Paradise Burns

by J. P. Sumner

  Josh Winters was a former army buddy from back in my black-ops days, when I was part of a joint American and British task force. I got out and started working freelance, and he was more than happy to come with me. He’s worked for the past ten years or so as my handler - making contacts, finding me jobs and supplying me with information and anything else I might need. My life was pretty much in his hands.

  ‘Adrian! Great to hear from you my man! How’s Heaven’s Valley so far?’ he said. You could tell he was smiling down the phone as he spoke.

  ‘I’ve been in this town half an hour and I’ve already been in a fight. I’ve decided I don’t like it here all that much.’

  ‘You do have a tendency to make a unique first impression, don’t you?’ he replied, laughing this time.

  ‘Screw you, Josh,’ I countered, enjoying our banter. ‘We all set for tomorrow?’

  ‘Yeah, you’re meeting a guy called Jimmy Manhattan. This guy, and the people he represents, are old school mafia folks, Adrian. So I say this with all the love in the world, but try not to be too... you, alright?’

  I was almost offended, but I knew what he was trying to say. I’ve worked for guys like these many times, and they took respect very seriously. Disrespecting someone near the top of the mob family hierarchy like Jimmy Manhattan would bring a whole lot of unnecessary trouble down on top of me.

  ‘Fear not, I shall be at my most professional,’ I assured him.

  ‘That’s what I’m worried about! Call me afterward if you need anything.’

  ‘Will do. See you later Josh.’

  I hung up and set off walking down the street, hoping to find a nice, quiet motel to grab a shower and some sleep. I found myself humming “Fortunate Son”, which I didn’t get to finish listening to in the bar. . . Assholes.

  THREE

  The next morning, I walked down the quiet street that was just off the main strip that ran through the center of town. The sun was glorious, even at this time in a morning. The heat of the day was rising slowly, preparing to scorch the town as it had done yesterday, and the six months before that. Thanks to Heaven’s Valley’s close proximity to the desert, it experienced hot, unrelenting sun for a large portion of the year.

  I was meeting Jimmy Manhattan at nine a.m, so I wanted to get there early and scope the place out. A very old habit, drilled into me from the very first day of boot camp – reconnaissance can save your life. Always know where the enemy will come from, and always know how you can get out. Especially in this situation where I’m meeting someone I don’t know or trust. I like to plan my exit strategy long before I make my entrance.

  The meeting itself was in a nice, small, family-run coffee shop called Dimitri’s. On the outside, the window frames were painted a faded brown, and the window itself had the company logo emblazoned across it. Next to that, on the left, was the entrance. There was enough room outside for three sets of table and chairs, which I imagined would be occupied most of the day, given the likelihood of sunshine and heat.

  Inside was bigger than you thought it’d be from outside, but not by much. It was laid out like a grid, with seating set out in three rows of three in front of the serving counter, which covered nearly all the length of the far wall. The rows on the left and right were booths, which seated four people, two facing two. The middle row had round tables with four chairs on each compass point around it.

  It was just after eight a.m. and the café had just opened. I figured Jimmy Manhattan would do what I was doing - get there early, scope the place out, watch for me turning up. Unfortunately for him, I’m better at planning than he is.

  I pushed open the door and walked in, right up to the counter. An aging guy with short, gray hair was setting up the cappuccino machine. He turned as he heard me walk in and eyed me up and down before turning back to his machine. He was probably in his early seventies, and his tanned skin was like old leather. He had faded, blue/gray tattoos on his forearms, presumably from time served in the military, back in the good old days.

  ‘Morning,’ I said, not expecting a response. ‘Can I get a coffee, black with two sugars, please?’

  ‘Be right over,’ he replied, without turning round.

  I turned away and surveyed the layout, trying to decide where would be best to sit and wait. I opted for the booth near the window, on the right hand side. I ordered my coffee and went and sat on the side facing the café interior. Twisting slightly to my left, putting my back to the wall and resting one knee on the seat, I could see the entire place in front of me - the entrance, the counter and the doors behind it, as well as outside through the window. From here, I could see everyone coming, and didn’t have to worry about anyone coming up behind me. More old habits, instilled at an early age. Old habits which have saved my ass more than once. Some people call me paranoid. But it’s not paranoia if the bastards are really after you.

  A few minutes later, the old guy brought me my coffee and asked if I wanted any breakfast. I politely declined, and waited for him to walk off before taking a sip. They were some good beans. I put my cup down again slowly, and glanced around the empty place once more before looking out the window and up the street. Yeah, this was a good spot. I’d see him coming before he saw I was already here. If I didn’t like it, I could be out of the building and down the road in no time.

  It was just then when I saw the door behind the counter open, and three men walk out, come round the counter and head toward me.

  Dammit.

  The first guy was early fifties, wearing what looked like a very expense three-piece suit, which was a light brown. He was a thin, wiry guy, but walked with the utmost confidence and grace. He was clearly a man who never rushed to be anywhere. Or who needed to, for that matter. He was staring at me, but not in an aggressive way. More purposefully.

  I looked past him to the two bodyguards he had with him. I sighed a little louder than I intended. They were my two friends from the bar last night. Both looked like they were suffering from a really bad hangover. My face betrayed nothing, but inside I couldn’t help but laugh. Only I would manage to get into a fight with the hired muscle of my next employer.

  I looked at both of them in turn, before directing my gaze back to the expensive brown suit. I didn’t make a move to stand, and I certainly didn’t extend my hand to greet them. I simply picked up my coffee and took a sip.

  ‘Jimmy Manhattan, I presume?’ I said, looking at him before gesturing with my eyebrows for him to sit down.

  ‘Adrian Hell,’ replied Manhattan, as he slid into the seat opposite me in the booth. His voice was smooth, and his accent was very East Coast. New York, maybe. He was a long way from home anyway.

  ‘I see your reputation for preparation and borderline paranoia is justified.’ He motioned to the coffee shop, tipping his hat to the fact I’d been so early, despite not being early enough, it would appear.

  ‘Well, you know what they say: the early bird gets the professional contract killer. I see you’ve brought some friends.’

  I looked up at them and addressed each in turn.

  ‘Fred. Ginger,’ I held up my hands apologetically. ‘No hard feelings about yesterday?’

  Stan looked very angry, as did his friend, but neither spoke, or even moved a muscle. They just glanced at Manhattan and remained very still. I looked back at him.

  ‘You’ve got the monkeys well trained. I’m impressed.’

  Manhattan half-smiled, but remained unwavering is his cool, confident demeanor.

  ‘And I see the reputation about your mouth is justified too.’ He looked over his shoulder at Stan. ‘Give me and Mr. Hell some privacy, would you?’

  Stan and his slightly taller, angrier friend walked off and pulled up a stool at bar, sitting facing me. I stared back for a second, giving them my best “cold bastard” gaze to show them how it was done properly, then looked away. They didn’t bother me. They were there to emphasize Jimmy’s importance, and to intimidate whoever Jimmy was meeting. That wouldn’t work
with me, and everyone here knew it.

  ‘Mr. Hell,’ he began. ‘Can I call you Adrian?’ He was very professional and respectful - almost friendly. I suspect his manner is practiced, so as to disarm the other person, get them feeling too comfortable, and that’s when he’ll reel you in. Again, it was never going to work on me, but I appreciated his friendly approach and I reciprocated.

  ‘I’ve been called worse than both, so feel free,’ I replied. I did quite like “Mr. Hell” though - I might try and use that, see if it sticks.

  ‘Adrian, I represent Roberto Pellaggio and I’m here on behalf of himself and his interests to offer you a job befitting of your particular set of skills.’

  He produced a brown, A4 envelope and slid it across the table to me. I opened it and took out a photograph and some papers. It was a black and white eight-by-ten of a man in a suit walking across the road. He was talking on his phone and carrying a briefcase.

  ‘This is Ted Jackson,’ he continued. ‘Until very recently, we were working with Mr. Jackson on a business deal to secure some land on the outskirts of the city. Mr. Pellaggio was looking to expand his business portfolio by building a casino there.’

  ‘Go on,’ I said, studying the photo.

  ‘A few days ago, with no warning or explanation, Mr. Jackson backed out of the deal. He kept the deeds to the land, as well as the money Mr. Pellaggio had already invested into it.’

  I looked up from the photograph to speak.

  ‘And you want me to make him disappear?’ I asked.

  ‘Mr. Pellaggio is a well-respected businessman, with a – how can I put it – well-known and somewhat formidable reputation. A slight of this kind toward him cannot be tolerated under any circumstances. A message must be sent.’

  ‘I understand. Consider it done.’

  ‘There’s something else,’ said Manhattan. ‘While taking care of Mr. Jackson is a must, it’s of vital importance that you retrieve the deeds to that land. Mr. Pellaggio is eager to finalize this deal and begin construction of the casino, and that paperwork is the key.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ I said.

  I was more than happy to take this job. It was easy money. Find a businessman, kill him and take his land. Give the land to the mafia, get my money and I can be out of town in two days, three days max.

  Jimmy stood, prompting Stan and his friend at the counter to do the same.

  ‘I look forward to seeing more of your work, Adrian,’ he said, glancing over to where his bodyguards were sat. ‘It comes highly recommended.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, with a grin.

  ‘We’ll speak in a couple of days.’

  Jimmy nodded his head in a silent goodbye, then turned and walked back to the counter and into the back room, followed by his bodyguards. As they walked off, Stan turned to me and gave me the finger. I smiled and waved back.

  God, I wish I’d hit him harder.

  FOUR

  I was alone again in my booth. I finished off my coffee and slid the photograph back into the envelope. I took out my phone and rang Josh. He answered in his usual, sickeningly enthusiastic tone.

  ‘How’d it go with Jimmy The Glove?’ he enquired.

  ‘Is that what people call him?’ I asked.

  ‘Apparently.’

  ‘Do I want to know why?’

  ‘Probably not,’ he chuckled.

  ‘Fair enough. The meeting went fine, despite finding out that Manhattan’s hired goons were the assholes that started a fight with me last night.’

  ‘You’re shitting me?!’ said Josh, laughing in disbelief.

  ‘I shit you not, my friend.’

  ‘I bet that went down well?’

  ‘It was fine – he seemed to find it quite amusing, to his credit.’

  ‘Only you, Adrian. So are you happy with the contract?’

  ‘Yeah, this should be a straightforward job and easy money. It’s a property deal gone bad. He wants me to take out the target to send a message, then recover the deeds to some land they were meant to be buying from him before he screwed them over. It shouldn’t take me more than a couple of days. Will be glad to get out of this place and go somewhere slightly colder - this heat is unbearable.’

  ‘Surely the ice in your veins cools you down?’ he responded in jest. ‘You need anything for me?’

  ‘Not right now, but I know where you are if I need you. I’ll be in touch.’

  I was about to hang up, but then remembered one final thing.

  ‘What do you think of “Mr. Hell” as my business name?’

  Josh laughed, loudly, for a good two minutes. I held the phone away from my ear until he’d calmed down.

  ‘Seriously?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah, it’s how Jimmy addressed me when we were exchanging pleasantries. Kinda liked it.’

  ‘Adrian, you know I love you, right?’

  I paused.

  ‘Yeah...?’

  ‘It makes you sound like a professional wrestler. Who’s gay.’

  I remained silent for a few moments, to try and make him feel uneasy. Although I knew that probably wouldn’t work.

  ‘Josh, you know I love you, right?’

  He laughed.

  ‘Yeah...?’

  ‘You’re a dick.’

  I hung up and walked out of Dimitri’s, leaving a small tip on the table for the old guy. As I opened the door, I was hit by a blast of heat, as if I’d opened an oven that’s been cooking for three hours. I was only in there just under half an hour, but the increase in temperature was staggering.

  The sun was pounding down as I walked along the street. I had a white t-shirt and denim shorts on, with black sunglasses and a baseball cap to complete my care-free tourist look. I’d crossed over to the side of the street that was partially shaded, but it did little to cool me down. It was a lovely day, don’t get me wrong, and if I was on a beach, sipping a cocktail and surrounded by women in bikinis, I’d be very content. But I wasn’t. I was walking down a very busy street in the center of the business district. Maybe it’s because I’m not local and haven’t adjusted to the climate or something, but I was baffled how anyone could walk around in a suit on a day like today.

  I decided to get the lie of the land and do some recon work for the job. According to the information I got from Jimmy Manhattan, Jackson was attending a meeting here in town, which was scheduled to finish about an hour from now. I was going to tail him on foot for as long as I could, get a look at his car, any colleagues and just try and get a feel for his behaviors. I also had his itinerary for tomorrow, so all being well I’ll make the approach when he’s finished for the day, to minimize exposure and attention.

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

  The road itself was just as busy, with traffic – mostly taxis – nose to tail, fighting to get through the next set of lights before they changed again.

  I came to a large junction, where Main Street met 9th Avenue. I crossed over and turned right, which according to the information I had would lead me to Cannon Plaza, where Jackson was currently in a meeting. The plaza had a large fountain in the center and lots of people walking across it in every direction.

  He was in the building at the far end. It was a tall, unmarked, dark glass structure, easily twenty floors high, overlooking the plaza. I fought my way through the bustle of people and sat on the edge of the fountain facing east, so that the entrance to the building was on my left, about fifty feet away.

  Next to me, on my left, there was a young woman with a new-born child in a baby buggy. I’ve never been a particularly broody guy, and children haven’t really been on my radar at all since I lost my daughter. But I have to admit, it was one cute little kid. Couldn’t have been more than eight months old. It had a bubble of spit on its
lips, and these big, wide brown eyes, that looked around in awe at everything. It was nice to see that true innocence still existed in this world.

  I turned my attention back to the building, looking out for Jackson. I didn’t have to wait there long before he walked out. As in the photograph, Jackson looked ever the businessmen. He was in his late forties, and dressed in an expensive gray suit. He had his phone in his right hand, and he was talking hurriedly into it. In his left hand was a brown, leather briefcase. What struck me as odd right away was that it was handcuffed to him. You don’t normally see that kind of security measure on everyday people. I’m a details guy, and I question everything. Sometimes the smallest detail can have the largest impact. I shelved the observation for now, and made a mental note to ask Josh to work his magic and look into it for me later.

  He was walking fast, like he was running late for something. It looked like he was alone, so I went to get up and follow him, but something caught my eye just behind him that made me sit back down. At first, you wouldn’t have associated one thing with the other, but with my professional eye, I realized that he wasn’t alone. He had a bodyguard with him, walking a couple of paces behind, at roughly the same speed.

  And she was beautiful.

  FIVE

  She was dressed head to toe in leather - fitted pants and vest top. I briefly wondered how she managed to walk around in this heat dressed like that. But I didn’t dwell too much on it. She also had a long, leather trench coat on, that came down to her shins. She had dark sunglasses on, and the brightest red lipstick I’ve ever seen. Her dyed-blonde hair rested on her shoulders, and bounced as she walked, purposefully, never taking her eyes off Jackson. She had an amazing body, and long legs. Because her clothes were so tight, you could see the definition of her arms and legs. She was in very good shape.

  After the initial shock of seeing someone who could easily be a model, dressed like an extra from The Matrix, guarding the guy I’ve just been paid to kill, I quickly took my phone out and discreetly snapped a couple of pictures of the two of them. I sent them to Josh, then put my Bluetooth earpiece in and rang him as I set off walking after Jackson and his mystery woman.