I went back to Rudy’s, the pawnshop on Compton Boulevard, and got there as he was shutting for the night. Rudy sold me another gun, and this time I went for a Glock 19. It cost me a thousand bucks, but I knew it was a reliable, commonplace weapon.
I didn’t know Rudy, but I lost what little respect I had for the guy. He sold me a box of ammo to go with the gun, no questions asked. Who buys two illegal handguns in less than a week? Criminals, that’s who. He might tell himself I was a careless gun owner who lost his first piece, or that I was starting a collection or some other lie to help him sleep easy, but we both had enough years behind us to know people didn’t buy one illegal firearm, let alone two, unless they were into some pretty shady stuff.
“I got robbed,” I blurted out, trying to dispel any unuttered suspicions. I didn’t want him blabbing foul ideas to the cops if they ever came calling.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied with the sincerity of a corrupt insurance salesman.
“Broke down my front door and took everything, including the last piece.”
“I see. You get the door fixed?”
I shook my head. “Haven’t had the time.”
“I have some padlocks,” he told me, shuffling off to the counter on the other side of the store.
He sold me a couple of padlocks and a hinge and gate setup for busted doors and told me they were popular with people who were behind on their payments and got unwanted visits from cops or repo heavies.
It was almost ten thirty by the time I pulled into my drive on Edgebrook, and the street was deserted. I grabbed the padlock and security set and headed for my house.
I wish I could say my spidey sense had tingled, but I was blind to danger as I walked through my unlocked front door to find Frankie Balls seated in an armchair a few feet away. I wished I hadn’t left my new gun in the glove box.
“Peyton Collard,” he sneered. His rasping voice was like nails scraping my spine and set me on edge. “Army man. Tough. I can tell because you’re on your feet going solid even after the beating we gave you.”
How did he know I’d been in the army? Had he overheard me and Jim talking at Rick’s one night? What else did he know about me? I hated him and wanted nothing more than his death. My hate must have shone like the midday sun, because he produced a huge revolver from behind his back and placed it casually on the arm of the chair.
“Where you been, Peyton?” he asked.
“Errands. I had to run some errands.”
“You come into any more money?”
I shook my head.
“You’ve had a rough couple of days,” he said, getting to his feet. “You might not be thinking straight.” He stepped forward and put the muzzle of the revolver to my temple. “Sometimes it’s good to clear the mind.”
I trembled as I looked into the eyes of this psychopath.
“Don’t be afraid, Peyton. We’re old friends,” he said.
Was he telling the truth? Had we met before? In prison maybe? I didn’t remember him, but then life had been so traumatic, much of that first year inside had been wiped from my mind.
“I get why you’re fearful. You’ve been robbed and beaten up these past couple of days, and that’s hard on a man. But you know what it tells me?”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to shake my head with a gun pressed against it. I could smell alcohol, body odor, but the psychic stench coming off this nutcase reeked stronger than Florida swampland. His eyes were pitiless.
“You need protection. You need someone who will look after you. I’ll do it for fifty percent of whatever you bring in. I want your money. Give it to me. Give me your money. Do you understand?”
“I don’t have any money,” I said. “You took it.”
He slapped me. “Man with eighty grand ain’t gonna stay poor for long. When you get more, you give me half.”
I didn’t respond.
“If it helps you sleep easy with the arrangement, think of us as business partners. You’re front office, doing whatever it is you do to bring in the big bucks, and I’m back office, making sure no one, namely you, gets hurt by anyone, namely me. You follow?”
He withdrew the gun, and I nodded uncertainly.
“I’ll be seeing you, partner.”
And with that he pushed past me and was gone.
I took a deep breath of relief, sank into the armchair, and watched him cross my yard. There was the roar of an engine, and a black Escalade stopped in front of Frankie, who jumped in. The car shot away.
I knew that man would hurt me whether he got any money or not. I’d already decided to kill Farah Younis, but this encounter made it imperative. I needed a new home, a new place somewhere Frankie Balls wouldn’t find me.