"You should have gotten rid of it two days ago. Do it now…"the machines stopped for a moment. If there hadn't been a sudden lull, Leon would never head the men coming. Quickly he looked across the steering wheel and out the other side. There were two of them, both dressed in lose fitting overalls, Leon had a feeling he had seen one of them back at the funeral. One was the driver the other was the one who had a gun. He was sure of it.
Whoever they were, they were a few paces from him, talking in a low tone. so he hid in the one possible place he could. Inside the car without thinking. Using his foot he hooked the the door and closed it. At the same time, he became aware that the machines had started again and he could no longer hear the men. He didn't dare look up. A shadow fell across the window as the two men passed. But then they were gone. He was safe.
He dragged himself out and landed fell into the dust that was surrounding the entire floor, only to find himself face to face with a man so fat he could barely fit into the small cabin of the crusher. A cigarette dangled on his lower lip as his mouth fell open and his eyes stared. What he saw was a boy in what had been once a school uniform. His entire body covered in dust. By the time the operator had taken that in, come to his senses, and turned off the machine off, he had gone.
Leon clambered down the side of the crusher, landing on the foot that hadn't been affected by the fall. He was aware of the small pieces of jagged metal lying everywhere. If he wasn't careful, he would get an open cut on the injured foot. His bike was where he had left it, leaning against the wall, and gingerly, half hopping he made for it. Behind him he heard the man's voice call out, raising the alarm. At the same time a second man ran forward, stopping between Leon and his bike. It was the driver, the man he had seen at the funeral, his face, twisted into a hostile frown, was curiously ugly: greasy hair, watery eyes, pale and lifeless skin.
"What do you think…"he began. His hand slid into his jacket. Leon remembered the gun, and instantly without thinking, swung into action.
He had started learning karate when he was six years old. One morning, with no explanation. Mark hunter had taken him to a local club for his first lesson and he had been going here, once a week, ever since. Over the years he had passed through different martial arts grades. But it was only last year when he earned his first black belt. When he arrived at Bravestone Academy, his gentle looks and accent had quickly brought him the attention of the school bullies; three hulking sixteen year olds. They had one cornered him once behind the bike shed. The encounter lasted less than a minute. The next day one of the bullies had left Bravestone, and the other two never troubled anyone ever again.
Now Leon brought up his leg, twisted his body around, and lashed out. The back kick- said to be the most lethal in karate. His foot powered into the man's abdomen with such force that the man didn't have time to cry out. His eyes bulged and his mouth half opened in surprise. Then with his hand still halfway into his jacket he clumped to the ground.
Leon jumped over him, snatched up his bike, and swung himself onto it. In the distance a third man was running toward him. He heard a single word "Stop!" called out. Then there was a crack and a bullet whipped past. Leon gripped the handlebars and pedaled as hard as he could. The bike shot forward, over the rubble and out through the gates. He took one look over his shoulder. Nobody followed him.
With one shoe missing, the clothes a mess, and a simple dislocation. Leon knew he must look at the strange sight once more. But he looked back at his last seconds inside and sighed of relief. He could be looking worse.
The Bank called the following day.
"This is Luke. Do you remember me? I work at the ban. We were wandering if you could come in."
"Come in?" Leon was half dressed already late for school.
"This afternoon. We found some papers of your father's we need to talk to you.. about your position."
Was there something frightening about the man's voice? "What time this Afternoon?" Leon asked.
"Could you manage four? We're a outside town. We can send a cab-"
"I will be there," Leon said, I'll take the bus."
He hung up.
"Who was that?" Kate called out of the kitchen. She as cooking breakfast for the two of them, although how long she could remain with Leon was growing. Her wages hadn't been paid. She only had her own money o buy food and pay for bills.
"That was the bank." Leon came into the room, wearing his spare uniform. He hadn't told her what had happened at the junk yard. Kate had enough on her min. "I'm going there this afternoon," he said.
Do you want me to come?"
"No. I'll be fine."
He came out of the bus that afternoon, still wearing his school uniform; a gray jacket, gray trousers, striped tie. He found the bank easily enough. The national bank occupied a tall building with the American flag hanging from a pole about fourteen floors up. There was brass plaque with the word next to the main doors and a security camera swiveling slowly over the pavement.
Leon stepped right in front of it. For a moment he wandered if he was making a mistake, going in. If the bank was somehow had been involved in his Mark Hunter's death. It was always possible they had asked him here to arrange his own. But would anyone from the bank want to kill him? He didn't have an account here. He went inside.