True Conviction

by James P. Sumner

  “Oh, you sonofabitch!” I mutter through gritted teeth.

  I roll over on my front and look around me, trying to shake away the grogginess. One of the young barmaids is crouching down just in front of me with a piece of glass about two inches long sticking out of her forearm. Blood’s leaking down her hand and she’s shaking uncontrollably.

  I roll on my left side so I can see the hole I just made in the wall. Pick Axe hasn’t followed me through, so I’m assuming he’s left the office via the doors like any normal person. If that’s the case, he’ll be coming out from behind the red curtain any moment.

  I try to stand, but that’s not happening right now. There’s a noticeable pain shooting up and down my back and I’m sure I can feel blood running down my face…

  The bar staff have all disappeared now, joining the stampede for the door. One of the guys has helped the injured girl, which I’m glad of. I hate to see any collateral damage if it can be avoided. This isn’t their fight, after all. Why should they suffer because of it?

  Okay, let’s try standing up again…

  I manage to get to one knee but struggle to go any further, so I put my hand on the bar and push myself up the rest of the way. I get to my feet and look over at the red curtain. It opens up and Pick Axe appears.

  I let out a heavy breath.

  I’m dizzy and my head’s banging so hard it feels like Van Halen’s inside my skull playing the intro to Hot For Teacher on my brain, so it might just be the concussion talking when I say I’m sure this guy’s grown since I last saw him…

  He walks purposefully over to me with his arms outstretched, ready to grab me and inflict more damage. My survival instincts take over and give me a nice adrenaline shot. I jump over the counter and move across the mostly-deserted nightclub floor, trying to put a little distance between us so I can figure out what to do. Everything’s still a bit blurry, but I’m aware enough to know that I’m in serious trouble if this guy gets hold of me.

  I look around and see the odd person still lying on the floor between the door and me. The place had emptied quickly—I’m guessing they’ve been crushed in the panic a few moments ago. I actually feel pretty bad, but I don’t have time to worry about them now. It feels like I have at least two broken ribs, but it might just be severe bruising. My back’s gonna be a black and purple mess for a few days either way. The blood is still gushing slowly down my face, obscuring my vision, which isn’t helping matters either. I wipe it clean with my jacket sleeve and blink to re-focus my eyes as much as I could.

  I need to get to my guns…

  I look around quickly for anything that could help me, but there’s nothing. Any useful debris is over by the bar and Pick Axe is in the way, walking slowly toward me. The only chance I have is using the open space to my advantage. I might’ve taken a beating, but judging by this guy’s size, I’d still bet money I’m faster than he is. I just need to keep moving, tire him out, and look for an advantage.

  The thing about fights, I mean real fights, is that they’re nothing like what you see on TV. There’s no fancy choreography, no drawn-out, back and forth battle and the sad truth is the good guy doesn’t always win. In reality, they’re quick, scrappy, and brutal, and the winner is quite simply the guy who doesn’t fight fair—at least in my experience. You might not like it, but that’s the dirty truth. People who fight by the rules never live to tell you about it. You just read about them in the obituaries…

  Pick Axe charges me again, snarling like an animal with murder in his dark eyes. That’s a shitload of momentum bounding toward me… Only one thing springs to mind and I have to time is perfectly.

  I let him get a bit nearer, maybe ten feet away… I take a couple of short, quick steps and slide away to the left on my knees. Timing it just right, I throw a straight right punch directly at his balls. We collide as I cut across his path and the blow connects beautifully. I can feel pelvic bone under my fist.

  I don’t care how big you are, that will always drop you.

  Pick Axe is no different. He keels over instantly and sinks to his knees. He skids across the floor and comes to a halt about seven feet away, bent over in agony.

  I try to stand up, but a wave of dizziness and nausea washes over me and I fall forward.

  Ah, dammit… I can probably add concussion to my list of recently sustained injuries.

  I push myself up with my arms, bringing my knees up to support me. My vision is still blurry. I glance over at Pick Axe, who looks like he’s having the same trouble as me. He’s made it to one and he’s shaking his head to clear the cobwebs.

  I finally stagger to my feet and make my way over to him. I need to finish this now. I’m in no condition to let this drag out any longer. I look at him professionally as I approach. He’s on all fours with his back to me. There’s no sense in me grabbing his neck from behind and trying to choke him. My arms won’t have enough strength in them to do the job—it’ll be like bear hugging a tree.

  Instead, I settle for something less delicate and more effective. I gather as much momentum as I can and jump at him, diving toward him like a spear, and bringing my right elbow up. I slam it down into the base of his skull with every ounce of strength I have left in me. I hear the crack as the impact shatters the top of his spinal cord, killing him instantly. He falls forward, sprawling lifelessly across the floor. I land on top of him and roll off to the side, lying on my back and breathing heavily, which stings like hell because of my ribs. I’m staring at the ceiling, trying to count how many different parts of my body are currently hurting.

  It takes me a minute, but I slowly manage to get to my feet and I make my way back over to the red curtain. I pull it to one side and reach down, retrieving my guns from the bucket. Thankfully, they were both still there. I put one in its holster and cock the other, holding it as steady as I can in my right hand, breathing in the comfort it gives me.

  I walk slowly back into the office. Pellaggio’s still sitting behind the desk. Manhattan moves around to the front as I walk in, putting himself between Pellaggio, as a gesture of protection, and me.

  I walk over to them, picking up the chair I kicked on the way past. I stand it up and sit in front of them. I rest my gun on my lap so they can see it, occasionally tapping my leg with the barrel as I take a moment to slow my breathing down.

  “Now,” I say to them both. “Where were we?”

  22:17

  My entire body is screaming in pain, but I fight to keep my face expressionless for the purposes of making a point.

  “Let’s get something straight,” I say to Pellaggio. Well, I think I said it to him—I can see three of him, so I’m playing it safe and talking to the middle one. “I don’t give a shit who you are, or how much of this city you own.”

  He seems calm, despite the fact I’m sitting in front of him looking like a car wreck with a gun in my hand.

  “You arrogant sonofabitch! You’ve cost me millions!” he replies, standing and slamming his palms on the desk in frustration and anger.

  “Shut your mouth before you give yourself a heart attack, you old prick. I’m in no mood for any of your Godfather shit right now, okay?”

  In fact, at this precise moment, medical attention and a shot of single malt are numbers one and two on my list of priorities.

  “You’re in way over your head,” I continue. “You didn’t properly research Jackson’s involvement in all this. You have no idea what you’re up against. That was your first mistake. Your second is that now you’re dangerously close to underestimating me as well, which will not end well for you. You want my advice? Cut your losses and move on. Find somewhere else to expand your empire.”

  There’s a moment’s silence in the room. I’ve noticed Manhattan hasn’t said anything, or even moved, since I came back in. Pellaggio clenches his jaw muscles repeatedly as he thinks of what to do with me.

  “‘Jimmy,” he says, finally. “Fix this.” He points a finger at me as he speaks.

  I have
to hand it to the guy—he isn’t easily intimidated. I can understand why—guy like him, head of a crime syndicate with half the city on his payroll and more money than half the country put together. He’s probably been building that empire of his since he was a kid. People quake at the very mention of his name. Why would I worry him?

  Manhattan looks at me, and then at my gun. He remains calm and I can see him planning his next words with care.

  “Adrian, I don’t think you fully grasp the situation you’re in,” he says. “Mr. Pellaggio requires the deeds to that land. Life will become very difficult for you if you don’t do what we’ve paid you to do. You say Jackson is dead? That’s fine. But you need to find a way to get your hands on that paperwork.”

  “Jimmy, let me save us both some time. You can’t make me do shit. We’re done here. You can keep my fee—I don’t care. That corpse out there was probably the best guy you had, which means we both know there’s no point sending anyone else after me. I see either of you again, I’ll kill you. And it will be slow, painful and horrific, you have my word.”

  Manhattan stares at me. I can see in his eyes that he believes me and if it was up to him, I suspect that would be the end of the matter. But I can also see the conflict inside, because it’s not up to him and his boss is in the room, red-faced and frowning, looking really pissed off. He told him to handle it and he did anything but.

  “There’s nowhere for you to hide in this city where we can’t find you,” he says, tapping into some hidden reserve of confidence. “If you start down this road, it will be the end of you, Adrian. I can promise you that. Mr. Pellaggio doesn’t forgive, or forget. You should know that better than anyone—it’s the very reason you’re here.”

  “So, what, you’re gonna hire me to kill myself?” I scoff in disbelief. “You fucking idiot. Take a look around, Jimmy. You hired me because I’m the absolute best at what I do. There’s no one you can bring in who can take me out, and we all know you’ve got no one on your payroll that can do it either. How’s about you quit with the empty threats, accept defeat like a man and call it a day, yeah?”

  Manhattan glances at Pellaggio, who hasn’t taken his eyes off me. I’m guessing because the longer this goes on, the more obvious it becomes that I’ve won, and that makes him even angrier.

  “Let me explain something to you, kid,” says Pellaggio, his voice condescending and angry. “You need to fucking appreciate exactly who I am. You talk about my payroll—my payroll includes the police. And the local officials. And a lot of hired help up and down the West Coast.”

  “Is that meant to impress me?” I reply casually.

  “It’s not just this city you can’t hide in,” he continues. “It’s the state, the time zone, the whole fucking country! You cost me millions and I’ll make you pay, you arrogant sonofabitch!”

  I appear to have touched a nerve with the big boss. And like a shark smelling blood in the water, I’m going in for the kill…

  “Give me a moment to finish quaking in my boots...” I say, pausing for effect. “Now, let me explain something to you. You keep banging on about me having nowhere to hide from you... What makes you think I’d be hiding? I promise you, if there ever comes a time when I want to the settle the score between us, you have my word that I’ll come to your house, knock on your front door and smile as I wipe you off the face of this earth. You can get whoever you want to come after me—I’ll send them back to you in pieces. You must already know my reputation, but if you’re still in any doubt—ask around. I’m pretty sure you’ll find that most people out there know that I’m not one with whom to fuck. Now, from here on out, I’ll stay out of your way, you stay out of mine. Sound good to you?”

  They both stare at me; there’s a palpable tension in the room, and Manhattan looks close to being afraid. But Pellaggio is defiant in his anger. Neither one of them reply.

  “I’m glad we’re all in agreement,” I say.

  Content that’s the end of the discussion, I stand and back out of the room, keeping my gun aimed at them until I reach the door. Manhattan moves around the front of the desk and perches on the end, his hands clasped on his lap. Pellaggio’s staring a hole through me. He hasn’t said anything, but I can almost taste his anger. He obviously isn’t used to not being able to scare people or get his own way.

  I leave the office and close the door behind me. I head back through the red curtain and make my way slowly across the empty club. Now everything’s settled, the place looks like a war zone. I re-holster my gun and stare at them one last time through the hole I made in the mirror. Then I turn and walk out of the club and out into the night.

  I turn left and head down the street, passing people who were in the club who have congregated out front to stare at the scene. In the distance, I can hear sirens. Time I wasn’t here, I think.

  I cross the street and duck into the first alley I see. I break into a slow jog, anxious to put some distance between the club and myself, but preferably without causing myself any more pain by doing something taxing, like breathing.

  God, I need a drink.

  12.

  August 22nd, 2013

  14:09

  OH… MY… GOD…

  What did I drink last night?

  I open one eye and look around. I appear to be lying face down on the floor of my motel room at the side of the bed. My shoes are just in front of me by the desk.

  I close my eye again and try to kick-start my brain into telling me what’s happening. My head’s throbbing and it’s hurting to take the slightest of breaths.

  I open my eyes again. Images of broken glass and pickaxes come rushing to the forefront of my mind.

  Oh… I remember now.

  I take a few deep breaths, getting myself familiar with the stabbing pain in my chest so I can learn to ignore it. Slowly, I push myself up, using the bed for support. I stand upright for a brief moment, but decide it’s probably best if I sit down for the time being.

  I massage my temples with my right hand and groggily look around the room. I try to stretch, but my back tells me I’m not quite ready for that yet. I let out a heavy sigh and frown.

  What’s that noise?

  I look around again, more alert this time and realize I can hear the shower running in the bathroom. The door’s closed as well.

  Did I leave it on last night when I got back? I really don’t remember anything after leaving The Pit and the mild concussion I have isn’t helping. I suppose it’s my own fault for getting thrown through a window.

  I stagger over to the bathroom door, listening for any movement. I reach for the handle just as I hear the shower stop running. Someone’s in there… Shit! I’m in no condition to…

  The door opens, nearly dragging me to the floor because I’ve not let go of the handle. I stumble forward, regaining my balance and look up. Clara Fox is standing in front of me, dripping wet and wearing nothing but a towel. She smiles at me.

  I don’t understand...

  I blink hard and shake my head. The ability to think of anything intelligent to say eludes me.

  “Huh?” I say. It isn’t Shakespeare, I admit.

  “Morning sunshine,” she says, pushing past me and walking across the room, drying her hair with a towel and leaving wet footprints on the carpet. “Well, afternoon... Jesus, you look like shit.”

  “Uh… thanks?” I say, still confused. “You look like you’re wearing a towel...”

  “I am.”

  “Oh, okay. Any particular reason?”

  “I just got out of the shower,” she shrugs as she sits down at the desk and finishes drying her hair in the mirror.

  I massage my temples again in the hope I can stimulate my brain enough to form actual sentences and questions.

  “Yeah, what I mean is, why are you showering and walking around in a towel in my motel room?” I ask, still a bit dumbstruck.

  She looks at me in the reflection of the mirror. “You got your ass kicked last night, you know that, right?�
��

  “You should see the other guy,” I reply, dismissively.

  “I followed you to the club. Figured you might need some back-up.”

  “So where were you when Pick Axe threw me through a window?”

  “Who?”

  “The other guy.”

  “Ah, right. Strange name.”

  “He carried a pickaxe with him. He liked to throw it at people.”

  “Oh, that makes more sense.”

  “So, wait—why did you follow me? Why would you care if I needed help?”

  “Well, forgetting for a moment that I pulled a gun on you, then you elbowed me in the face and pulled a gun on me—more than once, I might add—yesterday in the hotel suite was somewhat of an eye-opener.”

  “Now there’s an understatement,” I say, remembering the whole Uranium mine thing and the reason I went to the club last night in the first place.

  She turns to face me, crossing her legs and causing the towel to ride up slightly. I feel myself go wide-eyed momentarily, so I stare at her eyes and make a conscious effort not to look anywhere else.

  “Why did you offer me that money?” she asks.

  I sit back down on the bed and think. I might as well be honest. “The truth? I kinda felt sorry for you.”

  She looks offended. “Do I look like I need your pity?” she asks, with a hint of hostility in her voice.

  “You look like you need to get dressed.”

  She glares at me with her green eyes, which are filled with a suppressed anger. I sigh. I never could talk to women…

  “Look,” I begin. “I meant no offence, alright? While I’m sure you’re an extremely capable and highly experienced person, I could tell yesterday that you had no idea how bad this situation with Dark Rain actually is. You looked out of your depth and you looked mad at yourself for letting it all get away from you like this.”