True Conviction

by James P. Sumner

  I walk on through the city, taking in the sights around me. The working day is in full swing, with everyone around me dressed for the office and rushing in all directions. People are carrying bags, or papers, or their morning coffee, weaving in and out of the crowds on either side of the street.

  The traffic’s just as busy. It’s mostly taxis—nose to tail, fighting to get through the next set of lights before they change again.

  I come to a large junction, where Main Street meets 9th Avenue. I cross over and turn right, which according to the information I have will lead me to Cannon Plaza, where Jackson is currently in his meeting.

  After a few minutes, I come upon the Plaza. It has a large fountain in the center and lots of people walking across it in every direction. Jackson’s in the building at the far end, which is a tall, unmarked, dark glass structure, easily twenty floors high, overlooking the plaza below. I fight my way through the bustle of people and sit on the edge of the fountain facing east, so that the entrance to the building is on my left, about fifty feet away.

  After a few moments, a young woman with a newborn child in a stroller sits next to me, smiling politely as she does. I smile back and briefly look at the baby as she rummages in her bag for something. I’ve never been a particularly broody guy, and children haven’t been on my radar at all since I lost my daughter. But I have to admit, it’s one cute little kid. It couldn’t be more than eight months old. It’s got a bubble of spit on its lips, and these big, wide brown eyes looking around in awe at everything. It’s nice to see that true innocence still exists in this world.

  I turn my attention back to the building, looking out for Jackson. I don’t have to wait long. After maybe five minutes of sitting there, I see him walk out of the building. Just like in the photograph, he looks ever the businessmen. He’s in his late forties and wearing an expensive-looking gray suit. He’s talking on his cell phone as he walks purposefully across the plaza. Handcuffed to his left wrist is a brown, leather briefcase. That’s very curious… You don’t normally see that kind of security measure on everyday people. Not unless he’s carrying a large amount of money or top secret documents or something? But why would he be?

  I’m a details guy and I question everything. Sometimes the smallest detail can have the largest impact. I make a mental note of the observation and move on. I’ll mention it to Josh later, see what he thinks.

  Jackson’s walking fast, like he’s running late for something. It looks like he’s alone, so I stand and set off following him, keeping a casual distance between us. I stop after just a couple of steps when something catches my eye just behind him. I slow down and watch, double-checking to make sure I’m not mistaken. At first, you probably wouldn’t associate one thing with the other, but with my professional eye, I realize that, in fact, he’s not alone. Walking a couple of paces behind, at roughly the same speed, is a bodyguard.

  And she’s beautiful.

  4.

  09:07

  SHE’S WEARING FITTED pants and a low-cut vest top—both are black. She’s also wearing a short, tight leather jacket that finishes just above her waist, dark sunglasses and the brightest red lipstick I’ve ever seen. Her dyed-blonde hair is resting on her shoulders, bouncing as she walks purposefully, never taking her eyes off Jackson. She’s got an amazing body.... Because her clothes are so tight, you can see the definition on her arms and long legs. She’s in very good shape.

  I have absolutely no idea how she’s managing to walk around in this heat dressed like an extra from The Matrix—I can barely function wearing a t-shirt!

  I get over the initial shock of seeing someone who could quite easily be a model guarding the guy I’ve just been hired to kill and quickly take my phone out. I take a couple of pictures and send them to Josh, then put my Bluetooth earpiece in and ring him as I set off walking after Jackson and the mystery woman.

  “Josh, it’s me. Have you got the pictures I just sent you?” I ask as I negotiate my way through the crowds, trying to keep sight of my target.

  “I sure have,” he replies, laughing to himself. “Who’s the expensive-looking prostitute?”

  “That’s what I want you to find out. She’s Jackson’s bodyguard. And as much as I’m sure you’d love to find out she actually is a prostitute, my gut instinct is that she’s definitely in the business. Find out all you can about her, as well as Jackson and why he’s hired her for protection. Also, while you’re at it, dig up what you can on Pellaggio, would you? The game’s just got interesting, and I want to know about all the players on the field.”

  “Leave it with me, Bossman,” he says before hanging up.

  I keep a reasonable distance behind them, following them round the corner at the far end of the Plaza. As I turn, I see Jackson and his bodyguard approaching a parked limousine. The car’s beautiful and very high-end. It’s a black stretch, with a personalized license plate. I look at it approvingly with a well-trained eye, memorizing every detail. I’m familiar with this particular model. It’s armored, with bulletproof, tinted windows and run-flat tires. It’s a serious vehicle… Maybe taking this guy out isn’t gonna be as easy as I first thought.

  I take a couple more pictures on my phone and send them to Josh, then hang back as Jackson and his leather-clad protector get in the car. I lean against one of the small trees that line the street on both sides, pretending to talk on the phone as I casually glance over at them.

  The woman holds the door open, but holds up a hand to stop Jackson from getting in. She then looks all around the street in every direction—including up, which I find interesting… She glances in my direction. With her glasses on, I can’t see her eyes, but I know she won’t spot me. I’m practically invisible when I want to be, so there’s no way she’ll pick me out of the crowd on a standard surveillance run like this.

  She finally allows Jackson to duck inside and she quickly climbs in after him, slamming the door shut behind her. The limo speeds off, turning left and out of sight at the first set of lights they reach.

  Her thoroughness is going to be an issue… She has a level of professionalism you don’t normally find in your typical bodyguards. Not many people would think to look up and check for snipers. I’m certain she’s highly trained. She might even be in my line of work, I’m not sure yet. But I’m very concerned with her presence in the equation.

  I walk back the way I came, heading for my motel. My recon trip hasn’t quite gone how I expected it to and it’s left me with more questions than answers. This supposedly straightforward job is suddenly a lot more complicated, and I’ve got a nagging feeling it’s not going to get any easier.

  10:23

  My recon trip set my spider sense tingling, so I headed back to my motel room to clear my head and plan my next move. It’s a standard-sized room, filled with standard stuff. The window overlooks the parking lot, which is empty save for one silver, four-door sedan. There’s a flat-screen TV mounted on one wall, above a table that has a lamp on it. It’s facing the double bed, which is unusually comfortable, given the price of the room. The bathroom has a shower stall, a toilet and a sink. It’s nothing fancy, but it certainly does the job for a couple of days while I conduct my business. I’m not cheap or anything. If I’m honest, I have more money than I know what to do with—I’m just not one for all that luxurious, five-star, A-list crap. I’m more than happy in a generic, anonymous, no-frills motel, away from everyone else.

  I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, enjoying the air conditioning and running everything through my head. Josh insists I keep a laptop with me when I’m travelling, even though I’m far from competent using one. It’s next to me, booting up. He texted me earlier to say he’s sending me all the information he’s found out so far, so I’ll look through it all now and see if I can start piecing things together.

  Josh Winters is a genius. Sure, we insult each other non-stop when we talk, but that’s just to get us both through the day. When it all comes down to it, the guy is a legend in so many wa
ys, I’ve lost count. The things he can do with a computer are mind-blowing. I don’t pretend to understand half of what he says or does. But he gets results, every time. I need information—Josh gets it. I need a car, a plane or a gun—Josh arranges it. I need fake documents—Josh makes them for me.

  I open up my e-mails and find three, each with multiple attachments. I open up the first one, titled Ted Jackson. He’s apparently a high-ranking employee of a large, multi-national private military corporation called GlobaTech Industries. In addition to having their own army-for-hire, they have numerous subsidiary divisions for weapons development, technological research… even health care. They own the land that Jackson’s meant to be selling to Pellaggio.

  In his line of work, I can understand him being cautious. Military contracts are big business—like, billions of dollars big. Competition for them is fierce to say the least. But handcuffing his briefcase to his wrist for a regular meeting, riding around in a limousine that would make the President jealous and hiring a very hot and probably lethal bodyguard still seems like overkill to me.

  Although, having said that, he’s just screwed over the biggest mob boss in the state… Maybe it’s not so surprising that he’s upped his personal security.

  I turn my attention to the second e-mail about my employer. Maybe there’s something in here that might offer an explanation.

  Roberto Pellaggio is a big time mafia Don who owns half of Heaven’s Valley. On the surface, he’s opened legitimate businesses all across the city, creating many jobs and generating lots of revenue that he’s re-invested into local areas. He owns car dealerships, barbershops, nightclubs, and casinos. All big business. All above board.

  But underneath all that respectable businessman crap, however, is where he earns his real money. Drugs, prostitution, extortion… you name it. You go down the list of crimes the mob can commit, and he ticks every box. The money they earn gets laundered through their legitimate businesses and it disappears back into the city. With the help of some clever accounting, Pellaggio is running a massive, highly profitable empire, and given how much money he's invested in the city, he’s very popular with local government officials and law enforcement. So basically, the guy’s a pretty big deal and definitely not someone you want as an enemy.

  I look through the details on the e-mail and find a news report from a couple of weeks ago that details how Pellaggio has been trying to buy a plot of land near the outskirts of Heaven’s Valley. It goes on to explain how he’s looking to expand his empire by building another casino, like Manhattan had said to me earlier. The land is ideally situated near the city limits, so it holds appeal to people from neighboring towns and cities. In theory, a casino there would service all of the state’s gambling needs north of Vegas.

  Then, a few days later, another report surfaced in the business section of one of the local papers explaining how the deal has apparently fallen through. There’s a picture of our good friend and future corpse, Ted Jackson. The article goes on to say how Jackson pulled out of the deal for undisclosed reasons, allegedly costing Pellaggio hundreds of millions of dollars in potential earnings.

  I guess that’s why they called me in... No wonder Pellaggio’s pissed.

  Okay, so on the surface it still seems fairly cut and dry: Pellaggio wants to continue his monopoly of Heaven’s Valley, but Jackson unscrupulously got in the way of that by cancelling the deal. Pellaggio wants to send a clear message and get his business venture back on track, so he hired me to take out Jackson.

  But something still doesn't feel right about it all. Jackson would’ve benefitted from the deal as well, making a significant amount of money from selling the land. Plus, while I’m sure there are lots of valid reasons why he would want to pull out of the deal, he’s smart enough to know that not explaining himself to the likes of Roberto Pellaggio would end badly for him…

  Whenever there is doubt, there is no doubt—that’s one of the first things they taught me, back in the day. Trust your gut and never pull the trigger until you’re satisfied. Some people in my line of work prefer not to know anything—they just turn up, shoot, and disappear with their money. Me? I have to know everything about everything. If you ask a shrink, they’ll probably say I have control issues that need addressing or something. But personally, when it comes to this job, I simply want to be the smartest guy playing the game. As much as I like getting paid for shooting people, sometimes ignorance isn’t bliss. Especially when dealing with the mob, because for all I know they’re setting me up in some way by hiring me to kill Jackson.

  I pick up the phone and call Josh. “Hey, it’s me,” I say.

  “Hey, Cupcake, whaddaya need now?” he replies.

  I do my best to ignore his greeting. “I’m just thinking out loud here, okay? So, Pellaggio tries to buy the land off Jackson for this casino venture. Both parties are expecting to make a shitload of cash. Then, suddenly, without any warning or explanation, Jackson pulls the plug, costing both himself and Pellaggio a small fortune.”

  “Yeah, seems strange when you say it like that,” says Josh. “If you’re the kind of guy who brokers business deals with the mafia, you’re probably the kind of guy who’s always on the lookout for the big money opportunities and would do whatever it takes to secure them...”

  “My thoughts exactly. So there must’ve been a damn good reason for Jackson to pull a move like this, and in such a hurry that he didn’t even bother to tell Pellaggio. That’s both corporate, and in this case, actual, suicide.”

  “Well, that’s why you’re there, after all.”

  “Precisely. Do me a favor, would you? Look into Jackson a bit more. Find out what exactly his role is at GlobaTech. Also, see if you can find out if they’ve got anything in the pipeline that might cause him to switch his priorities in a hurry.”

  “Good idea. These people work military defense contracts—could be something big came up that dwarfed the Pellaggio deal?”

  “I mean, what’s a mob boss gonna do to them, when they’re working alongside the United States military?”

  “Sounds like a good theory. Give me a few minutes,” he replies and hangs up.

  While I’m waiting for him to work more of his magic, I look at the photograph again of Jackson and his bodyguard that I took a couple of hours ago. I’ve uploaded it to my laptop so I can see it more clearly now it’s on the bigger screen. Then I open up the last e-mail, with nothing in the subject. Josh hasn’t managed to get a lot of information about the mystery woman, which in itself actually tells me quite a bit...

  He’s attached a grainy photograph, allegedly taken four years ago, in what looks like the middle of the jungle. It shows our woman, minus the lipstick and leather, wearing camo fatigues and holding an assault rifle. She’s standing between two guys dressed roughly the same way.

  Other than that, there’s little else to go on. No names or aliases, no known addresses, no reported sightings in the last few years. She’s a ghost. And speaking as someone who spends every day trying to stay invisible—it’s difficult and expensive to do properly.

  Typically, you gain the skills while either serving in the military like I did, after a decade of black-ops and covert assassinations, or the military or government directly made you invisible, meaning you’re still in active service. Whether she’s on somebody’s books or not, she’s still a factor in all this that I’d rather not have to deal with.

  It’s human instinct to be weary of the unknown. She’s very talented and apparently doesn’t exist, which was troublesome. Although it explains why Jackson hired her for protection... Sounds to me like she’s the kind of person who’ll do a damn good job of keeping you alive.

  Maybe she’s a gun-for-hire, like me… I shake my head, dismissing the thought as quickly as it came. If she were good enough to be heard of then I’d know who she is.

  Josh added to the bottom of the message that he’s running searches through active military and government databases all over the world, which is why it
’s taking so much time to come through.

  My phone rings, interrupting my train of thought. It’s Josh again.

  “What have you got for me?” I ask as I answer.

  “Nothing new on GlobaTech,” he says, sounding slightly deflated. “There’s nothing in the news and nothing on their website or their local servers.”

  “So either there was no pressure on Jackson from GlobaTech, or he's involved in something that's classified and not on the public record?”

  “That’s about the size of it, yeah.”

  “Well, either way it’s a dead-end for now...” I stand and start pacing around my motel room, thinking.

  “You’re doing that thing where you wear the carpet out walking around trying to think, aren’t you?” says Josh after a few moments of silence.

  I sheepishly sit back down on the bed. “No... I’m just sitting here trying to figure this all out.” I hear Josh scoff down the phone, knowing full well he was right. I ignore him.

  “So what are you gonna do?” he asks.

  “I’m going to speak to Jimmy Manhattan again, try to find out what the hell’s going on. Either there’s more to this than he’s letting on, or he’s as oblivious as the rest of us about Jackson’s true motivations. Whatever the case, it’s still probably worth having another conversation.”

  “Adrian, make sure you don’t say or do anything you may regret later, okay? Just some friendly advice...”

  “If this is any kind of set up, Josh, the bigger concern is that I’ll do something they regret right now.”