At Harvey Harmon’s signal, the man standing closest to him drew the handgun from his waistband.
He moved toward the front door as quietly as possible.
The others froze where they stood.
The doorbell rang again.
Ding-dong.
The gunman leaned toward the peephole.
Outside stood a young man wearing a motorcycle helmet and the uniform of a pizza delivery driver.
Several pizza boxes were stacked in his arms.
“Hello?” Leon’s voice came through the door.
“Anyone home?
Your pizza’s here.” He waited.
Nothing.
Leon looked at the lights glowing through the windows.
That’s weird.
Someone was clearly home.
So why wasn’t anybody answering?
Inside, the gunman glanced back at Harvey, silently asking what he wanted him to do.
Harvey’s jaw tightened.
If Joey Baker hadn’t already been dead, Harvey would’ve happily killed him again.
When the hell had the idiot ordered pizza?
Before they arrived?
Harvey’s first instinct was simple.
Kill the delivery driver too.
No witness.
No complication.
Problem solved.
A cold light entered his eyes.
Then he remembered his brother’s instructions.
Don’t create unnecessary trouble.
Harvey might enjoy killing, but he wasn’t stupid enough to ignore his brother when there was no reason to.
He considered the situation for several seconds before speaking quietly.
“Everybody hide.” The men immediately moved.
Harvey looked toward the gunman by the door.
“Get rid of him.” He pointed at him.
“Act normal.
Don’t give him a reason to remember anything.” The man nodded.
Once everyone was out of sight, he tucked the handgun back into his waistband and cleared his throat.
“One second!
I’m looking for some cash.” Leon heard the response and relaxed slightly.
A few seconds later, the door opened halfway.
The man deliberately positioned himself in the opening, blocking most of Leon’s view inside.
Leon handed him the stack of pizzas.
“Thanks for ordering from Old York’s Pizzeria.
That’ll be thirty-two dollars.” He pulled a few coupons from his pocket.
“And here are some coupons for next time.” The man set the pizzas down just inside the doorway and reached into his pocket.
He pulled out four ten-dollar bills and handed them over.
“Keep the change.” Leon glanced at the money.
An eight-dollar tip.
Not bad.
He smiled professionally.
“Thanks.
I appreciate it.” He pocketed the cash.
“Have a great night.” The man gave a quick nod.
All he wanted was to close the door and get Leon as far away from this house as possible.
He had already started moving the door when— Thump.
Something heavy struck the floor deeper inside the house.
Both men heard it.
The gunman’s body stiffened.
Leon instinctively glanced toward the sound.
Inside, one of Harvey’s men had been trying to hide Joey Baker’s corpse on the staircase.
The living room was too open to conceal a body properly, so he’d dragged Joey several steps up and held him there while the delivery was handled.
Unfortunately, Joey’s body was covered in blood.
His clothing and skin were slick enough that the man’s grip suddenly slipped.
The corpse slid down four or five steps.
Joey’s head struck the floor with a dull, heavy knock.
The man holding him went pale.
He immediately grabbed Joey’s legs and hauled the corpse back up the stairs.
At the front door, the gunman shifted sideways almost instantly, using his large frame to block Leon’s line of sight.
Leon looked past him for barely a second.
He couldn’t see much.
And he wasn’t interested enough to try.
Maybe they had a dog.
Or a cat.
Something had probably knocked an object over.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t his business.
“Have a good one.” Leon turned away.
The door shut behind him.
A few moments later, the motorcycle engine started outside.
The man at the door hurried toward the window and carefully watched Leon ride away.
The motorcycle continued down the street.
It didn’t slow.
Leon never looked back.
Nothing about his behavior suggested suspicion.
The man finally exhaled.
Behind him, another voice trembled.
“Boss, I’m sorry!” The man who’d dropped Joey’s corpse was already facing Harvey.
Fear covered his face.
“I didn’t mean to drop him.
There was too much blood—I lost my grip.” Harvey stared at him.
The man swallowed.
“I pulled him back up immediately.
He wasn’t visible for more than two seconds.” He spoke faster.
“That kid didn’t notice anything.
I swear.” Harvey said nothing.
His expression remained ice-cold.
The man became even more nervous.
Finally, Harvey turned toward the gunman who had answered the door.
“Did the kid see anything?” The man thought carefully before answering.
“I don’t think so.” Harvey’s stare sharpened.
“I only opened the door halfway.
And when the body fell, I shifted over and blocked his view.” He hesitated.
“He shouldn’t have seen anything.” Harvey remained silent.
Then he walked to the window.
He checked the street in both directions.
No pedestrians nearby.
No one watching the house.
Leon was long gone.
Harvey opened the front door and stepped outside.
He stood exactly where Leon had been moments earlier.
Then he looked back inside.
“You.” He gestured toward the man who had answered the door.
“Come here.” The man hurried over.
“Stand where you were.” Harvey stepped aside.
“Open the door exactly the same way you did before.” The man obeyed.
He recreated the exchange as closely as he could—how far the door had been opened, where he’d stood, where he’d held the pizzas, and how he’d shifted when the noise came from inside.
Harvey studied the angle.
After a moment, he nodded.
From Leon’s position, most of the living room really would have been hidden.
His subordinate was a big man.
Standing in the doorway, he was practically a wall.
Harvey walked down the front steps.
Then he turned around and looked toward the doorway again.
His expression slowly changed.
“Don’t move.” The man immediately froze.
Harvey shifted slightly left.
Then right.
He crouched just enough to reconstruct the line of sight.
His eyes narrowed.
“You’re absolutely sure this is where you were standing?” The man thought about it carefully.
“Yes.” He nodded.
“That’s exactly where I was.” Harvey walked back inside without saying another word.
Then he grabbed the man who had dropped Joey.
By the head.
And slammed his face into the staircase.
Bang!
“AAAGH!” Again.
Bang!
“Boss—!” Again.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
The man’s screams filled the house.
Harvey continued smashing his head against the stairs until the man’s legs weakened and his cries deteriorated into incoherent groans.
Only then did Harvey release him.
The injured man collapsed.
Harvey turned toward the man who had answered the door.
“When the kid looked back…” His voice was dangerously quiet.
“He could see the blood at the bottom of the stairs through the gap between your legs.” The gunman’s face changed instantly.
Cold sweat broke across his skin.
Harvey pointed toward the staircase.
“And if this idiot hadn’t pulled the body high enough, the kid could’ve seen half of Joey’s head.” Silence filled the room.
The man at the door looked increasingly pale.
He wasn’t only worried about Leon anymore.
He was worried Harvey might decide the mistake belonged to him too.
Harvey seemed to notice.
“You did your job.” The man released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“This isn’t your fault.” Harvey glanced toward the closed door.
“But the delivery kid is still a problem.” Nobody spoke.
“We don’t know what he saw.” Harvey’s voice became colder.
“And I don’t like unknowns.” He looked at the man who had answered the door.
“Find a way to deal with him.” The man’s eyes hardened.
Harvey continued.
“Quietly.” A pause.
“Or make it look like an accident.” The subordinate nodded immediately.
That was a much easier problem than being punished by Harvey.
Killing one college-aged delivery driver without attracting attention might require some preparation, but it wasn’t particularly difficult for people like them.
“Understood.” He straightened.
“I’ll arrange it as soon as possible.” Harvey stared at him.
“I’ll keep him under surveillance for the next couple of days first.
Figure out his routine, where he lives, who he’s around.” Harvey nodded.
Good.
He turned back toward the rest of the room.
“Finish cleaning.” Then his eyes fell on the two men whose mistakes had nearly created a witness.
“When we’re done, take those two useless bastards back with us.” His expression didn’t change.
“Feed them to the dogs.” “Yes, boss.” Half an hour later, orange flames glowed against the night sky.
The house at 30 East 15th Street burned fiercely.
Fire consumed the furniture.
The walls blackened.
Evidence disappeared beneath smoke, heat, and collapsing debris.
By the time the flames had finished their work, almost every trace of what had happened inside had been reduced to ash.
And somewhere else in New York, Leon Carter continued on his way home without the slightest idea that a group of killers had just decided he needed to die.
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