Authors: Chuck Dixon
Levon's Night (18 page)
The woman who called herself Leandra Tessler snarled up at him, eyes brimmed with fury. He tapped her chin once with his fist, bouncing the back of her head off the sidewalk and she was still.
She came around at the sound of her own name.
The man she knew as Mitch was seated at the edge of the bed with her wallet open. The contents of her purse were spilled on the worn carpet. She was seated in the chair by the deskette. She tried to open her mouth to speak but found her lips pressed together by tape. More tape secured her hands behind her. An electrical cord bound her legs to the legs of the chair.
“Are you a relative? A sister?” he said. He knew the name from the news reports already filling the 24-hour cycle with speculation.
She shook her head. A dull ache rose like a tide and turned into a ring tightening around her skull. Her eyes swam in her head.
“Don’t throw up,” he cautioned her with a sharp slap to her cheek.
A rushing sound. The shower was running in the bathroom.
“You’re an ex-wife,” he said.
Her eyes went cold. She huffed through her nostrils.
“Think you can tell me your story without hollering?”
She nodded.
He tore the tape off her mouth.
“That money’s mine. And a lot more where that came from,” she seethed and nodded to neat stacks of bound hundreds visible in a bag by one leg of the bed.
“You knew they were coming. And you didn’t say anything to anyone,” Levon said.
“That bastard took off on me. We had a divorce settlement. Alimony. He ran out on all of that with that bitch of his.”
“Stolen money.”
“Yeah. He fucked some assholes out of their money. That was business. But fucking me out of my money was personal.”
“And you just watched the house. Waiting for those men to come looking. And you were going to help yourself to whatever they left behind.”
“That’s right,” she said with bitter assurance.
“Like a buzzard on a kill. Like a maggot.” He tore a fresh length of tape from the roll.
She drew in breath for a reply to that. He slapped the new strip of tape over her mouth. Rocking in her chair, she screamed into the tape while he wound a three foot band around her head to secure the gag in place. The sound started in her chest as a shriek but came out as a squeaky mewling. Levon keyed the TV remote. An infomercial for skin care products came on. He set the volume just high enough to mask the muted shrill she was making.
Levon went to the bathroom door and knocked. The shower water turned off with a squeak. The door opened and the little girl who called herself Moira stepped into the room. She was fully dressed in a new sweater and jeans. She slid her arms into a winter coat then walked past the bound woman, eyes averted. Merry picked up her backpack by the door and waited.
Levon zipped closed the bag with the money and carried it and the shotgun, wrapped in a bath towel, to the door.
“I’ll call the office in the morning,” he said before leaving. Then he switched out the room lights, leaving the room dark but for the flashing light of the TV making crazed shadows on the walls and ceiling.
Merry was walking toward the Suburban parked nose into the curb four rooms down. Levon tabbed a remote in his hand and another car, parked closer to the office, gave a short bleat and blinked its lights.
“We’re taking the Mercedes, honey,” he said.
46
“That’s why I only collect it once a week,” Danni said and snapped the rubber band off the thick wad of envelopes.
“Still moving?”
“The HOA wants us out of the house. The kids are back at the cabin packing. Tourist season is coming. The summer residents will be showing up the end of the month.”
Cecile made a
phuh
noise.
“They already hired a new handyman. His family shows up in two weeks,” Danni continued.
“Where will you go?”
“Down to Bangor. My sister-in-law says we can live with her till we’re back on our feet. I know what that means. Six weeks at the most before her husband starts giving us the stink eye.” Danni riffled through the mail. Among the bills and final notices was an envelope addressed to Danielle Fenton in neat block letters. No return address.
“What will you do?” Cecile said. She poured a cup of coffee from her personal pot behind the counter and held it out for Danni.
“Thanks. I have applications in at a few daycare places. Maybe I can finish my degree. Try to get a teaching job.” She tossed the bills into the trash bin by the counter.
“I’ll miss you, Danielle. You’re on my short list of people I can tolerate,” Cecile said.
“I’ll miss you too. I’ll miss this place. But we can’t stay here,” Danni said and raised the coffee as a farewell.
She was behind the wheel of the car when she realized that she still had the handwritten envelope in her hand. She tore it open and found a single sheet of paper with a small silver key taped to it. The letter was written in the same neat block lettering as the envelope.
I AM SORRY TO HEAR ABOUT NATE. HE WAS A GOOD MAN.
I KNOW THAT THINGS WILL BE TIGHT WITH HIS LOSS. YOU HAVE TWO CHILDREN TO SUPPORT AND CARL’S MEDICAL BILLS.
THIS KEY FITS THE LOCK ON THE BOTTOM DRAWER OF MY CRAFTSMAN CHEST. IN THE DRAWER IS A SMALL NOTEBOOK THAT I WANT YOU TO BURN.
THE REST OF THE CONTENTS ARE YOURS.
THANK YOU FOR YOUR SILENCE.
BURN THIS LETTER WITH THE NOTEBOOK.
On the way back from Bellevue, Danielle drove to the Hoffert house and let herself in. In the unfinished kitchen she found Mitch’s Craftsman chest; a wheeled steel cabinet with deep drawers. She knelt to place the key in the lock and open the bottom drawer. Atop a faded canvas tool bag lay a Moleskine notebook with a Bic pen secured in the spine. She put that aside and pulled out the canvas bag. It was packed full and heavy.
Inside were stacks of bills. Worn bills. Twenties and fifties bound in three-inch stacks secured with heavy rubber bands. There were dozens of stacks.
Close to two hundred thousand dollars once she’d finished counting them out on the kitchen table back at the cabin. She zipped the bag closed and secured it in the bottom of an apple box labeled “dishware.” She taped the box closed.
The kids came into the family room from packing up their rooms. They found Danni kneeling before the stove in the fireplace. She was sticking pages torn from a book into the blaze.
About the Author
Chuck Dixon is the prolific author of thousands of comic book scripts for
Batman and Robin, the Punisher, Nightwing, Conan the Barbarian, Airboy, the Simpsons, Alien Legion
and countless other titles.
Together with Graham Nolan, Chuck created the now iconic Batman villain Bane. He also wrote the international bestselling graphic novel adaptation of J.R.R Tolkien’s
The Hobbit.
His first foray into prose, the
SEAL Team 6
novels from Dynamite Entertainment, have become an ebook sensation. He currently scripts
GI Joe Special Missions
for IDW publishing as well as the
Pellucidar
weekly comic strip for ERB Inc.
He calls Florida home these days.
Other Works by Chuck Dixon
Levon’s Trade
Levon Cade Book 1
Seal Team Six: The Novel
(#1 in ongoing hit series)
Seal Team Six 2
(#2 in ongoing hit series)
Seal Team Six 3
(#3 in ongoing hit series)
