He stepped into the small room, avoiding the basket of laundry on the floor. A side door led out to the garden. It had been left open. Leopold crouched and peered through the clear window of the dryer, watching the clothes tumble around inside. The machine stopped. Within, Leopold could make out several pairs of jeans, some underwear, and something else. The material looked different, cheaper. He shuffled closer and opened the hatch, looking in. A dark blue outfit had risen to the top, a clear insignia inscribed on the breast:
“New York City Department of Corrections.”
Leopold closed up the dryer and got to his feet, feeling his heart begin to pound. The smell of laundry detergent was overwhelming, the thin breeze from the open door barely making a difference. There was another smell too; sickly sweet, like burned grass and...
Cherries.
There was a sound from behind and Leopold spun on his heels, hands raised in defense. A flash of movement caught him unaware and he felt something heavy connect with the side of his head. As he crumpled to the floor, Leopold saw the figure of an old man standing above him. The pain in his skull reached a crescendo and the man bent down.
And then darkness.
Leopold awoke with a blinding headache. He was sitting on something hard. As the pain subsided, he tried to stand—but found that he was unable to move. His body wasn’t playing ball. Everything looked blurry. The room was dark, no windows. It smelled damp.
“Welcome back, Mr. Blake.” Melissa Gordon’s voice came from behind.
Leopold blinked hard and his vision returned to normal.
“I should have warned you about snooping around,” Melissa continued. “Though I had hoped you would be smart enough to know not to go prying.”
Flexing his wrists, Leopold felt something dig into his skin. He glanced down and saw he was tied to a chair, plastic zip-ties holding his forearms to the frame. Looking around, he could make out two figures in the shadows in front of him. Another voice came from his left.
“This was a dumb-ass move, lady.” Mary’s speech was slurred. “I’m a cop. You’re going to have the entire NYPD hunting you down if you don’t let us go.”
Leopold turned his head. Mary had been placed behind him, at the edge of his field of vision. She was in a similar state, her wrists tied to a wooden chair. Craning his neck, Leopold saw Jerome sat a little further away, slumped in his seat, unconscious. His hands were also bound.
Melissa Gordon stepped out from the shadows and made her way to the front of the room. “Do you think I got where I am today without learning how to take precautions?” She smiled. “If you had any evidence against me, you would have brought your friends from the precinct. As it stands, I think it’s a safe assumption you’re here without any support.”
“They’ll work out what happened eventually,” said Mary. “You should let us go. Now.”
“If and when the police come knocking, they’ll find nothing but an empty basement. My colleagues,” she gestured toward the two figures, “took the liberty of going through your wallets. You’d be surprised what you can do with a credit card number. The police will be chasing you around the planet long after your bodies have rotted away.” She smiled again. “I’m afraid there really is no way out of this.”
“What did you do to Jerome?” asked Leopold, feeling his hands start to go numb.
One of the figures stepped into the light. Leopold recognized him as the fake Biggs, though he was now dressed in a smart suit.
“Your big friend didn’t want any tea,” he said. “So we had to be a little more forceful. He should wake up soon enough.”
“You drugged the tea?” said Mary.
“I slipped a little something into your cup after Mr. Blake wandered off and got himself into trouble,” said Melissa. “It seemed a more civilized alternative to a crowbar to the head. Please pass my apologies to your big friend when you get a chance.”
“Tell him yourself,” said Leopold. “I’m sure he’d love the opportunity to have a chat with you all.”
The second figure stepped forward. A thick scent of pipe tobacco clung to his shabby clothes and he held an iron crowbar in one hand. “I bet he would.”
“Look, are you planning on doing anything with us? Or is your evil plan to bore us to death?”
The man with the crowbar slapped Leopold across the face with the back of his hand. It stung like hell, reinvigorating the pain in his skull.
“James, calm down,” said Melissa. “We’re not animals.”
The man called James grunted and stepped back, tapping his crowbar against his leg in irritation.
Mrs. Gordon continued. “I need to know what you found out about Needham. Tell me everything and I’ll make sure this passes as painlessly as possible. Try to fight me and I’ll let James and Bobby have their way with you.” She glanced over at the two men. “And, trust me, you won’t like that.”
“Go to hell,” said Mary. “They’ll figure out what happened to Creed eventually. All they need to do is check the personnel records and they’ll know the usual guard never showed. Do you think they won’t figure it all out?”
“The guard we paid off will get his uniform and credentials back, any DNA evidence removed, of course, and nobody will be any the wiser. It’s a pity you showed up when you did—James was due to make the drop before three.” She glanced at her watch. “If the guard decides to cause problems, we’ll deal with him then. Though I suppose that’s not really your main concern right now, is it?” She took a step toward the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
There was a muffled grunt from behind. Jerome was waking up.
“Oh good,” Melissa said. “The whole gang’s here. James, Bobby—make sure our guests behave themselves.” She opened the door and swept out of the basement.
“What, no bad-guy speech?” said Leopold. “I was really looking forward to that. I’ve got to say, you’re all letting the team down.”
James slapped him across the cheek again. It stung even worse than before.
“Cut it out,” said Mary. “Just get this over with. Try to ignore him.”
“Don’t blame me,” said Leopold. “I’m not the one being unreasonable.” He looked up at James. “Just one question; why kill Teddy? He was your inside man. And the real Biggs, I’m guessing he’s buried somewhere out in New Jersey? Or is that too much of a cliché?”
The fake Biggs, the man called Bobby, stepped forward. “Jimmy doesn’t like to get involved in the details,” he said. “He really just enjoys the action, know what I mean? Speaking of which, if you’re going to play the smartass card, I might just let him have a little fun.”
“It’s a serious question,” said Leopold. “We can give you the information you want. I have it all on a pen drive. If you tell me what happened with Teddy, I can tell you where to look.”
Bobby sighed. “Fine. Just don’t fuck with me, got it? I can make the remaining hours of your life very miserable, so don’t tempt me.”
“Yeah, I got it.” Leopold turned to Mary. “You on board?”
“Whatever. It’s not like you could make things any worse.”
He turned to Jerome. “You awake yet?”
Jerome blinked hard and looked back at him. “Keep your voice down. I’ve got a splitting headache.”
“You remember that time we were in Brazil?” Leopold said. “Happy memories, right?”
“Yeah. Happy memories.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” said Mary.
“Nothing,” said Leopold. “Just trying to take our minds off the situation. I guess this is the wrong crowd, so I’ll get to the point.” He looked over at Bobby. “Why kill Teddy? He was your meal ticket, after all.”