True Conviction

by James P. Sumner

  I turn to Stan and smile.

  He unleashed another big right hand that catches me square on my left cheek.

  Oh man, that hurts…

  My head’s spinning and my brain’s shouting at me to stop getting hit, but I ignore it and laugh at him.

  “Come on, asshole,” I say, taunting him. “This isn’t a tickling competition. Give me a shot that doesn’t feel like it came from a girl scout.”

  He winds up his right hand again, and in all honesty, I reckon he would've taken my head off if he’d thrown it. Thankfully, he didn’t get chance.

  “Enough,” Manhattan says. “We want him alive long enough to get what we need. Then he’s all yours.”

  Stan smiles at me. I throw him a dismissive look with my eyebrows to show my complete lack of concern before turning back to Manhattan.

  “So, what now? You gonna threaten me some more?”

  “Not at all,” he says.

  He reaches behind him and opens the top drawer of the desk. He pulls out what looks like a medical kit. It’s a small, green box with a zipper going all the way round. He places it next to him on the desk in front of me and opens it up so I can see. Inside is an array of stainless steel surgical equipment—all of which looks very sharp.

  “I’m going to ask you, very nicely, to explain to me everything that’s happened since we first spoke a couple of days ago,” he begins. “You’re going to leave nothing out, and you’re going to take particular care when telling me why you kept the deeds to this land for yourself.”

  I look at the surgical blades on the table. I can't see any way that the next five minutes won’t end up sucking massively. I mean, there’s no way Jimmy Manhattan is a qualified surgeon, which means he won’t have the dexterity to handle those blades with care and precision. It’s going to be ugly, and it’s going to hurt... A lot.

  But it’s okay—I can take it. I reckon I’ve been through worse in my time. Which speaks volumes about the kind of life I’ve had, I guess.

  “Jimmy,” I say. “With all the love and respect in the world… you’re a dick. You have absolutely no idea how much trouble you’re in. And that’s in addition to how pissed off I am at you. If you go down this road, you will cross people who can turn your entire organization to ashes in minutes.”

  With a speed not becoming of someone his age, Manhattan reaches over, grabs one of the steel blades, and lashes it out toward me. The blade stops about a quarter-inch below my left eye. The tip is touching my skin. Not enough pressure to draw blood, but enough that you know it’s there.

  I don’t flinch, and I’m staying calm and still, despite my shock at how quickly it happened.

  “I could turn you into a memory with a flick of my wrist,” says Manhattan. “So keep your advice and your idle threats to yourself.”

  I look down at the blade, then back at Manhattan. His old eyes are cold and his gaze steady. I’ve pushed him as far as he’s willing to let me. But there’s no way I’m telling the mafia that we’re sitting on top of the only natural Uranium deposit in North America… I need to think of something to stall him.

  “As I’ve said,” I begin. “Dark Rain has a working relationship with GlobaTech Industries. Ted Jackson was in town selling this land to them because of that relationship. I fully appreciate your view on things, but I’m the only one who does. Dark Rain doesn’t care about you, or Pellaggio. They just want their land back. They feel they have just as valid a claim on it as you do.”

  Without a word, Manhattan presses the blade harder, piercing the skin. I feel a warm trickle of blood run down my face as the cold steel slices through my skin. My flesh splits apart like a ripe melon, opening up a cut on my face running from my eye down to my jaw.

  I try to suppress a scream of agony, but don’t quite manage it, letting out a guttural growl through gritted teeth. The pain is white hot, and cold air stings my exposed flesh.

  “Answer my goddamn question!” he yells. “What is it about this land that everyone’s so interested in? What are they planning?”

  He places the blade against me once again, but this time it’s against my throat. He isn’t quite piercing my skin, but he’s as close as he can be without drawing more blood. Instinctively, I tilt my head back and take shallow breaths, trying to reduce the pressure of the blade against my trachea.

  I can’t tell him the real reason, but right now, I just can’t think of a good enough lie…

  I close my eyes. I don’t honestly know if I’m trying to think clearer for a lie to give him, or whether I’m just accepting my fate and simply don’t want to see the final flick of his wrist.

  Seconds tick by in agonizing silence. Then I hear it. The sound of tires on the gravel outside. Lots of them. Manhattan stands and moves over to the window, peering through the blinds. I turn and look. There seems to be quite a few headlights parked up out there…

  “Who the fuck are these guys?” he says to me. “Friends of yours?”

  I smile. “I don’t have many friends, Jimmy,” I say. “But let me guess… Black Humvees?”

  “Four of them,” he replies, nodding.

  I laugh out loud, prompting both Manhattan and Stan to look at each other in confusion.

  Showtime.

  17.

  22:52

  I LOOK AT Stan, who has both of my Berettas in his hands, preparing for a fight. I’m not going to tell him that they’re empty or that the spare clips are in my bag…

  “Hey, use your own guns,” I say to him.

  He ignores me, seemingly too bothered by how concerned his boss is getting, which I personally find very amusing.

  “Jimmy, meet Dark Rain,” I say. “You remember what these guys did to the bar I was in when they came after me the first time, right?”

  He looks at me, the concern giving way to something more potent.

  Fear.

  “Imagine what they’re going to do to you…” I continue. “All the crime families in the world can’t protect you now. But I can.”

  “How?” he asks, his jaw muscles clenching with frustration and panic.

  “Untie me and give me my guns. You guys don’t even register on their radar. All they’re concerned about is this land. And killing me, seeing as I made Clara betray them.”

  We hear car doors opening and the crunching of boot on gravel, followed by the unmistakable sound of automatic weapons being cocked.

  I turn to Stan. “Untie me now, or we’re all going to die,” I say, with more urgency.

  Stan looks at Manhattan, who nods. He bends down and unties me. I stand, rubbing each of my wrists in turn to get some feeling back in them.

  “Now give me my guns,” I say.

  He hesitates, but one look from Manhattan and he hands them over. I holster one of them and hold the second in my right hand. Without any warning, I smash the butt of it into Stan’s nose. He stumbles backward, holding his face, and falls to the floor. I quickly turn and aim at Manhattan. He says nothing.

  “Put your gun down,” I say to him. “On the ground, now.”

  Reluctantly, he does.

  “Kick it over to me.”

  Again, he does, albeit with an impatient and heavy sigh.

  “Now what?” he asks.

  “Now you keep quiet and let me handle this. They’re after me, not you.”

  I walk backward to where my shoulder bag is on the floor and, keeping one eye on Manhattan, I open it up and retrieve a couple of spare magazines. I load my Beretta and pocket the remaining clip.

  “Why are you helping us, after what I’ve just done to you?” he asks.

  “An outstanding question,” I reply. “Look, I’m no master strategist. I simply do what I can to survive. I’m a fighter and right now my fight isn’t with you—despite the fact you’re trying to pick one with me. Be grateful and leave me the hell alone. You’re the only person I’ve ever warned twice. Take heed, as there won’t be a third time. Understand?”

  Before he can say anything, a vo
ice booms from outside. “Adrian Hell!”

  The voice has a thick, Russian accent. It’s deep and reminds me of the guy from that Flash Gordon movie in the eighties—with the beard and the wings. Man, I loved that movie…

  It definitely isn’t Natalia anyway, so I can only assume it’s Dark Rain’s illustrious leader, Colonel Ketranovich.

  I look out the window. There are four Humvees parked with their doors open. Standing in front of them are twelve armed soldiers, all dressed in black. They’re in a line, holding assault rifles loosely in front of them.

  Standing in front of them are three more people. On the right, as I look out, is Natalia Salikov. The one in the middle must be Ketranovich. I’ve never seen the guy on the left before, but he looks strangely familiar. I’m guessing he’s important anyway, otherwise he be stood with the rest of the grunts.

  Natalia and the other guy also have assault rifles, aimed directly at the cabin. Ketranovich isn’t armed, but then, why would he be?

  I let out a heavy sigh. It's been a really shitty week so far...

  “Adrian Hell, come out of there, unarmed, and I promise you we will not shoot,” says the Colonel.

  Yeah, right.

  Still, I don’t really have a choice. There’s no cover in here. If they open fire, the cabin will be decimated within seconds, along with everyone inside it.

  I turn to Manhattan.

  “You want to get out of here?” I ask.

  “There’s no reason I won’t anyway,” he replies, almost nonchalantly. “You just said yourself, their issue isn’t with me.”

  “You’re right, it’s not. But they didn’t have an issue with anyone in that bar earlier, and that didn’t stop them opening fire regardless, just to get to me.”

  He thinks about that for a moment.

  “What do you want?” he asks.

  “The deeds to this land,” I say. “It’s the only reason they’re here, and it’s my only bargaining chip.”

  “You can kiss my ass, Adrian. You’re not having them.”

  In response, I raise my gun and put a bullet right between Stan’s eyes. His head snaps back and smashes against the wall, leaving an explosion of deep crimson all around him. The gunshot sounded extra loud inside the cabin and the muzzle flash was bright. I can hear agitated voices and the sound of weapons being checked from outside. I have to act fast.

  I point my gun at Manhattan.

  “I have a million reasons to shoot you and hardly any not to,” I say. “Give me the fucking deeds.”

  Slowly, he picks them up off the desk and holds them out to me. I reach over and take them, placing them in my back pocket. I quickly jab the butt of the pistol into Manhattan’s nose. I hear it break from the impact and he goes sprawling to the floor clutching his face, much like Stan did. He looks up at me, his eyes wide in a mixture of shock and fear. I take aim at his head.

  “We ain’t done, Jimmy. I’ve got big plans for you,” I say. “But for now, if you wanna get out of here, you’re gonna have to trust me.”

  I aim just to the right of his head and put a bullet through the floor.

  He catches his breath as his eyes roll in silent relief. I kneel beside him.

  “Be seeing you soon,” I whisper.

  I slam the butt of my gun down hard on his left temple, knocking him out cold, before sliding it back in my holster and wiping the blood from my face as best I can with my sleeve. I walk over and pick up my bag, putting it over both shoulders.

  Moving over to the door, ready to step outside, I touch the cut on my face again, wincing slightly. That’s going to scar like a bitch...

  I must admit, I always prefer not to have much more than a vague outline of a plan. Any significant amount of detail and you feel compelled to stick to it as best you can, which means you run the risk of sometimes losing sight of the bigger picture. Not seeing everything clearly in front of you can be a costly, and sometimes deadly, mistake.

  Luckily for me, right now I have no fucking clue what I’m about to do or what will happen as a result.

  When in doubt, improvise.

  “I’m coming out,” I shout. “I’m unarmed.”

  I open the door and step out to face the firing squad.

  23:17

  The moon has risen and is shining bright in the clear night sky, bathing the area in a pale, white glow. My boots crunch on the gravel as I walk toward the Ketranovich and his gathering of armed followers. I’m holding my arms out to the sides like a cross with my palms open. It’s a passive gesture and, psychologically, gives the impression I’m not a threat.

  I might as well try the diplomatic approach first. Granted, diplomacy isn’t exactly my strong suit, but at least it will engage them in conversation and buy me some more time.

  “Get your men to lower their weapons,” I say. “We can sort this without any more violence or bloodshed.”

  Ketranovich laughs. “You have some balls, Adrian Hell, I give you that,” he booms back.

  “I didn’t realize you could see them from over there…”

  He laughs again and motions for his troops to lower their guns, which they all do immediately. Apart from Natalia. She keeps hers trained on me the whole time. Our paths have crossed before though, so you can argue that she knows better than the rest of them.

  And I don’t blame her… If it comes down to it, and this thing goes south, I’ll have both pistols drawn and the first bullets fired in less than two seconds. You can be damn sure I’ll take out Ketranovich and Natalia before I get cut in half by machine gun fire. I’d count that as a victory as well. If you cut off the head, most organizations like Dark Rain will simply crumble.

  I’m standing looking at Roman Ketranovich. He’s an impressive man—I can’t deny that. He’s tall with short, graying hair and dark eyes. He’s wearing a green vest and camouflage pants. Tattoos cover his huge arms —his muscles toned by years of combat and killing. He has a scar down his cheek... I wonder if I’m going to look like that now, thanks to that prick, Manhattan?

  He doesn't have a weapon, though why would he? His own private army is standing behind him. He turns and speaks to Natalia in Russian. I have no idea what he’s saying, but she finally lowers her weapon.

  “I have heard a great deal about you, Adrian Hell,” he says. “It is an honor to meet such an accomplished soldier.”

  Normally, this is point where I’d start winding him up, goading a reaction out of him and capitalizing on his overly emotional state of mind. But, given the circumstances, even I recognize that’s a pretty stupid idea.

  “Thanks,” I reply. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of you...”

  He smiles. “That’s okay, Adrian Hell. Soon, the whole world will have heard of me.”

  “Yeah, about that… Listen, I’m not sure I can allow you guys to carry on with your crazy plan for world domination or whatever. Sorry.”

  He laughs loudly, prompting his followers to do the same. Everyone except Natalia, who’s staring a hole right through me.

  “I’m sensing you’re not taking me seriously?” I say, frowning.

  “We have partnership with your military. Our crazy plan will happen regardless of what you do,” he replies.

  “Your liaison with them is dead and they never finalized the deal to sell you this land. So your plan is dead in the water.”

  Ketranovich’s smile fades. “Yes, that’s... unfortunate, but no matter. We will begin mining here in a couple of days regardless.”

  Natalia takes a step forward, raising her gun, and shouts at me in Russian. She’s spitting her words out and I can see the venom in her dark, soulless eyes. I’m probably safe in assuming she’s not declaring her unrequited feelings for me...

  I take a small step back, lifting my arms a bit higher, to emphasize I’m still unarmed.

  “Hey, I don’t speak Communist, sorry,” I say.

  Ketranovich turns to the other guy standing with him and gestures at Natalia with an impatient nod. The guy let’s
go of his rifle so it hangs by its strap and walks over to her. He’s a little shorter than Ketranovich, but similar in build. He has buzz-cut blonde hair and blue eyes. He shouts something at Natalia and she turns to him—the anger still etched across her face. He places his hands on her shoulders and begins talking to her in Russian—his tone soothing, almost hypnotic.

  I notice the soldiers at the back are looking at each other and shifting nervously back and forth, watching and muttering among themselves. I get the impress that Natalia’s the resident freak show, but everyone’s too afraid to say it out loud. Ketranovich himself looks on, but with far less concern than the rest.

  The blonde guy is calming her down, but it’s interesting to see how she went from zero to psycho in the blink of an eye. This woman’s got some serious issues and she’s definitely not the type of person I’d trust with an automatic weapon. But, hey—that’s just me.

  “Forgive me,” says Ketranovich. “Little Natalia sometimes gets wound too tight. Her brother relaxes her.”

  Her brother… that makes sense—he looks familiar because he bears a striking resemblance to Natalia. They might even be twins.

  “Hey, I’m passing no judgment,” I say with a shrug. “I kill people for a living.”

  He laughs again. “You are funny man, Adrian Hell. I like you. Would you consider joining our cause, maybe? We could use a soldier like you.”

  “Thanks for the offer, Roman, my old friend, but I’m not a terrorist. I’m not going to let you profit from this land, and I’m not going to let you manufacture nuclear weapons. I will stop you.”

  “I’m afraid you are, how you say, pissing in the wind, my friend. No one can stop what is already in motion. It’s a shame you won’t be around to see my plan come to fruition. It will be a whole new world.”

  He points at me and everyone raises their rifles, cocking them and taking aim.

  Oh, shit…

  I breathe out heavily and close my eyes, content that whatever small plan I might’ve had didn’t work. I mentally prepare for a shower of bullets to rain into me. I suppose the blessing is that I won’t really feel anything after the first couple of rounds anyway…