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?