Rise of the Beast

B
OOKS BY

K
ENNETH
Z
EIGLER

Heaven and Hell
The War in Heaven

A
VAILABLE FROM
D
ESTINY
I
MAGE
P
UBLISHERS

Dedicated to Cecilia Celeste Farnsworth,
the woman whose life inspired

The Tears of Heaven
series.

I would like to thank my wife,

Mary Zeigler,

who offered continuing editorial guidance.

C
HAPTER
1

It was well past 11
P.M
. as Leland James and his number one made their way through New York’s Central Park. Leland was a handsome and well-established African American man in his late thirties. He had grown up in New York City, though not in this part of town. No, he had grown up in Harlem, in a rundown apartment with his single mother and his sister. Those were far different days.

Tonight, he and his comely companion were on their way to his current home, an upscale condo on Central Park West. He’d partaken of the spirits rather heavily tonight at the party. Why else would a savvy, street-smart New Yorker be cutting through Central Park at this hour? Certainly not because it was the quickest route home—that was screwy logic, the logic of a man some distance short of sobriety. The nighttime dangers of the park were rather overstated in the stories told to frighten the tourists away. Still, he was not typically a person who cared to tempt fate.

In his younger days, he had conducted his share of drug deals in the park, some of them after dark. They had been small-change deals, really—an ounce of weed here, a couple pills there. He’d never been a hard-core dealer. He didn’t have the temperament for it. He didn’t do drugs himself either—not then, not now; that wasn’t good business. The bottom line in business was making money, not getting high. Those who learned that rule lived longer and got richer, and he had. But he wasn’t involved in that sort of thing anymore. It was just too risky. Most of the dealers he knew from his younger days were either doing
hard time or had taken up permanent residence six feet under. No, today he dealt in a different commodity—love.

He gazed over at his fine young lady, a blond-haired, blue-eyed girl just over half his age. She was his number one, his best hooker. When he’d first set eyes on her three years ago, she was an underage runaway from Richmond. He’d seen her potential even then, as she stood in line at the women’s shelter. He’d taken her away from all of that. And she hadn’t become some strung-out street vendor either, dealing in the pleasures of the flesh. No, in his hands, she had been molded into the finest lady of the night, a beautiful princess with both feet squarely on the ground, available for the right price. He took good care of her, pairing her up with only his finest clients.

Yet now it went deeper than that. Of all of his women, and there were many, she was the one he spent the most time with. In fact, during the past two months, Krissie was the only one of his ladies he had spent time with. She was special to him, and he knew that he was special to her.

Leland wasn’t a difficult person to become enamored with, really. He was a handsome man, and despite his lowly beginnings, he was highly intelligent and quite clever in so many ways. He certainly had a way with the ladies. He was a true gentleman in every sense of the word. He took care of his women, made sure that they wanted for nothing. His rules for them were simple: no drugs, and alcohol only in moderation. If they were uneasy about particular clients, they were to walk away. He dealt in quality, not quantity, and quality didn’t come cheap. In reality, he himself set up most of their encounters, assuring the quality of their clients. Those clients were businessmen, bankers, stockbrokers, and politicians, New York’s finest. When the finest didn’t treat his women right—well, he had contacts who dealt with those problems too.

He and Krissie were nearly to the underpass. He was more than halfway home.

“Hey, big man, ya got a light?”

Leland turned to see four young Hispanic men step out of the shadows of a tall oak tree. They looked to be in their late teens, maybe 20. He could see their gang affiliation from their colors, the Latin Kings. This was not good. “Sorry, guys, I don’t smoke,” said Leland, not knowing what to say.

“Well, that’s okay,” said the one in the center, a muscular, heavily tattooed man. “But you still gotta pay to go through our territory.”

Leland evaluated the situation. This youth was right; he was a big man. He could make short order of one of these punks, but the other three—that was the problem. It was his move. Still, there might be a way out of this short of fighting or surrender. “Don’t you think that you should find out who you’re dealing with before you start making threats?”

“OK, homie, I’ll bite. Who are ya?” said the youth, who didn’t sound impressed.

“Someone who works for Louie Pagoni,” replied Leland. “I’m sure you’ve heard of him. You mess with me, you’re messing with him. If you’re short on change, well, out of respect for the Kings, I’d be willing to drop a 50 for each of you. You can consider it the toll.”

The youth looked at his compatriots and smiled. “Hey, this homie knows our gang colors, what do ya think about that?”

There was an uneasy round of low laughter among the youth’s comrades. Leland figured that he had taken the wrong approach.

“I’ll make you a counteroffer, homie,” said the youth. We’ll accept your offer, out of respect for Louie Pagoni. But you gotta sweeten it a bit. Leave us that little lovely as well, and you can go on your way. We’ll take good care of her, return her to you when we’re finished with her. When you get her back, she’ll know a few more tricks.”

“Leland?” whispered Krissie, fear in her voice.

“Hush,” said Leland, who turned once more to the youths. “Not gonna happen.”

“Then I think we are at an impasse,” said the youth, drawing a glistening knife. “You should have taken my offer when you had the chance.”

Leland had some experience in street fighting, and should have been focused on that blade, yet something else had caught his attention. About 30 or 40 feet behind the four teens, near the entrance to the tunnel, what looked like dozens of glistening stars and a blue mist had suddenly appeared. From the mist stepped two men in long, dark-hooded cloaks of a sort that might have been worn by a proper gentleman a century or more ago. They removed their hoods in unison to reveal two handsome, and middle-aged men, both of whom had short, dark hair with just a touch of gray. They advanced in the direction of the growing altercation.

Apparently, the youth had noticed Leland’s expression and turned to see the approaching men. “Well, what do we have here? Why I think we got more travelers needing to pay the toll.”

The men eyed the four youths carefully as they approached. It was the one on the left who spoke. “You young men wouldn’t happen to be bothering these good people, would you?”

The youth looked at the man angrily. “I’d say that was none of your damned business, homie.”

“Oh, I’m not your homie, I assure you,” said the man, setting down his briefcase and drawing closer. “I do, however, have business to discuss with that gentleman behind you. So if you will be so kind as to move along, I will leave you in peace, at least, for the moment.”