One Last Bullet: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 3) (14 page)

22.

MEANWHILE…

18:41

Word had spread quickly of Johnny King’s demise. Jimmy Manhattan knew the few hours after his death were crucial. That was when panic set in and people instinctively looked for someone to turn to. When they found no one, that’s when the fighting would start. And by the time the dust had settled and the victor had emerged, enough would’ve been destroyed in the process that they ended up being in charge of nothing. He’d seen it in the past, and had learned from his time working with Roberto Pellaggio to know that it’s best to act swiftly and decisively.

Upon hearing King was found dead in his office, Manhattan immediately sent Tarantina and three other men to The Palace, to establish his presence and quash any concerns people there may have had. He had given Tarantina instructions to kill anyone who challenged their authority without hesitation.

As expected, it’d been necessary to make one or two examples, but the rest fell in line soon after. Tarantina had stayed at The Palace, organizing the newly acquired businesses and personnel. And that was that. Manhattan now completely ran Allentown without opposition, and after a few moments to allow everything he’d accomplished to soak in, he’d set to work figuring out how to get the rest of the state.

The first and most obvious hurdle to get over was the discovery that the rest of Pennsylvania was owned, and run, by a man named Wilson Trent. A quick look through King’s financial records had told Manhattan that he worked for Trent, laundering money through his nightclub for him.

Manhattan had done some digging and made some calls. It turned out that Wilson Trent wasn’t exactly a hard man to find out about. If you could think of an aspect of the city worth controlling, or an illegal enterprise worth starting, the chances are Trent did it years ago.

He’d actually heard the name many years prior, when Pellaggio was still completing his takeover of Nevada. Trent had always been a player, but he was never in the major leagues. It was only the last decade or so when he’d really come into power, and he’d done so in a big way.

It hadn’t taken long to get a good idea of how far and wide Trent’s reach stretched. But what was interesting was the discovery of Adrian Hell’s relationship with him. A former employee of Johnny King’s had proven most helpful in detailing why Trent was so irate that Adrian had re-surfaced on the East Coast after a prolonged absence. And the more Manhattan learned, the happier he became.

If he had one regret in life, it was hiring Adrian Hell for that job back in Heaven’s Valley. It made perfect sense to do so, given he was—and arguably still is—the best hitman money can buy, by a long way. But he was… different. He asked questions. He thought too much. It made him great at his job, but also a major pain in the ass for anyone hiring him. He’d hated him ever since, and the only memories that made him smile were the ones where he was causing that bastard pain.

He’d played the diplomat with him earlier in the day, as it was good for business, and it had proven a wise choice. Within three hours of giving him the contract, Johnny King was dead. Tarantina would be subtly leaking the fact they’d hired Adrian to do it, so everyone in the city now associated him with Manhattan. So now, he was untouchable. People would be too afraid to cross him, as they know he’d let Adrian Hell loose on them.

Or so they thought.

But by sheer coincidence—or fate, if you believed in such things—that relationship with Adrian had now put Manhattan firmly in the crosshairs of Trent, meaning both he and Adrian Hell now had a common enemy. His only viable option was approaching Trent as a businessman and appealing to his sense of enterprise. And Manhattan would be the first to admit, he didn’t like his chances of success.

Adrian Hell, however, wasn’t known for his diplomacy. From what he’d heard, he seemed intent on tearing the world apart for an opportunity to kill Trent, and justifiably so.

Like a chessboard, Manhattan was positioning all the pieces, ready for his final assault on the king. He knew that if he played things just right, he could almost help Adrian take out Trent—which he’d figured was the favor he’d mentioned to him that morning over breakfast. But he’d need to do it in such a way that he was also setting him up at the same time, so when Trent was gone, Manhattan could step in, take out Adrian, and take control of the throne of Pennsylvania.

He could see it all so clearly in his mind. His trick over the years had been to start with the endgame and work backward, looking at every possible scenario that could’ve come before, and what preceded that… and so on, until in the end he was left with the perfect place to start.

He had a pretty good idea of what path Trent would take, as they were very similar people. And he’d had vast experience with Adrian’s frame of mind, and coupled with what he assumed he would be feeling at the moment, he was predictable to the point where he almost felt sorry for him. He wondered how long it would take Adrian to tell him about the link to Wilson Trent. He must be aware of it himself by now, and the fact he’s not been in touch already to discuss it just proved he couldn’t be trusted. All the more reason to make sure he’s taken out of the picture once and for all.

Manhattan was sitting at a table in The Carrington’s restaurant, eating a lobster salad and drinking a glass of champagne. He couldn’t help smiling to himself at how well things had fallen into place. And, more to the point, how much better he was doing now he was in charge, and not taking orders from someone else.

His phone rang, interrupting his musings.

“Yes?” he said as he answered.

“It’s me,” replied Tarantina. “Just wanted to let you know everything’s in order over here. I’ve given the books to our accountant, who’s distributing our new funds accordingly across our businesses. Some of the new recruits are asking questions, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“That’s excellent news, Paulie. You’ve done very well today.”

“Thank you, Mr. Manhattan. You ain’t done so bad yourself. How’s it feel owning the city?”

He paused to take another sip of champagne.

“It’s but a small step on a much longer road,” he said. “But today we can celebrate.”

“Drinks are on you, Boss.”

Manhattan smiled and hung up, before resuming his meal.

23.

ADRIAN HELL

23:06

We made the five-hour journey back to Pittsburgh and arrived at our hotel a few minutes ago. It’s been a long and eventful day, and we’ve got plenty to think about. We waited a few minutes before getting out of the Winnebago, to make sure no one had followed us or was scoping the place out. Happy we were in the clear, we crossed the street and headed inside and up to our rooms.

“I’m gonna grab a shower and crash,” I say to Josh as we stand outside our rooms. “Come and get me in the morning, and we’ll grab some breakfast, plan our next move.”

“Sounds good,” he replies.

I take my keycard out of my pocket and move to swipe it on the keypad next to my door, but I notice my door’s already open, standing very slightly ajar. I instantly reach behind me for my guns, but I’ve left them in the Winnebago…

Shit! I
really
need to stop doing that…

“Josh,” I whisper.

He’s halfway into his room when he stops and turns. I silently point to my door. He nods once and instinctively takes up position on one side of the doorway. I lean against the wall across from him. We talk in silence using our hands. On the count of three, I’m going to push the door open and dash inside, dropping low and moving to the side of the bed for cover. Josh will follow, staying high and ducking just inside the bathroom, using the door for protection.

I count on my fingers…

One…

Two…

Three!

I move in front of the door and kick it open. I run in and dive at the side of the bed, quickly scanning the room. I hear Josh coming in behind me. I can’t see that anything’s been visibly disturbed or stolen—not that I’ve left many belongings in the room anyway. The only thing different from what I remember is the chair by the window… It’s not empty anymore.

Sitting in it is one of the most extraordinarily beautiful women I’ve ever seen in my life. She’s sat with her legs crossed, smiling at me with a look of amusement and curiosity. I stand slowly, keeping eye contact with her.

“Josh, I think we’re fine,” I call out.

He appears from inside the bathroom and steps out into the room, standing next to me. “
Very
fine...” he says smiling, looking at the mystery woman with an approving eye.

She tilts her head slightly, her smile changing to an inquisitive smirk that only farther accentuates her beauty.

I hold my hands out to the side, showing I have no weapons; my palms are open as a passive gesture, signaling I pose no threat.

“Are we good here?” I ask her.

She stands and draws a gun from behind her with a speed I don’t mind admitting I’m impressed by, holding it professionally in both hands and aiming it first at me, then at Josh. When she speaks, her sultry voice has a strong accent that I can’t quite place. That intoxicating smile on her face hasn’t faltered once. She raises an eyebrow.

“We’re great.”

She’s quite tall, maybe five-ten, with long, dark, straight hair that’s shining like a shampoo commercial. She has skin-tight jeans tucked into brown, knee-high boots that have impractically high heels on them. Her tank top is a couple of inches too short, exposing her toned midriff, and the neckline is low enough to show off her ample breasts. It’s like a car crash—as much as I don’t want to look, I can’t help it.

Come on, Adrian, get it together… you’re acting like you’ve never seen a woman holding a gun before!

I take a deep breath and focus. That accent… where’s she from? If I can figure that out, I might be able to work out who she is. My gut’s telling me she’s in the business…

“I know you, don’t I?” Josh says, breaking my train of thought.

I look over at him, surprised. “Josh, you sly dog… you kept this one quiet!”

She raises an unimpressed eyebrow at me and turns to look at him. She regards him impassively for a moment; her eyes narrowing slightly as she tries to remember if she’s met him before.

Without warning, she swings her gun round and pulls the trigger, shooting Josh in the arm, just below his left shoulder. He falls to the floor, letting out a grunt of pain as he lands. Blood spreads slowly across the carpet from his wound, and he clutches at it, applying pressure with his right hand to stem the bleeding.

“Josh!” I yell. I immediately rush toward her, but she quickly takes a step back, adding distance between us, and re-aims her gun at my head with ruthless efficiency. I stop in my tracks and put my hands out to the sides again.

“I’m alright,” he says through gritted teeth. “It’s just a flesh wound and only hurts... a lot.”

“Okay, enough,” I say to the mystery woman. “Who the fuck are you? And why are you in my hotel room?”

“You’re friend’s right,” she says. “He
does
know me—we briefly crossed paths a few years ago. However,
we’ve
never met, Adrian.”

I look over at Josh, who’s managed to sit himself up against the wall. His hand’s stained with dark crimson from his wound, and he’s fading in and out of consciousness, presumably due to blood loss.

“Well he never mentioned you,” I say. “You couldn’t have been that memorable.”

She laughs. “Oh, your words hurt me… Your trademark verbal offense, as advertised. I’m truly in the presence of greatness!” She sits down again, never taking her gun off me; the barrel steady and aimed perfectly between my eyes. “It is an honor to meet the
legendary
Adrian Hell.”

Ignoring her obvious sarcasm for a moment, I have to admit it
is
nice when your reputation precedes you. It proves I’ve been doing something right all this time, I suppose. But still, when a strange woman breaks into my hotel room and shoots my best friend… pleasantries aside, she’s skating on thin fucking ice.

I look her up and down again—this time with a more professional eye. She has very toned legs, and the skin-tight jeans accentuate her well-developed muscles. She’s in great condition, and could probably crush a man to death with her thighs.

Her skin is like silk, blemish-free and tanned partly because of her nationality and partly because of where I’m guessing she’s spent most of her life. She’s covered up pretty well, despite the obvious fashion statement with her breasts. But her arms are the key—again, very muscular, in a delicate kind of way. But I can just about make out part of a tattoo she has on the top of her right shoulder, which I’m assuming runs down her back or side. It looks like a dragon…

My initial instinct was right—she’s a trained killer. And she has to be in the business because she knows me. I thought she might’ve been Iranian at first, but having heard more of her voice, I think she’s Israeli. She’s younger than I am, but probably older than she looks. I’d say maybe late thirties. Possibly former Mossad or Shabak. Either way, she’s definitely had extensive training.

“Listen, I’m sure this is a very big day for you,” I say. “Meeting me… waiting in my room for me like a horny little groupie… Your whole life has likely been building to this very moment… But, for me, it’s Saturday. And you just shot someone close to me. So I suggest you drop the gun and start talking. Otherwise, you might find yourself prematurely giving up breathing.”

She’s still smiling, which, as nice as it is to look at it, is starting to get a little weird. She also seems very confident and comfortable pointing a gun at me. And given she knows who I am, that actually speaks volumes.

“You talk a lot,” she says, seemingly unfazed by my threat.

“Yes… yes, I do.”

“You think you’re smarter than everyone else.”

“And funnier... And more talented...”

“Your little routine probably works on most people too, right?”

“More often than not.”

“I’m not
most people
.”

“Yeah, I figured that out already.”

“But have you figured out who I actually am?”

“If I was to hazard a guess? I’d say a professional assassin, hired to either kill me or capture me. The smart money would be on Wilson Trent signing your paycheck, given I don’t have many other enemies.”

“Ha!” she scoffs. “I find that very hard to believe, Adrian.”

“No, it’s true. Mostly because all but two of them are dead. I don’t take too kindly to people who try to kill me.”

“Well, I am not your enemy.”

“In that case, your impression of a friend is fucking terrible.”

“No, I simply mean I have no personal hatred toward you. I’m just doing a job, end of story. If that’s any comfort?”

“Not really, no.”

She shrugs. “Oh… well, I tried.”

I smile humorlessly, tiring of trading verbal blows with her. “So, what now? You gonna shoot me?”

She pulls an oddly cute face as she pretends to think about it. “Hmmm… I’m not sure. I
do
get a lot of money if I do…”

“Really? How much?”

“One point five to make you dead.”

“Million? Is that it?” I’m actually a little offended. “I’m hurt that my life isn’t valued higher.”

She rubs her temple with the barrel of her gun, seemingly frustrated. “You’re a very strange man, Adrian.”

I shrug. “So people tell me. What’s your name?”

She stands and flashes me a smile that I’m sure has broken many a man’s heart in the past. And probably their necks…

“I’m Dominique Tevani,” she announces.

I raise my eyebrows with genuine surprise. I’ve actually heard of her, purely by reputation. She’s a damn good killer, if you believe the rumors. Never met her or seen a picture though. She’s certainly attractive, which I figure is a well-utilized weapon in her arsenal.

Trent isn’t messing around if he’s gone looking for someone of her caliber. There are only few people in the business better than her, by all accounts. Luckily for me, I’m one of them.

“What if I offered you two million to go back and say you never found me?”

Her smile finally fades, and her expression changes to one of confusion and something resembling disappointment.

“Adrian Hell, bartering for his life? Definitely not what I’d expect from someone with a reputation such as yours…”

I smile. “I’m not bartering for anything,” I reply, casually. “I hope you realize that I could’ve killed you at least twice already, if I’d wanted to. But I like to know everything, and cutting off a prime source of information such as you would be irresponsible to say the least.”

She raises an eyebrow, presumably not believing a word I’ve just said. “So why the bargain?”

“Do you know why Trent wants me dead?”

“Because he hates you?”

“Well, yeah… but he hired you because he’s scared of me. I’m on a job, just like you. He knows I’m coming after him and he’s scared of what I’m gonna do to his entire world when I make my move.”

She says nothing, but she lowers her gun ever so slightly… I’m not sure if she aware that she has. But I can see the doubt in her eyes. And the curiosity—the intrigue.

Who needs a gun when you’ve got a brain?

“Ask yourself,” I continue. “When was the last time you heard of anyone being hired to kill one of our own who’s simply working a job? Plus, I consider two million an absolute steal if it means I can get valuable information about Trent and maybe mess with his head a little.”

She looks over at Josh, who has slid sideways and is now lying unconscious in front of the door. He’ll be fine. He’s survived much worse. He’s just milking it for the audience, the big British pussy.

“And what do I get out of it?” she asks, sounding sincere.

“You mean, besides the two million dollars?”

“You know as well as anyone, I can’t go back on my contract.”

“Would you help me if you weren’t obligated to Trent?”

“Not sure… under any other circumstances, the opportunity to work with you would be too good to pass up, I guess. Plus, you are quite handsome…” She looks me up and down approvingly, which makes me feel more uncomfortable than the gun she has pointed at my head. “But,” she continues, “we only have
these
circumstances.”

I briefly see the muzzle flash, but I don’t register the sound of the gunshot. I feel like I’ve just been hit in the shoulder by a sledgehammer. I feel myself falling backward…

??:??

I can hear muffled voices around me.

I’m definitely lying down, but I’ve no idea where I am or how long I’ve been here…

Am I still on the floor of my hotel?

God, I hope not—that would be embarrassing!

I’m definitely breathing, which is a good start. I’m pretty sure Dominique shot me in the arm…

I try to move my arms and legs. They all work, put my left shoulder is throbbing and sore.

Okay, she
definitely
shot me in the arm. That’s fine—I can live with that.