“You aren’t running the show,” Leon said with a snarl. He glanced at Billy. “Billy, get the gun away from this bitch. She was going to kill me.”
The huge man turned on Simone. His enormous chest swelled, making him appear even more gigantic, and his nostrils flared.
Simone backpedaled a few steps, hands trembling on the gun. “I only want my daughter. I’ll go find her myself. Just let me leave.”
“Get her, Billy!” Leon said, like a dog handler unleashing a killer canine on a trespasser.
Billy charged her. He spread his tremendous arms and roared, saliva spraying from his mouth.
Screaming, she pulled the trigger. The gun’s booming report hurt her ears, the recoil snapping through her already sore wrists.
A bloody wound appeared in Billy’s abdomen, and pain seared his face, but he kept coming, implacable. Backing up fast, she squeezed the trigger again, at point blank range, and a round punched into his chest.
But he kept coming, and before she could get off another shot, he crashed into her.
It was like being hit by a bus. She slammed against the wall, struck her head against the plaster. Bright stars wheeled in her vision.
In the back of her mind, she realized the collision had knocked the gun out of her hands.
Groaning, Billy collapsed to the floor. She crumpled on top of him. Dizzy with pain, out of breath, she rolled away from his body. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. She blinked, pushing the stars out of her eyes.
Baby, I’ve got to get my baby.
She crawled toward where she thought she had dropped the gun.
But Leon had already picked it up. He towered over her.
“Slut bitch,” he said.
He kicked her in the ribs. The tip of his shoe felt like an ax blade. She screeched and curled into a ball, folding her body around the agony.
In her pain, she could only think that she’d had her opportunity to save her baby, and she had lost it. Tears flooded her eyes.
Leon strolled to where Billy lay sprawled on the floor. The big man’s T-shirt was saturated with blood, slow, ragged breaths bellowing out of him.
“Gut shot,” Leon said blandly. “Helluva way to go. Thanks for your loyal service, amigo.”
He shot Billy in the head, and the giant’s breathing ceased forever.
The bedroom door was open, but Simone was too afraid to move. She lay contorted in fetal position, pain swelling across her rib cage with each breath she took.
Leon knelt beside her. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and wrenched her tear-streaked face upward. His eyes smoked.
“If I killed my partner, you should know damn well that I’ll kill you and your little munchkin.” He roughly shook her head. “Don’t ever test me again.”
She wept. “We’ve gotta find. . my baby. .”
Leon suddenly looked away from her. With a grunt, he released her hair as if she were an afterthought.
“Sounds like we’ve got company,” he said.
66
As Corey prepared in the car, a series of muffled blasts, like gunfire, issued from inside the home that he had figured for the safe house, removing any lingering doubt about where his family was being held. There were two shots in quick succession, followed shortly thereafter by a third.
Ice spun through his blood. What the hell was going on in there?
He dropped his BlackBerry and the other cell phone on the Oldsmobile’s passenger seat. He had no use for either of them any more, and he wanted to be as light and flexible as possible. He peeled out of his jacket, too.
Then he hooked the sheathed knife to his belt loop, grabbed the flashlight, and opened the door, wincing when it squawked. It was so damned loud he prayed no one heard it. He carefully nudged the door half-shut.
He hurried along the side of the road. As he neared the house, the muddy tire tracks grew more distinct. They looked fresh, as they would have if a vehicle had been traveling in and out of the garage all day.
There was a Palladian window above the front doorway. Although the moon glow could have been fooling him, he thought he saw faint light inside. No light escaped the front windows, however.
He switched on the flashlight. Hooding the beam with his hand, he played it across the bottom of the front windows.
A black bed sheet appeared to be hanging inside, covering the glass.
He cut off the flashlight, heart thudding hard and slow.
There was no easy way to do this. Simone had said Jada was being kept in a separate area. Both Leon and his huge partner would be armed.
But with the recent gunfire, it was anyone’s guess what the situation might be in there. His only advantage was the advantage of surprise. Leon would not be expecting him. If he swept in fast and furious, cutting and slashing, maybe he could take control.
It was a half-baked plan, and made him realize, as Agent Falco had told him, how completely out of his depth he was. The FBI employed entire teams of trained specialists to handle these situations. Here he was, a man alone armed with a knife, and he was about to do something that a reasonable person would have considered suicidal.
But this was his responsibility, his family. He could no more have turned away from this than he could have refused to draw his next breath.
He clipped the flashlight to his belt, and withdrew the knife.
He approached the front door, turned the knob. Unlocked. He pushed the door open. Since the hinges were new, they didn’t squeak.
He moved inside, gently closed the door behind him.
The house was as still as a mausoleum. The cool air smelled of drywall, sawdust, paint, and faintly, of acrid gun smoke.
Clasping the knife, he looked around. There was an unfurnished living room on his right. The entry hall led past an empty dining room on the left, and beyond that, into a great room, and kitchen.
A small lantern glowed in the kitchen. He saw a plastic folding chair and a big blue Igloo cooler on the floor. But no one was in there.
A carpeted staircase on his right ascended to a darkened second level. Past the staircase, on the right, light slanted from another hallway.
He edged forward, past the stairs. The hallway terminated at a partly open door. The light came from inside.
The stink of gun powder was stronger over here, too.
He noticed that a thick block of wood lay beside the door, and bent nails bristled from both sides of the door frame. The hinges were mounted on the outside of the frame, limiting the door to opening outward, not inward, as would have been normal for a bedroom. If the slab of wood were placed between the nails, it would have proven a crude but effective barrier to contain someone attempting to break the door down from inside.
Simone or Jada would’ve been held in that room. But where was Leon? Where was his partner? Who had gotten shot?
He swallowed. Please, God, let Simone and Jada be unharmed and alive. Please don’t let me too late to help them. Please.
Gripping the knife in one hand, he pulled the door open with the other.
Head hanging low, hair disheveled, Simone slumped in a chair in the center of the room, hands bound behind her. He thought she was dead, thought he was too late, but he realized her shoulders were rising and falling. She was breathing. Alive.
He gasped. “Simone. . sweet Jesus.”
She looked up, saw him. Her face was puffy and bruised, and her eyes flew wide with alarm. “Baby, run!”
Before he could react, a gun materialized from the shadows beside the doorway and pressed against his skull, the muzzle warm and oily.
Welcome to the soiree, motherfucker,” Leon said.
Part Five
67
Gun pressed against Corey’s head, Leon ordered him to drop the knife. Corey reluctantly let the blade clatter to the hardwood floor. Leon kicked it away and moved in front of Corey. He grinned, twirling the pistol in his fingers like a Wild West gunslinger.
Corey stared at him. Leon had undergone a
stunning makeover. He’d shaved off the mad prophet beard, and the long dreadlocks were gone. Gone, too, were the dingy denim overalls. He was dressed, of all things, like a security guard or cop.
No wonder he hadn’t ID’d Leon at the botched ransom drop at the mall. He’d been looking for someone else entirely.
See? That’s why you should’ve called in the FBI, a smart aleck voice in the back of his mind chastened. You’re nothing but an amateur. Leon’s a pro at this.
There was a hideous purple-black bruise on Leon’s temple, and Corey wondered what had caused it. He suspected Simone. Good for her, if so.
“Put those hands up, kiddo,” Leon said.
Corey complied. “Listen, Leon, you don’t have to hurt anyone. I didn’t call the cops.”
“I know you didn’t,” Leon said, and before Corey could protect himself, he slammed a crushing fist into Corey’s stomach.
Corey doubled over, grunted. Agony boiled in his midsection and spread like fire through his extremities. Hugging himself, he sank to his knees.
Through teary eyes, he saw Simone. Anguish twisted her face, as if the painful blow echoed through her own body.
“My main man, C-Note.” The gun holstered on his hip, Leon circled Corey like a prizefighter scoping out his next punch. “Not calling Johnny Nabb I understand, but I simply can’t believe you would show up to go mano-a-mano with moi with anything less than a bazooka. I’m downright offended at your insouciance. Did you forget all the lessons I taught you, grasshopper?”
Corey wheezed. “Fuck you.”
Leon slugged him in the kidney. Corey choked on a scream and dropped to the hardwood. It felt as if a sharp, hot knife had been plunged into his side.
Got to take control, he thought, but saw no way at all to turn the tables. He was unarmed, Leon had a gun, and Simone was subdued, too.
Leon massaged his fist. “You probably should’ve called in the cavalry, homeboy. Corporate life’s made you soft as the Pillsbury Doughboy, street smarts all shot to hell.”
Corey moaned, started to get up. Leon charged him, bringing back his leg for a kick. Corey spun away, and Leon’s foot caught him in the ribs like a steel spike, sending him collapsing back to the floor.
Corey writhed in pain. In his peripheral vision, he noticed a large figure sprawled on the other side of the room, concealed in darkness. The body was as motionless as a piece of furniture-and it looked vaguely like Leon’s pervert partner.
Dimly, he wondered if that explained the three gunshots he’d heard. What had happened here?
“I don’t know how you found us,” Leon said, pacing around Corey. “But it doesn’t matter, I’m going to ring my buddy, the Todder, let him know you’re here, and we’ll clean up this icky-sticky situation.”
“The Todder?” Simone said, frowning. “You mean, Todd? Todd Gates?”
With effort, Corey raised his head and caught Simone’s gaze. “Todd and Leon. . they’re working together. . Todd planned all this. . to try to force me to sell my share of. . the business.”
“Oh, come on now, he didn’t plan all of it,” Leon said. “Give the wunderkind here some credit. I added a few brilliant flourishes, and hell, I did all of the dirty work, all the wet work. Kenny Rogers didn’t want to risk ruining his French manicure.”
“Todd?” Simone was shaking her head in disbelief. “They put us through all of this. . to make us sell the business?”
“So Todd could have. . gambling money,” Corey said. Wincing, he got to his knees and glowered at Leon. “Where’s my daughter?”
Leon shrugged. “That, old chum, is the most urgent matter at hand. It appears that the little munchkin has vanished, and it looks like I’m going to have to go find the little deaf bitch. I should have put a cowbell around her neck or something, I don’t have time for this bullshit.”
Corey looked from Leon to Simone, blinking stupidly. “Jada’s gone?”
“I’m sorry,” Simone said, glassy-eyed. “I. . I tried to get to her.”
Leon read his watch. “Hasn’t been too long since she slipped the scene, those Oompa-Loompa legs of hers can’t have carried her very far.”
Corey thought about his little girl wandering at night in an unfamiliar area, scared, alone, and unable to hear without her speech processor. Fear seized his heart.
“I’ll go look for her with you,” Corey said, and Simone nodded at the suggestion. “She’ll come to me. She’ll only run away from you.”
“She runs from me, I’ll shoot her,” Leon said, matter of factly.
“Damn it, listen to me,” Corey said, “I have to go with you, man.”
Leon drew the Glock and leveled it in Corey’s face. Corey felt his bowels turn to water.
“Get down on the floor,” Leon said. “On your stomach.”
“Leon, be reasonable-”
“On the floor!” Leon aimed the pistol dead-center at Corey’s head, and his finger twitched on the trigger. “Now!”
“All right, all right, calm down.”
Corey lowered to the floor, face turned sideways. He clenched his hands into fists. There had to be something he could do. . how could he have suffered through so much only to get here and allow Leon to push him around and keep control of his family?
As he strained to think of a plan, Leon went behind Simone’s chair and unlocked her handcuffs.
“Now you, baby girl, you’ll lie beside your hubby over here, put your feet near his head, don’t make me tell you twice, don’t test me, you know by now I’m not to be trifled with.”
Grimacing in pain, moving slowly, Simone stretched out beside Corey, her sneakers near his face. Leon swaggered over to them, swinging the cuffs.
“What the hell are you doing?” Corey asked.
“Being creative with limited resources.” Snickering, Leon grabbed Corey’s right arm and secured one steel ring around his wrist. He snapped the other cuff on Simone’s right ankle.
Corey lifted his arm, but could raise it only a couple of inches without disturbing Simone’s leg. Likewise, if Simone attempted to get to her feet and walk, she would have to drag Corey along by his arm-and she seemed to be in such a bad way that merely walking on her own, unencumbered by any extra weight, would be a challenge.
Leon stood over them, arms crossed over his chest, admiring his handiwork. “If I’d known you’d be joining us, C-Note, I would have bought another pair of handcuffs, but this ought to keep the two of you in situ while I go collect the little one. If the Todder gets here before I return, I trust you’ll keep him entertained. Au revoir.”
“Hey, don’t leave us in here!” Corey yelled.
Leon picked up the knife and started to the door.
“You bastard!” Simone screamed. “Come back!”
Corey shouted at him again, too, but the only answer they received was the heavy thud of the wood block sliding into place, trapping them inside.
68
Jada had never seen so many dogs in her life.
She sat at a rickety table in Shaggy Man’s tiny kitchen. A lantern stood in the middle of the table, showering the room with light that showed tons of crusty cans, other pieces of trash, and wriggling bugs that made her skin crawl.
And so many dogs. The dogs were everywhere.
As she’d cried and struggled, Shaggy Man had carried her through the woods, around a lake, and into his trailer home near the water. She had told him that she and Mom were in big trouble. She had pointed at the house she had escaped from. She had asked him to help, please.
But he didn’t seem to understand anything she said.
He would speak to her, too, even after she’d told him at least three times that she couldn’t hear him because she was deaf. He would keep on talking as if he heard something different from what she’d said, or if he didn’t really hear her at all.
It was almost as if he were deaf, too.
But something else was wrong with him, she realized. His hair was long and tangled. His clothes were tatte
red, dirty. His bluish eyes were strange and unfocused, ringed with yellowish crud. He was missing several teeth, and those that he had left were brown and crooked.
And he smelled very bad. He smelled like his house.
She’d long wanted to get a dog of her own, but Mom said that she’d have to wait until she was old enough to care for, train, and clean up after her own dog. Mom talked about the “clean up after your own dog” part a lot. It was a lesson that Shaggy Man apparently hadn’t learned from his mother.
There was gross dog poop everywhere in the house. Everywhere. And pee-pee stains. Everywhere.
It made her want to throw up.
Shaggy Man had brought her in to the kitchen and sat her in a wobbly chair at the messy table. A cute, furry little dog had hopped into her lap and started licking her face. Two others clambered into the other chairs and crawled onto the table. Another dog rolled beneath her feet and licked at her toes; she’d lost one of her slippers in the woods. The dog’s tongue was cool and tickly.
She loved dogs, but jeez. She had counted twenty-four so far, and she was sure there were more of them. New ones kept coming in to the kitchen, pressing against her, jumping on her and sniffing her, as if curious about whom she was.
Where had all the dogs come from? There were dogs of every kind, some furry, some short-haired, some big, some small, some old that walked slowly and had clouded eyes, and others that were still bright-eyed puppies. It was as if Shaggy Man was running a dog shelter in his house.
The animals swarmed around Shaggy Man, too, but he seemed to be used to it. Leaning on a gnarled wooden cane, he shuffled to a cabinet. He took out a can of something. He opened the can and stuck a fork inside.
Shooing the dogs away, he put the can and fork on the table in front of her. She glanced inside. Green beans.
Why was he giving her food? She wasn’t hungry, and even if she were, she could never eat in a filthy place like this.
Shaggy Man was saying something. She tried to read his lips, but it was really hard because he had a fuzzy beard that covered much of his mouth.
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