Nick Stephenson - Paydown (Leopold Blake Series)

His penthouse apartment was dark. The elevator opened up into the hallway, prompting the motion sensors to turn on the lights. It took a few seconds until a soft glow illuminated the ante room, then the living room and kitchen. Leopold tossed his jacket onto the coat rack and wandered through, heading for the armchair in front of the fireplace.

There was movement somewhere behind him and Leopold turned, a little too slow. A shadow moved fast, its shape blurred in the low light. Before he could move, the shadow was on him, blocking his path.

“What the hell?” Leopold stumbled, tripping over something on the floor. The main lights came on and he covered his eyes, squinting against the glare.

“It’s late.” The figure came into focus.

“Jerome? What are you doing up?”

“I’d ask you the same.”

Leopold blinked hard and put down his hands. They were balled into fists.

“Were you planning on using those?” Jerome said, apparently amused.

“I get by.”

“You missed training this morning.”

“I was up early.”

“How am I supposed to protect you if I don’t know where you are?”

Leopold walked toward the armchair. “You’re my bodyguard, not my nanny. It’s your job to figure this stuff out.” He dropped into the chair, feeling the soft leather envelope him. Sleep was near.

“That’s not how it works.” Jerome stalked over, crossing the room in two giant steps. He stood next to the fireplace and gazed down at his employer. “I’ll chain you to the bed if I have to.” At six feet seven inches tall and with the body of a pro wrestler, not many people argued with Jerome. His coal-black skin only intensified the look – clad in a finely tailored Armani suit and dark shirt, the bodyguard blended with the shadows perfectly.

“I’m touched,” said Leopold. “Listen, I’ll need you to take me downtown later this morning. I have an appointment at Needham. We’ll have company.”

“The cop again?”

Leopold looked up. “You have a problem with Detective Jordan?”

“Not at all,” said Jerome, a faint smile on his lips. “Though I’m guessing she might have a problem with you.”

“She’ll learn to live with it.”

“It’s late. You need to sleep.”

“Then stop talking and leave me to it.”

The bodyguard nodded and stepped away, leaving the room as silently as he had entered. Leopold took a moment to savor the emptiness of the room before leaning back in the armchair and closing his eyes. Within minutes, sleep was upon him, wrapping him tight like a soft blanket. Then the dreams came.

Leopold awoke early, just as the sun's rays broke through the litter of high-rises outside his window, and blinked hard. With a quiet groan, he forced himself out of the armchair and wandered over to his bedroom's bathroom, where he disrobed and threw himself into the shower.

Once dressed, he found Jerome waiting for him in the kitchen, a mug of steaming coffee in one hand. The bodyguard slid the drink across the polished marble countertop and Leopold caught it. He sipped, grateful for the caffeine boost.

“Assuming you're ready, I've asked for the car to be brought around,” said Jerome. “We'll pick up Detective Jordan on the way.”

Leopold smiled. “I don't see that happening, somehow. Mary left a message saying to meet us at Needham's.”

“You're on first-name terms now, are you?”

“Don't get cute. It's far too early.”

“You're the boss.”

Once he'd finished his coffee, Leopold followed Jerome down to the lobby and out to the curb where a glossy black Mercedes waited. A uniformed doorman helped Leopold into the back seat as the bodyguard got behind the wheel and started the engine. The V8 growled and Jerome pulled away, merging with the traffic heading south toward Seventh Avenue. They hit the FDR Drive and settled into a comfortable cruise.

“You gonna tell me a little about the case?” said Jerome, keeping his eyes on the road. “They got you doing anything good?”

“It started off as a fraud case, part of the NYPD's recent crackdowns. They set up a task force and apparently my connections to the finance world were judged to be an asset.”

“Started off as a fraud case?”

Leopold shifted in his seat. “Yes. Suffice to say, things got a little more complicated last night after we found our lead suspect stabbed to death in his hotel room.”

Jerome accelerated, overtaking a slow-moving truck. “You working murder cases now? I thought partnering with the NYPD was supposed to keep you out of trouble, not get you stuck in the middle of it.”

“Relax. I can handle it. We're on our way to follow up a lead right now. You can tag along if you're worried.”

“Who else is going to look after you?”

“Just try not to flash your gun at anyone. It tends to get them riled up.”

The bodyguard grunted something in response.

Leopold grinned. “And let me do the talking, okay?”

Mary sat waiting for them in the reception lobby. She stood as they approached, holding out a thick manila folder. Leopold took it and leafed through the contents.

“This is everything?” he asked.

“Yeah. Autopsy won’t come back for a few days, so I included the crime scene photos. Forensics didn’t find much.” Mary glanced at Jerome. “Brought some muscle this time?”

“Don’t worry about him. He’s here to make sure I behave myself.”

“You’ve not learned how to do that yourself?”

“I’ve learned to, sure. I just don’t find it much fun.”

“We’re not here to have fun, we’re here to catch a killer.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He offered a mock salute. “By the way, how are we planning on getting inside?” He looked over toward the bank of elevators, flanked by a pair of burly security guards. “I don’t think they appreciate walk-ins.”

“That’s what this is for.” She fished out her NYPD shield.

“Put that away,” Leopold put his hand over the badge. “Any of the staff notice there’s a cop here, the whole building will be on alert. How’s that supposed to help us?” He sighed. “Look, just follow my lead.”

Leopold marched off toward the reception desk, beckoning the others to follow. The young blonde woman manning the phones looked up as he approached, flashing a set of brilliant white teeth.

“Can I help you?” she said, turning to face her visitors.

“Yes,” said Leopold. “I need to speak with Teddy Gordon. Immediately.”

“I’m very sorry, sir. But all appointments need to be made in advance. I’m afraid Mr. Gordon can’t see you right now.”

Leopold pulled a business card out of his jacket pocket and slid it across the desk. “I’m afraid it’s urgent. Can you please call up and ask Mr. Gordon whether he can squeeze me in.”

The receptionist glanced down at the card, maintaining her courteous smile. She typed something into her computer and Leopold noticed her expression shift almost immediately.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Blake,” she said. “I’ll make sure somebody sees you right away. I’m afraid Mr. Gordon isn’t contactable right now, but one of the senior vice presidents would be more than happy to talk with you.”

“That will be fine, thank you.”

The blonde held up three plastic key cards. “Here, these will grant you access to the thirtieth floor. Mr. Creed will meet you in the lobby.”