Nick Stephenson: Paydown (Leopold Blake Series)

“Can I get you something to drink?” asked Biggs, eyeing the insides of a crumpled beer can. He tipped it upside down and shook. Nothing came out.

“We’re fine, thank you. Like I said, we’re here to talk about Teddy Gordon. You were one of his clients, right?”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“Can you tell me about him? Were you happy with his work?”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“Mr. Biggs, we know you and Mr. Gordon argued about the money you had tied up in Needham. Can you tell me what happened?”

The man sighed, throwing the empty beer can to the floor. “Look, shit happens, right? I came into some money a few years back. Big lotto win. Blew most of it on coke and hookers, but a buddy of mine convinced me to invest whatever I had left.”

“And how did that work out for you?” asked Mary.

“Went pretty good at first. Gordon promised me twenty percent in the first six months and the guy over-delivered. It was frickin’ unbelievable. It’s like the guy figured out how to print money or somethin’. After that,” Biggs shrugged, “the shit hit the fan. Returns shrank. A year later and my investment’s only worth half what I paid into the fund. As you can expect, I’m pretty frickin’ upset.”

“What did you do?”

“I went to see Gordon to ask him what the hell was going on. He blew me off, like I figured he would. Said he didn’t look after the small funds no more. Said the market goes up and down, and there’s nothin’ can be done about it. Told me to file a complaint with his boss or take my money elsewhere. Not that there was much left at that point.”

“How much?”

“Less than a hundred grand. I took the cash, blew it all. Wound up here. Like I said, shit happens.”

“We have a witness who says you and Mr. Gordon fought. Thinks you and him might have come to blows once or twice. That ever happen?”

Biggs laughed. “You gotta be kiddin’ me, lady. How the hell you think a guy like me is ever gonna get close enough to a guy like him? Not that I didn’t occasionally fantasize about socking him in the face…”

“You could have followed him home. Gone to his office.”

“What’s the matter, you simple or something? Gordon had a driver take him home each night. Took him in mornings, too. Spent all day in the office. How the hell is a guy like me gonna get past that? I never even bothered trying to get an appointment. We spoke on the phone. That was it.”

“You never met him in person?”

“I had a couple meetings early on, sure. But once the problems started, he didn’t wanna give me the time of day. Told me to speak to his boss.”

“Who was that?”

“Guy named Creed. Gordon said he was the one in charge of my account. Told me to take it up with him.”

Leopold stepped forward. “Vincent Creed? He was the one managing your account, not Gordon?”

“You deaf? That’s what I said. Gordon was the one bringing in the clients, laying the groundwork. Least, that’s how he put it. Creed was the one managing the day-to-day. Seemed a little weird to me; the boss man running the accounts. Apparently, he only did that for a select few. Made me feel pretty good about the whole thing, ‘til he messed it all up.”

“And you’re sure about this?”

“Of course I’m frickin’ sure. You think I’d get forgetful about money, a man in my position? It might sound like small change to those Needham assholes, but it was everything I had.” Biggs paused. “Why you here anyways? You got news about my money?”

Mary and Leopold looked at each other.

“Not exactly,” said Mary. “We found Mr. Gordon’s body late last night. He was murdered.”

Biggs sat up. “Murdered? The guy’s dead? Jeez, he was a scumbag but… hell. I’m never gonna see that money now, am I?”

“Your concern is touching. Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?”

“You kidding? Probably every single person he ever screwed over. You got a pen and paper?” He laughed. “Might take a while.”

“No, that’s fine, Mr. Gordon. We have everything we need.” She glanced at Leopold and flicked her eyes toward the door. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

Biggs belched and slumped even further down the sofa. “Pleasure meetin’ you.”

“Looks like we’ll need to pay Mr. Creed another visit,” said Leopold, as the three of them made their way back up the stairs. “I knew he was hiding something.”

Mary pushed open the door into the hallway. “It’s nearly lunchtime. Do these bankers ever go out to eat?”

“That’s where they do most of their business. A guy like Creed would probably be meeting clients somewhere expensive. On company money, of course.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll ask my contact to check Creed’s schedule for the day.”

“I’m guessing this is another one of those times I shouldn’t ask questions.”

“See, I knew you’d get the hang of this working relationship,” said Leopold. “We’ll surprise Mr. Creed at lunch, catch him off guard.” He pushed open the steel door that led out to the alley and headed for the car.

As they rounded the corner, Leopold froze. The gang of young men he had noticed earlier had apparently taken an interest in his Mercedes – six of them were now inspecting the vehicle, taking it in turns to peer through the glass and test the doors. One of them looked up as Leopold, Mary, and Jerome approached.

“Hey, hey, what we got here?” the apparent ring leader shouted. His voice was deep and cocky, the hood of his coat pulled over his head. “Sweet ride. How much this cost you?” He turned to his companions and laughed. “Thinkin’ bout gettin’ me one of these. Needs a paint job, though. Maybe some new rims.” He rapped the windscreen with his knuckle.

“Let me call backup,” said Mary, her voice a whisper. “Don’t engage. We don’t know if they’re armed.”

“Of course they’re armed,” said Leopold. “But that doesn’t mean they get to mess with my car.”

“I think it does, actually.”

“Maybe where you come from.”

“We both come from New York.”

“You know what I mean.” Leopold looked up at Jerome. “Any ideas?”

The bodyguard looked at the gang of men. “Just stay behind me and don’t speak. Things always get much worse when you speak.”

Leopold considered a response, but too late. Jerome strode over to the hooded leader, closing the distance remarkably fast. The young man stood tall, chest puffed out, and met Jerome head on.

“You got somethin’ to say, homes?” the kid said.

“Step away from the car.”

“You gonna make me, big man? ‘Cos last time I checked, there’s six of us and three of you. One, two, three.” The hood prodded Jerome with an index finger, emphasizing his point.

Leopold turned to Mary. “That wasn’t a good idea,” he said.

Too fast for the gang leader to react, Jerome grabbed hold of the finger prodding him in the chest and wrenched it backward. There was a cracking sound and the kid yelped, eyes wide, his bravado gone. Jerome twisted the finger to the side and pulled, forcing the arm to hyperextend. The kid turned to compensate and Jerome pulled him in close, a thick forearm across the throat. The other five gang members twitched nervously, their leader held fast in the bodyguard’s grip.

“This would be your opportunity to leave,” he said, still holding onto his opponent’s finger.

The other gang members looked at one another, shuffling their feet. Nobody spoke. Jerome sighed and gave the leader’s broken finger another twist. The young man screamed, the pain now clearly beyond anything he could handle.