Levon's Home (Levon Cade Book 7) by Chuck Dixon

Author:Chuck Dixon [Dixon, Chuck]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781647346843
Publisher: Wolfpack Publishing
Published: 2020-03-31T16:00:00+00:00

23

Levon dragged the inert body of the mustached man to the floor before ordering Price and Yales to slide their asses, hands in view, out of the booth.

He ordered them to the floor where he stripped them of wallets, keys, and that shiny revolver he’d taken off the fat man earlier in the day. Price had a thick wad of bills bound with a rubber band in his pants pocket. Yales had a neatly folded aluminum foil packet of dusty white crystals. Levon stuck the revolver in his waistband and the keys in his pocket.

“Where’s the Glock?” he asked.

“Never found it,” Yales mumbled.

“You should thank me,” Levon said. “Sit up now and pull off your boots.”

As they did so, Levon backed to the bar where the blonde watched him with wary eyes. He set the wallets and wad of cash on the bar top.

“You know what that is?” he said.

“Best tip of my life,” she said.

“What’re you gonna do after we leave?”

“Close up and mail in the keys.” A secret smile played across her face.

Levon stepped to the two men still seated on the floor.

“Pick up your boots and head for the back door. Fingers laced on top of your heads.”

He followed them through the kitchen. The man at the sink watched the parade with wide eyes; his hands remained busy scrubbing at a stock pot in the steaming sink.

Out on the lot, Levon motioned them toward their truck. They hopped and groused, the rough surface painful through the soles of their socks. He took zip ties from his pocket and instructed Price to secure Yales’ wrists at the small of the back. He ordered both of them to belly up to the tailgate of their Dodge.

“Put your right hand up on the bed cover,” Levon said.

“What’re you gonna do now?” Price sneered. “Take us out to the woods? Make us dig our own graves?”

“That would take all week,” Levon said and shot Price through the back of the head.

Yales did a little stumbling dance, turning to see his partner slump to the ground. A dog started barking up the block. Half of the fat man’s face was splashed across the back of the pickup. Levon stooped to scoop up the spent casing and put it in his shirt pocket. He noted the puddle spreading under Yales’ stocking feet.

Levon gave Harley a shove.

“Move,” he said.

Harley walking before him, Levon urged the other man across the parking lot that ran behind of the row of stores on the next block. They continued on to the parking lot of the church where Levon had left the Avalanche. Levon dropped the tailgate.

“Climb in,” he said.

Harley did as he was told and lowered himself on his belly onto the lowered gate and wriggled awkwardly, like a spastic larva, until he was under the hard top that covered the bed. Levon raised the gate and locked it and stepped to the cab. He removed a rag from the center console and wiped blood from the 1911 and his gun hand before returning the automatic to the holster at the small of his back.

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