Levon's Hunt: A Vigilante Justice Thriller by Chuck Dixon

Author:Chuck Dixon [Dixon, Chuck]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781647347819
Publisher: Wolfpack Publishing
Published: 2021-08-10T16:00:00+00:00

24

Man, the boss sounded freaked. Some kind of bad shit was raining down. It was right there in Mr. Hicks’ voice, the higher tone and urgency. He made Dewey repeat everything, including reading back the combinations to the safes.

Dewey Bascomb hadn’t worked this hard since his failed tryout for the Bucs ten years ago. Following the phone call, he’d cleaned out the wall safe behind the armoire in the master bedroom. Two bags full, now in the cargo area of the Escalade. He huffed and puffed down the basement steps to the second safe, a big standing job that rested against the wall of the utility room that held the central air units.

It must be bad shit if the boss was trusting him with these combinations. He keyed in the numbers and turned the wheel to open the big gun safe. Inside were rifles and shotguns standing upright and shelves for handguns and ammo. On other shelves were file folders, CDs, and a large fireproof box with a handle on top.

Dewey loaded the files into a cardboard carton and lifted the heavy firebox. He humped them up the stairs. His knees were killing him today with the colder weather, and he felt every step.

He’d been putting off knee replacements for years. It was his goddamned knees that had kept him from going pro. At twenty-two years of age, they’d given out on him after three years of high school ball and four years at USF. All the steroids and cortisone in the world couldn’t improve his moves for tryout week in Tampa. He was too slow and too late to the play every time. Out on his ass by the third day.

He was past thirty now, with not much to recommend him but his height and weight. He’d met the boss when he was working the door for a bar in Birmingham. Mr. Hicks had hired him away, and he didn’t have to stand by a door anymore, dealing with drunks and breaking up fights. Mostly he was there to run light errands and drive for the man. Sometimes he’d have to toss someone around. Then there was that time in Echols Hill. Some asshole owed the boss money, and he and Seth Tyler had gone over to collect. They’d worked the guy over, but the man wouldn’t give. When he called Seth a dirty nigger, Seth had lost his shit. They’d wound up tossing the body in the Wheeler Reservoir. Mr. Hicks never got his money, but he never asked any questions about it either.

Now it looked like this job was coming to an end. Mr. Hicks was taking off, maybe for good; that was obvious. Dewey would miss the weekly check he earned as a “security consultant.” Mostly he’d miss living in this fine house and the suite in the guest quarters he shared with Seth. It was nicer than any place he’d ever lived. Way nicer than the two-bedroom bungalow in Bartow he’d grown up in. Even nicer than the apartment he’d lived in when he was at college.

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