by J. P. Sumner
‘This isn’t a joke!’ replied Clara. ‘She’s one of the Colonel’s top assassins. If she’s onto you, you need to leave town right now. Forget everything you’ve seen or done and just go.’
I raised an eyebrow. This Natalia Salikov seemed to concern Clara. And Clara didn’t strike me as the kind of woman who scared easy.
I tucked my gun at my back, happy that any threat was now over, and extended my hand.
‘Hi,’ I said, causing her concern to give way to confusion. ‘We’ve not been formally introduced. I’m Adrian Hell.’
She went quiet for a moment, then burst out laughing.
‘You know, a guy could develop a complex if you keep laughing like that.’
‘You’re Adrian Hell? The Adrian Hell?’
I smiled, sheepishly.
‘You’ve heard of me?’
‘Yeah, I’ve heard of you. You’re a legend in the killing business. I just didn’t expect you to look like, well, like you do.’
I stood there for a moment, processing the nose-dive my self-confidence just took.
‘I’m just gonna go right ahead and assume that’s a compliment.’
Clara rolled her eyes, which I ignored.
‘The point of me introducing myself and unknowingly leaving myself open to a verbal bitch-slapping, was to point out that I’m not fazed by a woman on a motorcycle who’s meant to be a good assassin. I’m going to see this thing through and fix it. I’m not sure how, but I will.’
She smiled, softer this time, more genuine and less insulting.
‘I believe you. I do. But don’t underestimate what you’re up against.’
‘I never do. For a start, I need to know how they knew about me before I’d even heard of them.’
‘How are you going to do that?’
‘I have my ways. But seriously, Clara, get the hell out of here, okay?’
Before she could say anything else, I picked up the keycard to the suite off the desk and put it in my pocket. I took out a handkerchief and wiped down the briefcase. I hadn’t touched anything else, so was happy I wasn’t leaving anything incriminating in there. I then headed for the door.
Clara watched me cleanse the room of any evidence I was ever there.
‘Erm, Adrian?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ She nodded to Jackson’s corpse tied to a chair.
‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ll sort that later.’
I opened the door, taking the Do Not Disturb sign off the inside handle and placing it on the outside one. I stepped out, went to close the door and looked back at her one last time.
‘Trust me, I’m a professional.’
I winked at her and closed the door.
SIXTEEN
‘Uranium! Are you kidding me?!’ shouted Josh down the phone.
After I left The Four Seasons, I’d made my way back to my hotel, taking a very roundabout route back in case I was being followed. Once I got there, I had a proper read through all the documents I’d lifted from Jackson’s briefcase. They were definitely the deeds to the land that Pellaggio wants. All sorts of legal crap I didn’t understand over the dozen or so pages, and on the last page, a space for a signature. Which Jackson hadn’t got round to doing.
I then grabbed a shower and thought about how I’m going to handle this with Jimmy Manhattan. I was quite open with him before, but I know a lot more than I did this morning, and there’s no way I can give the mob access to that land. As it stands, I’ve only got to deal with one crazy group of extremists. If the mob got a hold of their own uranium deposit, they’d sell it to all the other crazy groups of extremists, which would be a devastating turn of events.
I came to the conclusion this wasn’t an easy fix, and I gave up trying to find a solution for now. So I rang Josh and got him up to speed on the day’s developments.
‘That’s right, Josh,’ I said. ‘Uranium.’
‘Oh my God!’
‘Yeah, it’s pretty bad.’
‘I can’t believe it!’
‘Okay. Josh?’
‘Yeah?’
‘You need to calm down.’
‘Got you.’
There was silence on the line for a few moments.
‘You good?’ I asked.
‘I’m good,’ he replied.
‘Okay then. So, first things first. Who are Dark Rain and how did they know to tail me before I’d even made a move against Jackson?’
‘I’ve been thinking about that. The only people you’ve interacted with are the mob, correct?’
‘Yeah. You thinking there’s someone in Pellaggio’s crew who’s working for Dark Rain?’
‘That’s the only logical scenario I can think of right now.’
‘I agree. Which leads me to my next problem. What do I do about Jimmy Manhattan?’
‘Well, you can’t give him the land.’
‘I know that. But I can’t tell him why, either.’
‘Can you not just say that Jackson didn’t have the documents with him?’
‘No, because he would’ve expected me to keep him alive long enough to find out where they were.’
‘Ah, good point.’
‘I’ll think of something. The priority right now is Dark Rain. I need to know where they are and what they’re planning. What do you have on this Roman Ketranovich that Clara mentioned?’
‘Adrian, this guy is hardcore. He served in the Russian military and was a member of the Spetsnaz Special Forces for nearly fifteen years. He was in the thick of it back in the eighties, when Bin Laden was over there fighting and killing Russians. He fought against the Afghans, and was known for his brutal torturing and relentless killing, apparently.’
‘He sounds lovely.’
‘Seriously, this guy is up there with Hitler, Stalin and Simon Cowell! He was badly injured in a firefight and was left for dead by his comrades. He survived and has been underground ever since. There’s very little on him after he was declared K.I.A. in the early nineties. Dark Rain must be his revenge.’
‘So he’s pissed at America, pissed at Russia and is after some nuclear material? Well, this couldn’t possibly end badly.’
‘Exactly. Plus, if this guy is working with GlobaTech Industries, he’s got some serious backing, so it’s conceivable that he could infiltrate the local mob.’
I sighed. I’ve been sighing a lot since I got to this place. Probably because, so far, everyone I’ve spoken to in Heaven’s Valley is either trying to kill me, or other people. You could argue I bring it on myself by doing what I do, but even you have to admit this situation is astonishingly FUBAR’d.
‘Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do,’ I said. ‘I have to tell Jimmy Manhattan that he probably has a rat in his midst, and that he can’t have the land, despite Jackson being dead.’
‘And I’m sure both bits of news will go down a storm,’ said Josh.
‘Yeah, like a proverbial lead balloon. Next, I need to track down this Dark Rain outfit and find a way of neutralizing them before they can get their hands on any of this uranium.’
‘Have you given much thought to how you’re going to stop an entire army on your own?’ he asked.
‘Short of knocking on their front door and asking them nicely to stop, no. I’m open to suggestions though.’
‘You never know, that might work. We rarely try the asking politely route.’
‘There’s a good reason for that.’
‘Very true.’
‘Right, I’m off to see Jimmy Manhattan.’
‘I’ll keep my eye on the local news channels for any updates,’ he chuckled.
‘Oh, ye of little faith. I’m sure it will be very civilised, and he’ll be understanding and sympathetic to our situation.’
‘Really?’
‘No, not really.’
I hung up and pulled on my leather jacket and strapped my holster to my back. I then put both of my custom Berettas at my back, so they formed the T-shape. My spid
er sense was tingling big time. This was going to get ugly, and I’m going to be on their turf when it did.
I picked up the folder with the land documents in that I took from Jackson and slid them under the mattress of my bed. Then I left my hotel and walked down the street, heading toward the Neon district.
It was late evening as I walked down the street. It was warm, and the sky was clear of any stars. Just the half-moon beaming down its greeny-white glow. The roads were still busy, although not as bad as they were during the day. There were just as many pedestrians though – dressed for a night out as opposed to a day in the office. Guys wearing expensive shirts with jeans and shoes. Women of varying ages wearing dresses that looked like they’d ran out of material halfway through production. And me, marching into battle.
Josh rang me, so I clicked the bluetooth headset on.
‘Yeah?’ I said.
‘You on your way to The Pit?’ he asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘Okay. Here’s a little something to help you.’
Down the phone, he began playing “Highway To Hell” by AC/DC.
I walked on, guns at my back and a smile on my face.
Back
Kicked In The Teeth Again
SEVENTEEN
At night, The Pit looks very different. There’s a long line of people queuing to get in down the block – a selection of the half-dressed women and the over-dressed guys I saw roaming the streets on the way here. The velvet rope by the door was guarded by a doorman with a clipboard. The sign is flashing blue and white. All around me, there are people and lights and cars and the constant, low hum of the bass line coming from behind all the doors.
I walked to the front of the queue and got the doorman’s attention. I hadn’t seen this guy before. He was a big guy. He was a couple of inches shorter than me, but a great deal wider - and he wasn’t fat. He had a black tee shirt on that looked three sizes too small for his chest and arms, which were literally bulging with muscle. He had black jeans and black boots and was wearing an earpiece.
I didn’t get a chance to say anything.
‘Back of the line, asshole,’ he snarled.
I let his attitude slide. I wasn’t in the mood for unnecessary confrontations. I’m sure they’ll be plenty of necessary ones in a few moments.
‘Hey, take it easy, Conan. I need to see Jimmy. It’s urgent,’ I said.
He eyed me up and down, then spoke into his radio. After a few moments, he unhooked the rope and motioned me in, much to the dismay and protestations from many of the people still in the line.
I walked into the club, and entered the main area, which this morning looked so spacious. Now, there were easily a hundred and fifty people crammed in there. I looked around quickly, before I entered the throng of bodies that were laughing and dancing and drinking. Behind the bar, at the far end, were seven people serving - three guys and four girls.
In the far corner, stood in front of the red curtain was the big guy from this morning, with the fire axe tattoo on his head. I figured that’s where I was heading. I instinctively touched my lower back, to check my guns were secure, and set off through the crowd.
I glided through the masses, slowly making my way through to the other side. Two guys were stood in front of me, seemingly trying to hit on the same girl. They were blocking my path.
‘Excuse me,’ I said, to no avail. The music - if you could call it that - was deafening in here.
I tapped one of them on the shoulder to get his attention, and when he looked at me, I gestured past him, to signal I needed to get by. He looked at me like he’d scraped me off his shoe, then shoved me at the shoulder. He turned back to his friend, and they both laughed. The girl also seemed to find this amusing.
It would appear that a large percentage of the population woke up this morning with the sole purpose of pissing me off. And they were succeeding spectacularly.
I tapped his shoulder again. When he turned toward me again, he went straight for another shove. This time, I caught his right hand with my left and held it. This caused him to turn and face me properly. As he did, I placed my right hand flat on his chest, and used my middle finger to find the little dip at the top of the ribcage, in the center at the bottom of the throat. I found the dip, and pushed my finger in, and then down. With the right amount of pressure, you’d be amazed how effective this is. He dropped to his knees almost instantly, crippled with what would be a brief but excruciating pain throughout the body.
Seriously, try it. But only on someone you don’t like, because it hurts.
He balled up on the floor, shocked and short of breath and holding his chest. His friend went wide-eyed as I turned to him, staring through him with my dead eyes. He thought about making a move for all of two seconds, then decided against it and ran off through the crowd. I turned to the girl, who had overcome her shock and was now smiling at me. I was probably twice her age, and she was probably half my IQ.
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘That was really cool.’
She smiled and walked up to me, putting a hand on my chest.
‘You wanna buy me a drink?’
I took hold of her wrist and removed her hand, placing it back by her side.
‘I’m old enough to be your father,’ I replied. ‘And even if you weren’t too young to be here, I’m married.’
She pouted, clearly not used to not getting her own way.
‘Fucking asshole!’ she shouted, then stormed off towards the exit.
I shook my head in disbelief.
An image of my wife, Janine, drifted into my head. She would have found that hilarious. I smiled to myself.
God, I missed her. She was the only woman I’ve ever loved. And likely ever will do.
I re-focused and walked on, eventually coming through the other side of the crowd, and face to face with Axe Tattoo Guy. He looked me up and down, then looked over my shoulder at the hole in the crowd I’d just caused. He looked back at me.
I shrugged.
Maintaining his expressionless gaze, he stepped aside and held the curtain back so I could walk through. I stepped inside and found myself in a dark, narrow corridor. Ahead of me was a fire exit. On the left were two wooden doors. I went for the doors, but the big guy stopped me.
‘Hold up,’ he said, in a big, deep, steroid-induced voice.
‘What?’ I asked, turning back to look at him.
‘Hands against the wall, spread your legs.’
Shit. No sense in rocking the boat this early on though.
‘If I see any rubber gloves, you and me won’t be friends any more.’
‘We ain’t friends anyway, asshole.’
I faced the wall, put my hands out in front of me and spread my legs. He patted me down, and inevitably touched upon the twin Berettas at my back.
He said, ‘Hand ‘em over, nice and slow.’
I reached behind me and took them out of the holster, one in each hand. I let them hang loose over my index fingers by the trigger guard. He took them off me and placed them in a bucket that was just inside the entrance on the left, which I didn’t notice when I first walked through the curtain.
‘I want them back,’ I said to him. ‘They’re my babies.’
‘Whatever. Through them doors.’
He pointed to the wooden doors on my left and I went through them.
I entered what I assumed was the main office of the club. In front of me was a small bar and two sofas arranged in an L-shape. One couch facing me, the other at ninety degrees on my right. The bar was in the corner where the couches met.
The room stretched away to the left. The wall to my left was see-through, and I realized the mirror behind the bar out in the club was one-way, so you could see everything from this side. Against the far wall was a large, oak desk with a computer on it and a phone.
Stood behind the desk, looking through the mirror surveying his little empire was Jimmy Manhattan. Next to him, sat down, was an older man in his late sixties. He was balding
with the remains of his gray hair combed back. He had a gray goatee beard on his long, drawn face. His hands were resting on the desk in front of him, adorned in a variety of gold rings.
Roberto Pellaggio, I presume.
EIGHTEEN
They both looked at me as I entered.
‘Adrian,’ said Manhattan as he turned toward me, flashing his charming smile. ‘Nice to see you again. I hope you come here with good news?’
I made my way over to the desk, and pulled up a chair in front of it when Jimmy silently offered me a seat with a gesture of his hand. I sat down.
I couldn’t see any other way of playing this, besides my own. When in doubt, stick with what you know.
I stared at the guy I assumed was Pellaggio, who had yet to say anything.
‘So, are you the big boss?’ I asked.
He said nothing, just stared at me, weighing me up.
‘Can I offer you a drink?’ asked Manhattan.
‘I’m good, thanks,’ I replied.
‘So, what can I do for you?’
‘It’s done.’
‘Mr. Jackson has agreed to sell the land to us?’
‘No, Mr. Jackson has been shot in the head.’ I paused. ‘You’re welcome, by the way.’
‘Well, it’s a shame a deal couldn’t have been negotiated, but no matter. Do you have the deeds to the land?’
‘Nope.’
‘Can I ask why?’
‘You can ask.’
‘Adrian, the terms of the contract were quite clear. You were to obtain the deeds to the land for us, using lethal persuasion where necessary.’
‘I know, but he didn’t have the deeds with him and refused to tell me where they were. He seemed more scared of what would happen if he told me than if he didn’t, to be honest.’
‘This is... unfortunate, to say the least.’
I shrugged.
‘Well, what can you do? I’ll just get my money and be on my way.’
‘Oh, there will be no money, Mr. Hell,’ said Pellaggio, breaking his silence. His voice like gravel, with a subtle hint of old Italy in his accent.
I leant forward in my chair.