“Now, we wait. Go do your rounds,” said Manhattan. “Check in with everyone and make sure the transitions are going according to plan.”
“Sure thing, Boss.”
Tarantina left the hotel suite, leaving Manhattan alone.
So far, everything was going ahead as expected. With the exception of Johnny King, everybody had relented. Manhattan now either ran their businesses as his own, or he’d closed them permanently. He kept the profitable, or potentially profitable, businesses alive with his own men at the helm, and killed off the rest—literally.
His next step was to secure the support of local law enforcement, to make his life easier when running and expanding his empire. From experience, he knew that police officers were typically greedy, but were nearly always a sound investment. If you found the right cop, you could have a free run at the city. He was going to put the word out among his men to keep their ears to the ground for any potential candidates, and then he would make the approach himself. He’d done it many times before, and knew how to play the game just right.
But it took time to build the relationship with the law that way, and the initial resistance from King had to be dealt with sooner, rather than later, otherwise he’d start to lose any credibility he’d gained since arriving in the city a few days ago. He had to make a bold statement, to show everyone that his way was the only viable option.
He was also confident of his plans for Adrian Hell too. They had history, the two of them. And despite Adrian saving his life not so long ago, Manhattan never forgot the people who had wronged him. He’d learned from the mistakes both generations of Pellaggio had made when it came to dealing with that man, and offering him the contract to kill Johnny King was just the first step to getting his revenge.
He smiled as he walked over to his mini bar and poured himself a small measure of bourbon. He dropped a couple of ice cubes into it, which clinked together loudly in his otherwise silent room. He sat in the chair Tarantina had occupied a moment earlier, took a sip of his drink, and looked out of the window. He wasn’t concerned over if it was too early to drink or not—he simply wanted to relax and be left to his thoughts.
It hadn’t been too difficult to track Adrian down, once you knew how to look for him. He couldn’t be found unless he wanted to be, but Manhattan was in a reasonably unique position, in that he’d crossed paths with Adrian Hell—more than once—and lived to tell the tale. Consequently, he had somewhat of an inside scoop on him, which aided him greatly when it came to locating him.
It was very interesting to him that he’d found Adrian in the same state as himself. He made a mental note to find out what job in particular Adrian was working on over in Pittsburgh. If he was involved, it will likely be a target of some importance, which could be a situation worth exploiting...
10:07
Manhattan’s phone rang, breaking the silence in the room and disturbing his thoughts. He hadn’t moved from his chair. He’d spent the time contemplating his next few moves, like playing a mental chess game, theorizing on all the possible outcomes.
He walked over to the bed and answered it. “Yes?”
“Boss, it’s me,” said an obviously flustered Tarantina. “We’ve got a real problem.”
“What’s happened?” asked Manhattan, frowning with fresh concern.
“One of our new businesses, a launderette over in Westwood, has been hit. We’ve got two men dead and one injured. The place was cleaned out.”
“Remind me what this business was...”
“There was a gambling house run in the back. Mostly poker. Illegal, high stakes—most visitors are our kind of people, and were known players in the state looking to spend, and launder, some cash.”
“What have we lost?”
“Close to eighty large,” replied Tarantina with a heavy sigh.
Manhattan’s nostrils flare and his face contorts, as momentary flash of anger before taking a deep breath.
“Who have we lost?” he asked.
“A couple of guys I brought into the organization. Good guys—I’d known them a long time. I ain’t happy, Boss.”
“I know, Paulie. We just need to handle this situation correctly. Have we been able to get anything of use from the survivor?”
“Nothing except a vague description of one of the guys who came in. The details meant nothing to me, but my guess is that it was King’s men.”
“That would be my assumption too, but we need to make sure. Bring me the security tapes, and let me see what happened. If it was King, we will find the men who did this and make an example. Then send Mr. King an invoice for our missing money. This will not go unpunished.”
“You got it, Mr. Manhattan,” said Tarantina, before hanging up.
Manhattan stared at the phone for a moment, before dropping it on the bed, walking back over to the mini bar, and pouring himself a fresh shot of bourbon, much larger this time. He took a long gulp and a deep breath.
He’d expected a few hiccups along the way, but nothing as daring as that. He knew he had to find out who was responsible and retaliate quickly—set an example. And if it was Johnny King behind it, he’d put his head on a spike for the world to see.
16.
ADRIAN HELL
14:06
Josh has just spent the last hour or so explaining the finer details of his plan to assault Trent’s bank balance, which I have no problem admitting made very little sense to me. But the bottom line is we’re going to transfer all Trent’s money into our bank account, which sounds pretty goddamn good to me.
We’ve also been discussing Manhattan’s job offer. Despite the potential benefits, taking down Trent is simply more important, and I don’t want lose sight of why I’m here, so we’ve agreed that the best thing to do is turn the job down. Plus, any dealings with Manhattan would only ever be temporary, and a huge risk at best, so it really isn’t worth it.
It looks like the rain outside has settled in for the duration now. It’s coming down much heavier than a couple of hours ago. Despite being the middle of the afternoon, it’s almost dark outside. The raindrops splash rapidly against the window of my hotel suite, the noise low and constant in the background.
Josh is sitting cross-legged on my bed, his laptop resting on his knees as he taps away, cursing occasionally. I smile. Watching him work is always interesting. You can see it in his eyes—the excitement, the urgency, the intelligence... He’s a very unique individual.
“Right,” he says, looking up from the screen. “I think I’ve got an algorithm that could work. It’ll mask my IP address and bounce my signal all over the world before attacking the accounts, so we’re pretty safe.”
I nod with an exaggerated blank look on my face. “Great! I was just thinking, you’ll definitely need to make sure you mask your IP address...”
He raises an eyebrow. “‘We both know you have no clue what I just said. Leave the sarcasm to me, yeah?”
I hold my hands up and laugh. “Fair enough. So, are you good to go ahead?”
“In theory, yes—I think so. Now we just need the details of his accounts...”
“Well, let’s go and get something to eat and figure out the rest of it. I’m hungry.”
He closes the laptop and puts it to one side, stretching his legs out on the bed before standing. “Sounds good to me,” he says, heading for the door.
I pick my jacket up off the back of the chair and look at my guns, which are hanging underneath it in their holster.
I’m only going for some lunch—I doubt I’ll need them…
I put my jacket on and follow Josh out of the room, picking up the room key from the side as I pass and closing the door behind me. We walk to the elevator and ride it to the first floor. The doors ding and slide open, and we walk out side by side into the lobby. Josh immediately taps my arm and subtly gestures toward the front desk. There are two police officers talking to the manager. They’re holding a picture and the manager’s nodding and gesturing with his hands. We lo
ok at each other, the same alarm bells ringing in our heads, then stride on quickly but cautiously with our heads down toward the entrance.
“Oh, there he is now,” I hear the manager say. I can’t help but look over. He’s pointing right at us. “Mr. Hughes? Do you have a moment?”
I look at the two officers as they turn to face us. They’re both about the same height and build. Both dressed the same—beat cops with their waterproof coats on. The one on the left has some stubble on his chin, while the other is clean-shaven. Their eyes narrow as they look first at us, then at the photo in they’re holding. They quickly turn to each other and nod in silent confirmation, and set off walking toward us.
“We need a word with you,” says the one with the stubble.
I catch a glimpse of the photo he’s holding. It’s a grainy, black and white picture of my face. Its poor quality tells me it’s likely a printout of a screenshot from a video, given the poor resolution. In a split second, I realize that they must’ve had access to the security footage from Trent’s club from yesterday in order to get that picture. IF I’m to make an educated guess, I’d say these cops are in Trent’s pocket, which means guessing arresting us probably isn’t high on their agenda. I have no idea how these guys found us so quickly. We’re not exactly hiding, admittedly, but I kinda hoped it’d take Trent longer than this to get to me.
I instinctively reach behind me, going into survival mode and getting my guns, but I don’t have them, do I? Seriously, the one time I leave them somewhere…
Josh looks at me, and my jaw muscles tense. The two cops are halfway to us now, but we’re closer to the entrance than they are to us… I think that’s my decision made…
“Josh, run!” I yell, breaking into a sprint and slamming through the doors, stopping momentarily on the sidewalk outside.
The rain is torrential, and I’m instantly soaked, squinting to stop the water dripping into my eyes. Josh appears next to me; the cops are a second behind us.
“I’ll go left, you go right!” I shout to him over the noise of the weather and the traffic. “Give them a runaround for five minutes then meet back at the Winnebago.”
“Got it,” replies Josh, breathing heavy as his adrenaline starts to pump.
We split up, running off in our respective directions. I hope he’s going to be okay—he’s still likely feeling the effects of the wounds he sustained back in San Francisco…
There’s an old saying—discretion is the better part of valor. I know I’m not a coward. I’m not running away because I’m scared. I’m simply avoiding a confrontation until I’m better prepared to win it.
I run to the end of the street, nearly slipping on the wet sidewalk. I weave and dodge through the crowd and take the first left turn I come to. I chance a look over my shoulder and briefly see one of the cops in pursuit. He isn’t as fast as I am, which is a blessing. I pause a moment, giving him a good look where I’m going, then set off again. People stare at me as I run past them, obviously disturbed by the sight of a police officer chasing after someone. Halfway up the street, I spot a trashcan near the curb. I slow down enough to take my jacket off and I throw it away as I pass by. I’m completely soaked and freezing. My t-shirt is clinging to my torso, almost see-through from the rain. I look over my shoulder again, but I can’t see the cop. I can, however, see the crowd of people behind me parting hurriedly, so he’s definitely still in pursuit.
It’s a long street, lined either side mostly by shops and bars. I know I need to get off this main stretch and find a way to double-back to the hotel. Up ahead, I can see an alleyway just after a McDonalds on the left.
Perfect!
I stop and move quickly into the doorway, turning my back to the street. I pretend to open the door, using the reflection in the glass to see behind me. I wait for the cop to run past me and set off again, chasing him now. I come up directly behind him as we approach the alley. I speed up to draw level with him on the outside, and with a strong shoulder barge, I push the surprised cop into the alley, his own momentum causing him to stumble and fall to the ground.
I move in quickly after him, dragging him up, and manhandling him farther into the alley, away from the street. I push him against the wall, and as he turns, I launch a straight right that catches him flush on the side of the face. He hits the wall and I move in again, standing close and pressing my right forearm against his throat, pinning him to the spot.
His face is inches from mine. Like me, he’s drenched. He’s breathing heavy, gasping for air through gritted teeth as he struggles to get free from my grip, although that’s a futile effort. I apply more pressure to his throat, making it harder for him to get the oxygen his body is screaming for.
“How did you find me?” I ask, shouting over the noise of the downpour.
He growls like a trapped animal, unable to get his words out as his lungs burn for more air. I ease off a little, ensuring I keep him firmly trapped against the wall.
“Answer me!” I demand.
He takes a deep breath, then another. “We—we tried every hotel in the... in Pittsburgh,” he says, barely managing to get his words out in between breaths. “Mr. Trent’s got... the entire city looking for you.”
I feel the look of concern creep over my face as the scope of what I’m up against hits me, and he must’ve seen it.
“You’re... fucking dead,” he rasps, smiling through his obvious discomfort.
“Whatever,” I reply. “Where can I find Trent?”
“Fuck... you!”
I press down again on his throat, holding him upright as I jab him in the kidney with my left hand. “Don’t be silly,” I say. “Tell me where I can find Trent.”
“He’ll find you soon enough,” he winces. “Why are you in such a rush to die?”
I jab him again in the kidney. “You might think you know me, but let me assure you—you really don’t. I’m a fucking nightmare. I’m a whirlwind of misery and suffering and hatred, and I’m here to send Wilson Trent to hell. And I will, I promise you. Now, tell me where he is, or I’ll leave you here, bleeding to death—your call.”
He frowns with confusion. “I’m not bleeding,” he says.
“Give it a minute,” I say, smiling.
For the first time since I caught up with him, I see the first hint of fear and doubt flash in the cop’s eyes. He looks left and right, weighing up all his options.
“Mr. Trent owns a luxury high-rise near the Ohio River,” he says finally. “The top floor is all his. If you wanna find him, that’s where he’s likely to be.”
“Thank you,” I say, pausing to shake my head sharply from side to side to remove some of the rain that’s dripping into my eyes. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
I step back and, without any warning, kick him hard in the stomach with my right foot. As he doubles over, I step forward again and clasp my hands behind his head in a clinch, pulling it down and holding him steady. I whip my right knee up and connect squarely with his face. Something gives as bone meets bone. I let him go and he drops like a stone, landing face down on the wet, muddy alley, unconscious.
I walk back and forth, taking some deep breaths and rubbing my hands over my face to clear any rain from my eyes. At least now I know where that sonofabitch lives… I just need to plan how to get to him.
I walk back over to the cop and roll him over on his back. Christ, his face is a mess! That knee must’ve broken his nose and… yup, dislocated his jaw as well. He looks like he’s run face-first into a brick wall.
I check his pockets and take his badge and cell phone. I look around and, happy no one can see the body from the street, run through the alley, out the other side and back toward the hotel. After a couple of minutes at a light jog, I make it to the parking lot, where I see Josh leaning against the Winnebago.
“What took you so long?” he asks, smiling but unable to hide the relief in his voice.
I throw him the badge, which he catches and opens up.
“
Well, they were real cops, albeit on Trent’s payroll,” I say. “I had a little talk with him and managed to find out where Trent bases himself.”
“Really?” he asks. “That’s brilliant!”
I nod. “I know. Didn’t shoot anyone, either…” We both smile. “What happened with you anyway?”
Without a word, Josh opens the side door to the Winnebago, revealing an unconscious police officer on the floor. He looks back at me and shrugs. “I had to improvise.”
I laugh and climb in the back, stepping over the body and sitting down on the sofa against the back window. Josh climbs in after me, shutting the door and resting against one of his worktops.
“There’s something else,” I say, drying my face with a cloth that was lying on the floor. “The cop said that Trent’s got the entire city after me. That’s how they found us so fast.”
Josh let’s out heavy sigh. “Jesus... Shit just got real, huh?”
“Big time,” I say, raising my eyebrows in agreement.
“So what now?”
I massage my temples and stroke my three-day old beard for a moment, thinking. Right now, only one option is making any sense to me. I catch myself subconsciously scratching the scar I have running down my left cheek, from just below my eye to just above my jaw. A gift from an old acquaintance…
“We need to lay low until we figure out the next move,” I say, finally.
He nods, seeing where I’m going.
“Allentown?” he asks.
I sit back and rest my head against the back windshield. “Allentown.”
22:27
We’d gone back to our suites in the Hilton and gathered up our things, and then hit the road. We’ve taken the I-76 through Harrisburg. The weather’s been horrific, with almost zero visibility the entire journey. As we slowly lost what daylight we had, the traffic has crawled to a near-standstill.
“This was meant to take about five hours,” Josh says, impatiently. “We’ve been on the road for nearly eight...”
“You want me to drive?” I ask.
One Last Bullet: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 3) Page 10
