He dialed Anthony’s number again and pressed the phone to his ear as he jogged through an alley. A block ahead, the boy’s brownstone apartment grew out of the pavement like a post-apocalyptic fortress. The call went to Anthony’s message. LeVar cursed and shoved the phone into his pocket.
He needed to be careful now. The Kings had to be close.
Stopping beside a family run grocery market, he cocked his head around the corner and pulled back. Kilo and Lawson milled outside Anthony’s apartment building. LeVar had considered Lawson a friend while he ran with the Kings. But the muscular boy with the shaved head would put a bullet in LeVar’s skull without blinking, if they caught him in Kings territory.
LeVar glanced up and down the street. There had to be more gang members around, but he only saw Kilo and Lawson. Something wasn’t right. Why would the two boys hang out in front of the apartment if they’d already killed Anthony?
He ran to a parked car and knelt beside the bumper. Traffic buzzed past, the wind from passing vehicles whipping his dreadlocks. He’d forgotten Harmon’s smells—fuel, garbage, concrete, and fetid hopelessness. Maybe he’d never noticed it before. Four months of living beside a lake changed his perception of normal.
LeVar wished he’d brought a gun. Conceding to Thomas’s wishes, LeVar got rid of his weapons before he moved into the guest house. He still owned a hunting knife, which he concealed beneath his mattress. Four months of luxury hadn’t stopped LeVar from sleeping with his eyes open, a survival tactic for anyone who’d lived inside Harmon’s ganglands.
Where were the other members? Rev should be here. Not that LeVar was sorry not to see the leader of the Harmon Kings. Rev was volatile, prone to crazy decisions. LeVar recalled the time Rev’s psychotic delusions got the best of him. The Kings recruited a former college football linebacker named Derek. Rev got the crazy idea Derek was an undercover cop and pummeled the recruit behind the strip club on Fifth. Derek was a big guy. But nobody was tougher than Rev. By the time Rev finished with Derek—the other members were too scared to stop Rev—the guy’s face looked like raw meat. LeVar always wondered what became of Derek. Rev’s enemies had a funny way of disappearing.
A police officer walking his beat moved down the sidewalk, drawing Kilo’s attention. Kilo swatted Lawson’s arm and lifted his chin at the cop. Then the boys meandered down the sidewalk with their hands in their pockets until the officer passed. LeVar took advantage of the opportunity. With Kilo’s back turned, LeVar hurried around the brownstone apartment. He didn’t trust the front doors. The Kings would post someone inside. But a shattered window behind the complex allowed access to the basement.
He swung his head left and right. When he didn’t see anyone, he kicked a shard off the pane and slipped through the window, dropping hard to the concrete floor. The dress shoes did little to comfort his fall, the impact reverberating through his knees. Thick chemical cleaner scents filled the basement. A laundry room stood at the end of the hall, a dryer grinding away. He ran in the opposite direction and scrambled up the stairs, his breath held every time he moved past a blind corner. A heavy steel door opened below. Footsteps. Someone coming.
LeVar found Anthony’s floor and edged the door open. Peeked down the dimly lit corridor. Music thumped from behind a closed door, loud enough to cover his steps. His heart pounded as he approached Anthony’s apartment. He tried again to call the boy. This time Anthony picked up.
“Why the hell don’t you answer?”
“I had to hide,” Anthony said, his voice trembling. “They came through the window, so I hid in the crawlspace.”
“Who was it?”
“Dunno. Kilo and Lawson, I think.”
“They’re outside. You’re cool now. I’m coming in, aight?”
LeVar turned the knob. The idiot kid had left the door unlocked. That thought played through his head as the apartment revealed itself. Was this a setup?
Not taking any chances, he locked the door behind him and bolted it. A cluttered living room with a chipped, wooden coffee table dominated the room’s center. A green upholstered couch with tears in the fabric stood on the far side of the coffee table, large enough to hide someone with a gun.
“Anthony?”
No answer.
He crept through the living room and swiveled his gaze toward the kitchen. Saw the shadow on the wall a second before the gun barrel pressed against his temple. Anthony grinned.
“Hands in the air. Don’t make me pull the trigger, LeVar.”
LeVar complied.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Saturday, August 14th
2:20 p.m.
County Line Road might have lurked a million miles from Wolf Lake. Nothing but an expanse of wilderness, interrupted by the occasional farmhouse. Thomas peered at Aguilar over the cruiser, feeling the same dread his partner did.
Cathy Webb owned a sagging, gray two-story home with a broken step leading up to the porch. An ancient swing sat in the corner, swaying ghostly when the wind blew. The grass grew past their shins, and the shrubberies circling the yard threw gangling branches toward the sky, as though praying to a malevolent god.
“Are you sure someone lives here?” Aguilar asked, angling toward the stairs.
Thomas glanced at the empty driveway. The stone path led to a tilted garage behind the house. No way to determine if the closed door hid a vehicle. Stuffed with catalogs and coupons, the mailbox hung askew beside the door. Scattered pieces of mail fluttered through the overgrown grass.
The hair stood on the back of his neck when Thomas ascended the steps, careful not
