on. I'm right, aren't I?" He threw Leon his robe. "What do you say we go down there and play some pool? We can talk."
Leon calculated his chances of getting to the nightstand where he kept his .45. They didn't look too good. He shrugged on his robe and walked to the basement stairs ahead of the two intruders. The stairs creaked beneath his weight as he started descending into the pitch black. About halfway he leaped to the floor and scrambled sideways.
If they hit the light switch, he was screwed before he started. They didn't.
Moving quickly for someone of his bulk, Leon bolted to the fuse box, hit the breaker switch. Then he began feeling his way toward to the small refrigerator where he kept extra beer and snacks for his poker-playing buddies. Way in the back was a .32 stashed behind a jar of pig's feet. It should still be there.
Nobody ever ate pig's feet. If he could get his hands on that little baby, these two assholes would be talking out the other side of their asses. Nobody came into Leon Wilson's house and threatened him. Nobody.
He began edging away from the wall, trying to remember just exactly where the card table was. Didn't want to fall over it. And where were those two boys? What the hell were they doing?
The refrigerator kicked on and Leon nearly filled his size 42 boxers.
"Leon, come out, come out, wherever you are," Steven called from the foot of the stairs.
They were standing in a shaft of light that came from upstairs. They melted into the dark, the young guy in the lead. To get to the refrigerator, Leon had to cross the light.
Funny thing, Leon noticed, the steps hadn't creaked under their feet. Maybe he hadn't heard anything on account of his heart thumping so loudly. And maybe frogs didn't bump their asses when they hopped, neither. Something weird was going on here.
"I love hide-and-seek," Earl said.
Their footsteps were getting nearer and Leon had the distinct impression they could see him as plain as day, that they were just playing cat-and-mouse with him. That was crazy. No one could see in darkness like this.
And yet they were coming straight toward him.
Time was running out. It was now or never.
Leon had hoped for a few moments to check the pistol over. It had been in the refrigerator a long time. He didn't have a few moments. With a silent curse, he ripped the door open and shoved the jar containing the pig's feet to the side. Something was wrong with jar. He looked for the .32. Looked at the pig's feet again. Something was wrong. What? It wouldn't register. He slewed the contents of the refrigerator onto the floor. No gun. No goddamn gun.
He slammed the door shut and the room was once again dark. But only for a moment.
The light popped on, throwing the basement into blinding brightness. "Say, this is really nice," Earl said. "Steven and I always stay in motels on account of we do so much traveling. It ain't often we get to see the inside of a real house." He pulled Leon's .32 out of the waistband of his pants. "I didn't think this thing was ever gonna warm up. It damn near froze my balls off."
Leon grabbed the first thing he saw, a pool cue propped against the wall. He swung, caught Earl a good shot with the business end.
Earl whoofed, went down. But he didn't turn loose of the gun. He leveled it at Leon from the floor, holding it shakily before him like an inadequate bribe for an angry god.
Only Leon wasn't interested in him anymore.
The big black man dropped the shattered pool cue and looked past Earl, his eyes drawn to a flash of light on the floor. The jar holding the pig's feet was rolling slowly toward the wall, spilling its contents along the way like a dryer with the door open. Most of what was inside was already on the floor, but one of the shriveled pink nubs was darker than the rest and it had something shiny on it that caught the light. Leon wished he'd gotten the glasses he needed as he tried to bring the jar into focus. Someone had put rings on one of the pig's
Leon calculated his chances of getting to the nightstand where he kept his .45. They didn't look too good. He shrugged on his robe and walked to the basement stairs ahead of the two intruders. The stairs creaked beneath his weight as he started descending into the pitch black. About halfway he leaped to the floor and scrambled sideways.
If they hit the light switch, he was screwed before he started. They didn't.
Moving quickly for someone of his bulk, Leon bolted to the fuse box, hit the breaker switch. Then he began feeling his way toward to the small refrigerator where he kept extra beer and snacks for his poker-playing buddies. Way in the back was a .32 stashed behind a jar of pig's feet. It should still be there.
Nobody ever ate pig's feet. If he could get his hands on that little baby, these two assholes would be talking out the other side of their asses. Nobody came into Leon Wilson's house and threatened him. Nobody.
He began edging away from the wall, trying to remember just exactly where the card table was. Didn't want to fall over it. And where were those two boys? What the hell were they doing?
The refrigerator kicked on and Leon nearly filled his size 42 boxers.
"Leon, come out, come out, wherever you are," Steven called from the foot of the stairs.
They were standing in a shaft of light that came from upstairs. They melted into the dark, the young guy in the lead. To get to the refrigerator, Leon had to cross the light.
Funny thing, Leon noticed, the steps hadn't creaked under their feet. Maybe he hadn't heard anything on account of his heart thumping so loudly. And maybe frogs didn't bump their asses when they hopped, neither. Something weird was going on here.
"I love hide-and-seek," Earl said.
Their footsteps were getting nearer and Leon had the distinct impression they could see him as plain as day, that they were just playing cat-and-mouse with him. That was crazy. No one could see in darkness like this.
And yet they were coming straight toward him.
Time was running out. It was now or never.
Leon had hoped for a few moments to check the pistol over. It had been in the refrigerator a long time. He didn't have a few moments. With a silent curse, he ripped the door open and shoved the jar containing the pig's feet to the side. Something was wrong with jar. He looked for the .32. Looked at the pig's feet again. Something was wrong. What? It wouldn't register. He slewed the contents of the refrigerator onto the floor. No gun. No goddamn gun.
He slammed the door shut and the room was once again dark. But only for a moment.
The light popped on, throwing the basement into blinding brightness. "Say, this is really nice," Earl said. "Steven and I always stay in motels on account of we do so much traveling. It ain't often we get to see the inside of a real house." He pulled Leon's .32 out of the waistband of his pants. "I didn't think this thing was ever gonna warm up. It damn near froze my balls off."
Leon grabbed the first thing he saw, a pool cue propped against the wall. He swung, caught Earl a good shot with the business end.
Earl whoofed, went down. But he didn't turn loose of the gun. He leveled it at Leon from the floor, holding it shakily before him like an inadequate bribe for an angry god.
Only Leon wasn't interested in him anymore.
The big black man dropped the shattered pool cue and looked past Earl, his eyes drawn to a flash of light on the floor. The jar holding the pig's feet was rolling slowly toward the wall, spilling its contents along the way like a dryer with the door open. Most of what was inside was already on the floor, but one of the shriveled pink nubs was darker than the rest and it had something shiny on it that caught the light. Leon wished he'd gotten the glasses he needed as he tried to bring the jar into focus. Someone had put rings on one of the pig's
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