Nick Stephenson: Paydown (Leopold Blake Series)

“Leave, right now,” said Jerome, “or I’ll pull his finger off. And after that, I’ll move on to the rest of you. I’d be lying if I said a part of me wouldn’t enjoy that. But I’m afraid we’re pressed for time, so I’ll just have to shoot you.” He let go of the finger and released his hold on the kid’s throat. The kid dropped to his knees. With practiced speed, Jerome pulled out the firearm holstered beneath his jacket and pointed it at the closest of the other gang members.

“All right, all right.” The new target held his palms up and backed away. “We’re goin’. Just don’t shoot.”

Jerome pressed his foot against the leader’s back and shoved him forward. “Take this with you,” he said, keeping his gun up.

The kid got to his feet and scrambled away to join his companions, cradling his broken finger as he went. Within a few seconds the gang had disappeared around the corner and Jerome holstered his weapon.

“Okay, we can go now,” he said, unlocking the car. “Apologies for the delay.”

Creed’s restaurant of choice nestled between a hair salon and clothing store. The sign outside boasted “A Fusion of East and West” and the tables were packed full of people in suits ordering lunch from oversized menus. Leopold pushed open the heavy glass doors and stepped inside, the smells from the kitchen hitting his nostrils immediately. The interior was all glass and chrome and leather.

“This place smells kinda funky,” said Mary, following behind.

“It’s called fusion food,” said Leopold. “It’s undergoing something of a resurgence at the moment. The chefs take two different cuisines and blend them into something new.”

“Just like Reese’s did with peanut butter and chocolate.” She chuckled to herself and picked up a menu. “Whoa, Jesus, I think I’d better stick with the candy after all. What the hell is with these prices? And why do they need such a big menu? There’s only like five dishes to choose from.” She squinted at the tiny italic text. “What exactly is grilled ahi?”

Leopold sighed. “We’re in the middle of the financial district. The clientele have a lot of money to spend. Speaking of which, I think I see our man.” He pointed across the room toward the back corner where Creed sat at a large table with half a dozen lunch guests. “How about we go say hello?” He took a step toward the dining area.

“Do you have a reservation, sir?” a maître d' dressed in a crisp suit appeared out of nowhere, blocking the way.

Leopold stopped in his tracks. “We’re not here for lunch. I need to speak with a gentlemen at that table.” He pointed.

“I’m sorry sir, our diners value their privacy. We can’t allow anyone through without a table reservation.”

“Then can I make one?”

“For today?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said the maître d’. “We are fully booked for the next two weeks. Would you perhaps like to make a booking for next month?”

“No, I don’t want to come back next month,” snapped Leopold. “I want to speak to that man over there.”

“I’m sorry sir, but – ”

Mary interrupted, pushing her way past Leopold. She held up her NYPD shield. “Listen. Either you let us through or I book you on an obstruction of justice charge. How does that sound?”

The maître d’ glanced at the shield. His expression relaxed a little. “Given the circumstances,” he said, straightening his tie. “I’m sure I can make an exception. Please,” he stepped to the side, “go on through.”

Leopold brushed past without a word and headed for Creed’s table. The senior banker was engrossed in a heated conversation with the other diners that Leopold couldn’t make out. As he drew closer, Creed noticed and halted the conversation. The banker got to his feet and left the table, drawing Leopold just out of earshot of his companions.

“Can I help you, Mr. Blake?” he said, keeping his voice low. “I’m in the middle of a meeting.” He spotted Mary and nodded. “Detective Jordan. A pleasure, as always. Where’s your big friend?”

“He’s in the car,” said Leopold. “He never did like fusion food.”

“Me neither, I’m afraid,” Creed said. “But these guys seem to. God knows why. It’s all sushi as far as I’m concerned. Now, what is it I can do for you? I really must get back.”

“We spoke with Biggs, the man you said had assaulted Mr. Gordon.”

“Good. And he was of some help?”

“Yes. Though he said that Gordon wasn’t the one looking after his account. He said that you were. He believes you’re responsible for the loss of his fortune.”

Creed’s calm expression flickered momentarily. “Look, this really isn’t a good time. I dealt with a lot of accounts, we all do. I already told you everything I know about Gordon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an important account on the hook here. It’s not going to reel itself in.”

“Mr. Creed…”

“Mr. Blake, if you need to speak with me again, either set up an appointment with my assistant or get yourself an arrest warrant. Now please excuse me.” He turned around and walked back to his table, slipping back into his chair just as his lunch arrived.“You think we can get a warrant?” said Leopold.

“Based on what?” said Mary. “The guy’s an asshole, and he’s definitely not telling us everything, but we can’t get a judge to sign off without some hard evidence.”

“We’ll just have to go dig some up. There must be someone out there who dislikes Creed enough to talk to us about what goes on at the bank. Someone who works with him, maybe.”

“Or worked. Preferably someone with a grudge. How do we narrow that down? There must be hundreds.”

Leopold grinned. “I know exactly who can help.” He turned and marched back toward the door. “Follow me.”

The brownstone home of Teddy and Melissa Gordon was situated in one of the leafier parts of the Upper East Side, squeezed in between two other identical buildings about halfway down one of the many pristine side streets. Jerome rolled the Mercedes up to the curb and killed the engine.

“Nice place,” said Mary, looking out the window. “Don’t you live around here?”

“I have an apartment, yes,” said Leopold. “Closer to the park.”

“What’s the matter? Couldn’t afford a real house?”

“Let’s try to stay focused, shall we?” he said, opening the door and stepping out onto the sidewalk.

“No need to be so sensitive.” She followed suit and joined Leopold outside. Jerome waited in the car.

“I’m guessing we won’t have to worry about the Mercedes around here,” said Mary. “The other cars parked out here are worth at least twice as much as yours.”

Leopold rolled his eyes. “Are you determined to get some kind of reaction from me?”

“Oh calm down. You can be such a baby.”

“Can we just get this over with? Creed is going to be on the defensive now, so time is short. We need to find something solid to link him to Gordon’s murder. If he was really trying to sabotage his investors and Gordon found out, that’s as good a reason as any. Hopefully Mrs. Gordon can help with that.” He walked up to the door and rang the bell. “Otherwise we’re back to square one.”

“I’m just saying, you don’t have to get all sensitive.”

“I’m not sensitive, but that doesn’t mean I have the patience to pretend your little remarks aren’t getting annoying. Why don’t you just spit it out? You clearly have something to say.”