Nick Stephenson - Paydown (Leopold Blake Series)

Bobby laughed. “Innocent? You gotta be kidding. The market model Teddy had developed could accurately predict where the market was heading, but it was all based on the assumption that conditions kept stable. You know, that everyone paid their loans on time, kept buying shit they didn’t need. They called it the ‘volatility index’ or some shit like that.”

“And?”

“If the market conditions shift by more than fifteen percent in one week, the model is completely screwed. For a firm like Needham, if they see a big change in the market, even over a few days, they could lose everything.”

Mary shook her head. “How the hell would that work?”

“Investment banks trade on other people’s assets,” said Leopold. “They borrow money against stock they don’t actually own, so if the deal goes south, the bank is on the hook for the difference between the market value of the stock and the amount they borrowed against it. If the volatility index gets too high, they start owing money. Hundreds of millions of dollars just vanish from their books and the bank has to stop trading. That means anyone who’s invested with them risks losing everything. And I mean everything.”

“Jesus. This is why I keep my spare cash in the mattress.”

“Best place for it now,” said Bobby. “He figured this out weeks ago. He wanted to come clean, wanted the bank to try and fix the situation before it got out of hand. Naturally, we didn’t see eye to eye on that.” Bobby grinned.

“You just saw a way to make more cash,” said Leopold. “And now it’s too late. Something this big is going to go public. You knew your days of scamming Needham were over, so you had no need for Teddy. So you decided to tie up any loose ends, which, I’m guessing, included Vincent Creed.”

“Creed was the patsy,” said Bobby. “He was too frickin’ dumb to figure out what we were doing, but he made a perfect fall guy.” He stepped forward. “Now, we answered your damn question. Tell us what we need to know.”

Leopold glanced over at Jerome. The bodyguard blinked.

“Sorry, fellas,” said Leopold. “I was hoping you’d keep talking a little longer. I actually don’t have anything for you.” He shrugged. “I figured you to be the talkative types. My bad.”

Bobby looked at James and nodded. James cracked a smile. He walked casually toward Leopold, his crowbar in one hand. As he came within arm’s length, he drew back the weapon and held it over his head.

“Last chance, smart guy,” said Bobby. “Speak up, or we’ll start with your shins.”

Leopold sighed and looked over at Jerome.

“He ain’t gonna save you,” said Bobby.

The bodyguard shifted position in his chair. He shook his head.

“Looks like you’re right about that,” said Leopold.

“Hey, dumbass.” James brought the crowbar down hard, aiming for the shin. There was a dull crunch as the iron bar hit bone and Leopold fought hard to hold back a scream. The pain was immediate and overwhelming, as though a firecracker had gone off in his skull.

“You’re gonna answer Bobby’s goddamn question or I’m gonna hack your freakin’ leg off.” James kicked Leopold’s ruined leg with his right boot to prove his point.

The agony peaked. Tears streaming down his face, Leopold bit his lip and tried to clear his mind – an ancient meditation technique that supposedly made a person immune to pain.

It didn’t work.

“You got any more wisecracks, asshole?” James said, brandishing the crowbar. “Or we gonna start on the other leg?”

“Wait, wait,” Leopold said, barely able to get the words out. He looked over at Jerome again. The bodyguard nodded.

“Last chance,” Bobby said.

Leopold tilted his head up. “Go screw yourselves.”

James smiled and lifted the crowbar. As he brought the weapon down, a grunt of pain from the back of the room caught him by surprise. He froze. “What the f –”

In one fluid movement, Jerome tipped himself backward, flipping over the back of his chair. He landed silently and drew up to his full height, his right arm hanging at a strange angle. He held the heavy chair out in front of him. Before James or Bobby could react, Jerome charged across the basement floor and swung the chair around, narrowly missing Leopold’s head. The wooden frame smashed into James’ shoulder, sending him tumbling across the room and into the back wall. His head smacked against the bricks.Bobby took a step backward, his palms raised. “Listen, buddy, don’t do anything stupid. I got money.” He backed up against the bricks. “I’m just a middleman, this was all her idea, I don’t…”

He never finished his sentence. Jerome brought the chair around once again and smashed Bobby over the head, splintering the wood. Bobby hit the floor hard. He didn’t get up.

“Jesus, are you okay? What the hell did you do to your arm?” said Mary, straining against her zip ties.

“Is he okay?” said Leopold. “I’m the one with a shattered leg.” He winced as the pain in his shins reached an all-time high.

“I dislocated my shoulder. It’s a little trick I learned when I was younger,” said Jerome, pulling apart the remnants of the wooden chair. “I tried to teach Leopold, but he wasn’t exactly a model student.”

“Let me guess – Brazil, right?”

“Right.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” asked Mary.

“Hurts like hell. I just choose not to be a baby about it.” He looked down at Leopold. “Speaking of which, I assume you’re not going to be able to walk?”

“Good guess.”

“Let me out of here. We’ll carry him,” said Mary.

Jerome nodded and walked over to the edge of the room. He took a deep breath and slammed his dislocated shoulder into the wall. He let out a quiet grunt as it popped back into the socket.

“I’m ready.” He flexed his right arm a few times. “We’ll lock up on our way out. I assume you’ll call this in?”

“With pleasure,” said Mary.

“Then let’s get out of here. We’ve got one more loose end to tie up.”

Leopold hopped up the basement stairs on one leg, supported by Mary and Jerome. They reached the hallway and found it deserted.

“You going to call for backup anytime soon?” said Leopold, trying to ignore the searing pain in his shin. “It’s about time the NYPD started pulling their weight.”

“You know, for a genius, you really aren’t that smart,” said Mary. “They took our cell phones, remember? And before you think of anything else clever to say, just bear in mind I’m holding you up here.”

“Try the land line.”

“Hey, if you can find the damn thing, be my guest. But, in case you’d forgotten, we’ve got a homicidal she-demon to track down. Who knows what someone with her money has access to? She could be halfway to Canada by now.”

Leopold opened his mouth to reply, but a loud noise cut him off. Outside on the street, the unmistakable sound of a large engine revving to the redline and the squeal of spinning tires.

“She sounds like she’s at least got access to a car,” said Jerome. “And unless you happen to know her license plate, we’re gonna need to get moving.” He lunged toward the front door, dragging Leopold and Mary behind him.

“Ow, Jesus!” Leopold buckled under his ruined leg.

“Stop being such a girl,” said Mary, trying to keep up.

Jerome charged through the doorway and on to the sidewalk, the others barely slowing him down. They reached the Mercedes and clambered inside. Jerome gunned the engine and slammed his right foot to the floor, wrenching the steering wheel to the side. The car executed a perfect donut, throwing up a plume of white smoke. Now facing the right direction, the bodyguard followed the tire tracks left by Melissa’s car and took off in pursuit. After less than thirty seconds, he slammed on the brakes.