Abuse of Power - Michael Savage [42]
From the looks of things, Juanita Thomas wasn’t much of a housekeeper, and judging by the drug paraphernalia scattered across the worn coffee table, she wasn’t much of a mother, either.
Jack and Maxine exchanged looks the moment they entered the place. Max’s expression said, See, I warned you. Jack’s replied, Did I say I doubted you?
But he wasn’t here to judge anyone, just to get information. It took Max a little more persuasion to get Leon to sit down with them—minus his gang—but the kid finally came around. In fact, now that his rage had given way to sadness, now that he didn’t have to put on a tough-guy show for the gang, he seemed grateful to have someone to talk to.
As they entered, Leon escorted his mother into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Jack and Max were silent as they waited, Jack feeling the walls of this depressing dump close in on him. He caught Max flash a look at the water stain on the ceiling, the dark, mildewed rot around it.
“You made it out,” Jack said in a voice barely above a whisper. “This isn’t your life anymore.”
“But it’s theirs,” she said sadly.
There was no disputing that. Jack was trying to imagine where Mrs. Thomas got Leon’s bail money. Either she had the cash on hand for drugs, got it from selling drugs, or went into hock with a pusher who would have her on her back till it was paid back with interest. Or maybe Leon would knock over a 7-Eleven. Roll some tourists on Market Street. There were all kinds of opportunities for people who had nothing to lose.
A moment later Leon came back out. “I gave her medicine to calm her down,” he said. “She needs to sleep.”
They didn’t ask what he had given her. They didn’t have to.
“What about you?” Max asked. “You feeling any calmer now?”
Leon dropped into a threadbare armchair and lowered his head slightly, trying to hide the tears that were forming again.
These guys are always different when you get them alone, away from their posse, Jack thought. The tough talk, the gestures—it was all for show, like a peacock fanning its tail feathers to seem bigger.
“He was just a stupid runt,” Leon said. “Never hurt anybody. Not even—”
Leon stopped himself.
“Not even the guy he was supposed to pop on the Tenderloin?” Jack asked.
Leon looked up sharply. “A dude gotta know how to survive,” he said. “Off this block, another thug’s turf, you choke, you dead.”
“Did you see what happened that night?” Jack asked.
Leon didn’t answer.
“You stopped at a light,” Jack prompted. “That’s how it’s done, right?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened then?” Max asked.
Leon took a tremulous breath. “Jamal got out and I drove ahead. I looked back an’ the Arab dude was gone and Jamal was swervin’ through traffic. I saw him hit—wham, wham—an’ I went back. But I couldn’t get him out. Next thing up, I was bein’ hustled into a cop car.”
“You never saw the Arab again?”
Leon shook his head.
“What about today?” Jack asked. He moved around the coffee table and sat on the sofa. “Tell me about the cops in the Escalade.”
Leon took another breath. “I picked Jamal up when we got the okay. He was all smilin’ even though he was in a wheelchair and me an’ a nurse had to carry him into the car.” He smiled. “Banged him up, tryin’ to fit him an’ crutches.” The smile faded. “Then, ’bout an hour before you guys showed up, some cops come poundin’ on the door.”
“You saw this?”
“I heard ’em when Mom let ’em in. I was in the bedroom with Jamal. He was talkin’ about wantin’ to go to the lot, show his badass casts, an’ I told him I’d think about it. I took off out the window.”
“Why?” Jack asked.
“’Cause I heard them ask where I was.”
“Really?” Jack said. “Leon, I need to ask you something. Were you ever picked up on a gun charge?”
“What that got to do with anything?”
“Humor me.”
“Yeah, sure, once, two years ago,” Leon said. “They couldn’t prove shit.”
No, Jack thought, but it would show up on your rap sheet. If they were coming for Jamal they’d want to know where his pistol-packing brother was.