12
In a dark, damp basement, Emanuelle Hill was chopping potatoes. A pot of water bubbled on the stove. He cursed under his breath. “This city is too damn expensive. This crappy basement costs a hundred and fifty a day! That Garcia bitch isn’t answering her phone. She’s abandoned us.”
Old man Lowell sighed. “What can we do? Your daughter is rich and powerful now, and she has her man protecting her. We can’t even get close to her. We came all this way and got nothing but a beating. I’m not going back empty–handed!”
Emanuelle Hill spat. “I’ve got a mountain of gambling debt. I can’t go back with nothing either!”
Levias entered the basement. The three of them trembled in fear.
Levias’s assistant placed a leather suitcase on the bed. He opened it to reveal stacks and stacks of hundred–dollar bills.
Emanuelle Hill and Old man Lowell swallowed hard, their faces contorted with greed.
“There’s six hundred thousand here. It’s to cover your medical expenses. You won’t get another cent. Take the money and get out.”
After Levias left, Old man Lowell grabbed two bundles of cash and sniffed them. “Kenson and I will take four hundred thousand.”
“On what grounds?! This is for medical bills! Kenson didn’t get hit, he doesn’t get a share!” Emanuelle Hill said, reaching for the money.
Old man Lowell pushed him away, his eyes bloodshot. “I was hurt worse! I’m taking the bigger share!”
Emanuelle Hill’s eyes turned red. Six hundred thousand… he could never earn that much in his entire life. He saw the cleaver on the table. He wan- ted all of it. He lunged for the cleaver and swung it at Old man Lowell’s neck.
Old man Lowell collapsed, dead on the spot.
Emanuelle Hill was about to go for Kenson Lowell. Kenson grabbed the pot of boiling water and threw it at him. The cleaver fell from Emanuelle Hill’s hand. He screamed in agony, his eyes squeezed shut.
