on the road.
His first priority was to eat. He’d eaten nothing all day, and though Otis had offered him dinner, he’d thought himself too nervous to hold anything down; besides, he didn’t want to loiter too long at Otis’s place and risk bringing the cops to his door.
But he had to eat something, unsettled stomach or not. If he didn’t get food in him soon, he was going to spin off the wave of adrenaline that had been keeping him going since that morning, and he’d be useless when the next development-and something was going to happen soon, of that he had no doubt-came down the pike.
He found a Chick-fil-A r
estaurant on Camp Creek Parkway, not far from Otis’s place. Staring at the drive-through menu, he thought wistfully about what Simone and Jada had liked to order on those rare occasions when they dined there. Emotion clogged his throat.
It’s not as if they’re dead, he reminded himself.
He bought two chicken sandwiches, a large order of waffle fries, and the biggest Coke they had. He didn’t know when he might have the willingness or chance to eat again.
He parked in the corner of the lot farthest from the building, front end angled toward the nearby exit, in case a cop got too curious and he had to peel out of there. Although the FBI might not have forwarded his description to every police department in metro Atlanta, he saw no reason to take risks. At a time like this, a healthy dose of paranoia was necessary.
The interior of Otis’s truck was as scrupulously clean as his house. Corey opened the bag of food and began to eat, taking extra care not to spill anything on the seats or floor.
The cell phone rang, and at the almost same time, his BlackBerry hummed. Startled, he dropped a handful of fries onto the floor. He swore softly and went for the cell phone.
“Yeah?” he said.
“You’ve got quite a lady here,” Leon said. He spoke slower, softer, and Corey figured that he was in a temporary down phase. Back when they would hang together, Leon’s hyperactivity often would be followed by prolonged periods when he would do little more than sleep and lounge around aimlessly, as if he were a kid crashing from a sugar rush. “We’ve been having ourselves a nice little chitchat.”
That meant Simone was safe. Thank God.
“How’s my daughter?” Corey asked.
“The munchkin’s all good. She’s in dreamland.”
Corey exhaled, dared to relax. “Listen, Leon about what happened at the mall-I had no idea the FBI would be there. I never called them.”
“You never spoke to them?”
Corey spoke in a rush. “They came by my house this morning. I had to talk to them-someone ID’d you at the bar last night, when you threw the beer against the wall. They had my name from the credit card receipt. But I promise you, I didn’t tell them that you had my family, and I didn’t tell them about the drop-off. I lied and said I didn’t know where you were, but I guess they didn’t believe me, because obviously they tailed me to the mall.”
“Well, that’s neither here nor there, is it?” Leon’s voice was hushed, almost a whisper. “Still can’t believe you haven’t told the wifey here anything about our illustrious history. Don’t think she appreciates being kept in the dark.”
Corey’s grip on the phone tightened. “I had my reasons.”
“Why don’t you give her those reasons?”
Corey heard a fumbling of the phone, and then Simone came on the line.
“Hey, baby,” she said wearily.
“God, it’s so good to hear your voice,” he said. “How’re you doing?”
“Remember when Jada was stung by a bee?”
He frowned, wondering where this was going. “Yeah, I remember. That was last fall, wasn’t it?”
“That’s how I am right now. That’s how Jada is, too.”
There was something about Simone’s voice. . something artificial that made him suspect there was a different meaning she was hinting toward. He had spoken to Simone every day for over ten years, and whenever he asked her how she was doing, she answered directly, with I’m great or I’m doing okay, or not so hot.
Remember when Jada was stung by a bee? That’s how I am right now. That’s how Jada is, too.
What was she trying to say?
He wanted to ask her to clarify, but if she was being cryptic, it was because she was worried about tipping off Leon. He would have to puzzle over her words on his own.
“Got it,” he said. “Have you seen Jada?”
“No,” she said, with a disappointed sigh. “But he tells me she’s okay.”
“I’m going to bring you and Pumpkin home. I just need you to hang on a little longer. We’re going to get through this.”
“I’m trying, baby, I’m really trying.”
He had never heard her so exhausted and discouraged. She was hanging on, but by the thinnest of threads.
“I can’t begin to explain how sorry I am for not telling you everything,” he said. “I. . I. .”
He couldn’t go on. His tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth.
“Explain later,” she said. “Just bring us home.”
“I will. I mean it.”
Leon came back on the line. “Which gives us a perfect segue to the main purpose of this conversation. The rules of the road have officially changed.”
Corey tensed. “What’re you talking about?”
“You screwed up big-time at the mall. For my inconvenience and emotional distress, I’ve decided that I want more money.”
“W-what?”
“I want a million dollars.”
“You want a million dollars,” Corey said, numb.
“That’s a one, followed by six zeroes.”
Corey pressed his hand to his sweaty forehead and stared out the rain-streaked windshield. Cars crawled through the drive-through line, people grabbing a fast dinner on a weeknight, single people on cell phones, mothers with kids bopping in the seats, families in SUVs.
He had never felt more isolated from the flow of ordinary life-and had never wanted it back so badly, high-calorie fast food with his wife and daughter and driving home to watch TV and carouse on the sofa, the whole thing. He’d never craved such simple things so desperately.
“Hello?” Leon was saying. “Earth to C-Note?”
“Yeah?”
“A million dollars,” Leon said. “You’ve got until this Friday morning at ten.”
“You want more money than you demanded before, and you’re giving me less time to get it.”
“Those are the new rules, amigo.”
“Listen, you’re crazy. I can’t do it.”
“I’ll pass that on to your little munchkin. I’ll tell her that daddy gave up on her and mommy before I shoot her in the head.”
“No,” Corey said.
“Then find a way to make it happen.”
“I can’t withdraw ten measly dollars from my account without the FBI knowing about it, Leon. Even if I had a million bucks-and I don’t-I couldn’t get it to you. They’re on to me now.”
“You’ll work it out,” Leon said with maddening calmness. “You don’t have a choice any more.”
Leon hung up. Corey slammed the phone onto the passenger seat.
A million dollars by Friday morning. It was totally impossible. Was Leon lying around picking outrageous sums of money out of the air? Where the hell was he getting this stuff from?
Sitting there, sweating and fuming, he remembered that his BlackBerry had vibrated. He checked it.
Todd had sent him a text message.
Can meet at 9pm 2 chat. 8126 Industrial Blvd,
Covington.
Park in back. Watch out for feds.
See U there.
“You can bet your ass I’ll be there,” Corey said, and hoped that he and Todd, together, could find a way out of these suddenly darker woods.
43
Back in his trailer, Ed popped the tab on his third can of lukewarm beer and chugged half of it in a couple of gulps. He let out a loud burp as he slumped on the tattered La-Z-Boy, a spot from which he hadn’t budged in over an hour.
Three beers in, a warm haze had settled over him, dulling the edge of his fear. He could not remember the last time he’d been so frightened. Probably, it had been during the war, when he’d seen many terrifying things, most of which, gratefully, had faded into the mists of memory.
The small hand at the window had sent him scrambling through the woods, around the lake, and into the security of his trailer, the dogs on his heels, yapping.
Ghost, he kept thinking, pulse pounding. I saw a ghost.
Or was it really a ghost? What
if it had been something else?
Like a child, kept prisoner in the room by Them?
He wasn’t sure.
Over a dozen canines swarmed around his recliner, wriggled between and beneath his legs, crawled into his lap, licked at the can in his hand, poked his face with their cold snouts. As he had lately, he scarcely noticed them, which made them vie even more enthusiastically for his affection.
Staring ahead into nothing, he rolled the questions over and over in his mind.
The problem with the ghost theory was that he had never seen a ghost before. He was sixty years old. If ghosts existed, and maybe they did, he figured he would have seen one before this.
Anyway, how had the dog sensed it? The black Lab had known before he had that something was at the window. Could dogs see ghosts, too?
That was why thinking it was a ghost troubled him. It stirred up more questions than it answered.
But a child, imprisoned by Them? That was an idea he could sink his teeth into.
The mysterious figures in the van could have kidnapped the child. They could be keeping the kid in the room. Why else would bars have been on the window?
He had been certain before that They had abducted dogs and were doing terrible things to them in the house. Why not a child? They were monsters, an evil race, and preyed on the innocent and helpless, which included canines and children alike.
He thought about his little girl with her long, silken hair, her smile like the sun. He could visualize her face, but he could not recall her name. He took a sip of beer, as if to lubricate his thoughts, but her name skipped around the edges of his mind, teasingly out of reach.
He groaned in frustration and flung the beer across the room. It clattered against the oak-paneled wall, foam spraying, and landed on the threadbare carpet. Several of the dogs immediately battled for possession of the can, snarling and barking.
Blinking groggily, he struggled off the chair and shuffled into his bedroom, the beers he’d drunk making him amble slower and more carefully than usual. The binoculars still hung around his neck. He fumbled them to his eyes and peered out the window.
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