One Last Bullet: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 3) (17 page)

He stands and steps in close to me, holding my gaze for a moment.

“Come on, you’re wasting time,” he says.

He strides out of the door, leaving me standing there.

“The game is on,” I murmur to myself as I throw a couple of twenties down on the table for the food we ordered and join them outside. Josh is leaning against the trunk of the car. Frank’s already behind the wheel waiting for me; the engine’s idling.

Without a word, I climb into the passenger seat and Josh gets in behind me.

“Let’s go,” I say.

Frank presses play on the CD player and sets off, turning right out of the parking lot.

“Hang on, hang on—what the hell is
this
?” asks Josh, gesturing to the stereo in disbelief.

“It’s the Beach Boys,” says Frank, in a tone that clearly indicates he can’t see a problem with it.

“Oh no, that won’t do at all. We’re on a mission now, Frankie! We need mission music. We need to feel inspired, motivated, alive! This makes me feel like I’m a depressed stoner in a rowing boat…”

I smile to myself as Josh reaches into his laptop bag and pulls out a CD, passing it through to the front and handing it to me.

“The emergency music?” I ask, having heard the CD he keeps on him at all times only a handful of times in the past.

“I can’t listen to this shit, I’m sorry.”

I change the CD over and press Play.

“Sorry, Frank. Rules are rules.”

He shakes his head in disbelief as the opening chords of
Ace of Spades
by Motorhead sound in the car. “What the fuck have I got myself into?” he mutters.

I laugh. “Welcome to my life, Frank.”

26.

11:42

The drive didn’t take long and, apart from the loud music, the twenty or so minutes past mostly in silence. Frank’s pulled up across the street, opposite the accountancy firm where Joseph Bernstein works.

O. B. D. Accountants is a modest building on Center Avenue. It has a glass front with the name of the firm printed across it. The closed blinds give the impression they’re not open for business, as it’s Sunday, but I know any firm who has clients like Wilson Trent will be open twenty-four hours a days, seven days a week.

We sit in silence for a moment, all looking across at the office.

“What’s the move?” asks Josh.

“Worst case is that the office is full of accountants doing overtime,” I say. “But I’m not worried about that, really. What are they going to do? Attack me with their calculators?”

Josh chuckles, but Frank shifts uneasily in the driver’s seat at the comment. I turn and look at him.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask him.

“Bernstein manages the books for the biggest crime lord in the state,” he replies. “Do you honestly think there won’t be any security in that building?”

Huh. He has a point, but it still makes very little difference to me. I can see why the idea would make him slightly apprehensive though.

“Good point,” I say. “You wanna wait here? Me and Josh can go in, find Bernstein, and get the information we need.”

“And how are you going to do that, exactly?”

“Frank, don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to, okay? You had your chance to walk away from all this and you decided you were with us all the way. Don’t be getting cold feet on me now.”

He sighs heavily, torn over what he should do.

“I get it, Frank, I really do,” I continue, before he has chance to speak. “I’ve spent eight years coming to terms with what happened and what I’ve become as a result. You’re trying to do the same thing in twenty-four hours, and it won’t happen. I can’t offer any words of comfort or advice on how to make this whole thing less awful, but I can promise you this: Wilson Trent is going to die. His world is going to turn to ash, and when it’s all said and done, we will all have some much-needed closure. But until that happens, we have to be prepared to get our hands real dirty.”

I feel Josh punch the headrest of my seat behind me. “Fuck yeah, Boss!” he yells. “That’s the inspirational, ass-kicking Inner Satan shit I’ve been waiting to hear from you all week!”

Frank looks over his shoulder at Josh, then back at me. He holds my gaze longer than most people would, before the nods. “Just don’t kill anyone, okay?”

“I’ll do my best,” I reply, holding up my right hand as if swearing on a bible.

Frank gets out of the car and stands on the sidewalk, staring across the street.

“You think he’ll be okay?” asks Josh.

“Vengeance is a powerful tool,” I say. “I think he’ll be fine.”

“It’s kinda sweet that he thinks you’ll be able to do this without pulling a trigger,” he says with a smile.

“Kiss my ass, Josh,” I say, getting out of the car.

He makes an exaggerated smacking noise with his lips as he climbs out behind me.

We all cross over and stand in front of the building, looking somewhat conspicuous. I take a quick look around. No surveillance that I can see. I glance through the window, but there’s no one on the front desk. Maybe admin staff isn’t required for weekend work.

I try the door, but it’s locked.

“Kick it down or try the back?” asks Josh.

Before I can answer, Frank pushes past me, reaches into his coat, and retrieves a lock-picking kit. He crouches down, puts the two long, thin metal pins into the key hole, and moves them expertly for a few seconds. The door clicks open and he stands, pausing for a moment to put his kit away, and pushes the door open. He faces us both and winks, gesturing for us to walk in, like a doorman.

“Nice,” says Josh, smiling as he heads inside.

I take one last look up and down the street and follow him in. Frank comes in behind me and shuts the door quietly.

Inside is very standard. The carpet’s a neutral color, the walls are white, and the desk and chairs look like they’re from IKEA. Two sofas form a reverse L-shape in front of the window and against the right hand wall, acting as the waiting area. The front desk covers the top right corner of the room, with a door leading to the offices beyond in the top left, facing the entrance.

Frank walks over and listens at the door. “Seems quiet,” he says.

“Let’s go,” I say.

We head through and into the main office area. A central bank of empty desks stretches to the far wall. Along the right hand side are four small offices, all of which are empty. They have floor-to-ceiling windows and fitted blinds, with a door to the left.

“So far, so quiet,” whispers Josh.

I point to the staircase in the back left corner. “I guess we go up,” I say.

We cross the office space and climb cautiously up the stairs. Halfway up, they wind to the left and as we turn, I hear voices. They’re low and relaxed, with the occasional chuckle of meaningless conversation. We creep up the rest of the way, pausing just before the staircase opens out in the middle of an open-plan vestibule area on the second floor. The layout is identical to downstairs, except there are offices against the left wall too, on either side of the staircase. Also, before the main office area starts, there’s a circular desk, like a security station, dead ahead in the center of the room. Three men are behind it, two sitting down, with one standing and resting his crossed arms on the counter.

I peer around the corner. From where I’m standing, I can almost see beyond the desk into the office. The main floor is deserted, and every door along both sides is standing open. All except one, against the far wall in the left corner.

“Bernstein must be in his office,” I whisper over my shoulder.

I take a step forward, but feel a hand on my arm. I look back at Josh.

“Adrian,” he says. “You want me to handle this? You can’t talk your way out of anything. We both know that.”

“I’m not intending to talk at all,” I say.

Frank goes to say something, but I pre-empt his objections. “And no, Frank—I’m not gonna shoot them. Just... disable them for the time being.”

He lets out a sigh of obvious relief and nods, as if giving his approval.

The security guards haven’t looked up. I’m thinking the best way to take them out is quickly and head-on—surprise them and attack before they know what’s happening. This tactic works best when a large group’s altogether. If you’re ever in a situation where you’re outnumbered and they’re spread out, more often than not, they’ll come at you individually or in pairs, which is easy enough to handle. But when
you’re
approaching
them
and they’re close together, you run the risk of being mobbed. The trick is to hit hard, hit fast, and hit once.

I look over my shoulder and signal to Josh and Frank to wait here, just out of sight. I step out into the office and walk briskly toward the desk. After a few steps, as expected, they look up, initially confused. The guard that’s standing is a tall, dark-skinned man wearing a charcoal-gray suit and no tie.

“Hey!” he shouts to me. “Who the fuck are you?”

Without a word, I run at the desk, jumping as I reach it and placing my hands flat on the counter, using my momentum to lift me up and over. As I bring my legs up behind me, I swing them round, kicking the first of the two guards sitting down in the face. He falls backward off his chair and, as I land, I deliver a strong right punch to the guard next to him, who also flies off his seat and lands next to him.

Before the remaining guard can react, I swing my left leg low as I turn to face him, kicking him firmly on the right knee. He loses his footing and drops to the floor. I kick him again, squarely in the face, and knock him out cold.

I signal Josh and Frank over and set off toward Bernstein’s office at the back. Without waiting for them or breaking stride, I raise my right foot and kick the door clean off its hinges. I walk straight in and take the handset off Bernstein, who looks very startled and confused, and slam it down on the receiver. I stand in front of him, letting him look me up and down and process what’s happening.

“What the… what’s going on? Who are you? Where’s our security?” he asks, the panic evident in his voice.

“
I
am Adrian Hell…
you
are Wilson Trent’s money man… and your
security
is out cold,” I reply. “Which means me and you are going to have a real good talk...”

His eyes go wide. I’m not sure what’s worrying him more—me, or the thought of what Trent will do when he finds out I’ve been here. Either way, he’s terrified.

“I d-don’t know—” he starts.

“What I’m talking about?” I offer, interrupting. “Sure you do, Joe.”

“But you’re supposed to be dead…”

“Ah, yes—the beautiful assassin Trent hired to kill me…” I show him my arm. “She missed.”

I reach behind me and draw one of my Berettas, which I aim at him.

“Now, this can go one of two ways. One option is that I ask questions, you answer them honestly and with vast amounts of detail, then I leave you alone, unharmed.”

“What’s the second option?” he asks.

“Pretty much the opposite of the first one.”

Behind his desk, he plops down heavily in the chair. He looks around nervously for a moment before sighing with resignation.

I smile. “Atta boy, Joe.”

Frank and Josh walk in behind me. I stand in front of the desk, which is clear, save for a few pieces of paper and a computer. Josh walks around and stands behind Bernstein’s chair, resting on the back of it. Frank stays by the doorway, a little unsure of himself. I’m happy to take the lead with the interrogation. I lower my gun slightly before talking.

“So, we want the inside scoop on Trent. You have access to all his money, and we know you were with him this morning, so you’re our golden ticket. Start talking.”

“Do you have any idea what he’ll do to me if he finds out I’ve spoken to you?” he asks.

“Yes. And I honestly don’t care. But if it’s any consolation, if you give us enough juicy details, I’ll make sure he’s too dead to take anything out on you anyway.”

He takes some deep breaths, trying to stay calm. Like a typical numbers man, I see in his eyes he’s weighing up the odds, deciding on his best course of action.

“What do you want to know?” he asks, concluding that my way is the only way, which is very smart.

I look up at Josh, who takes his cue and spins the chair around slightly, so Bernstein is facing the right hand wall, looking in between the both of us.

“I need information on all of his personal and business accounts,” he says, leaning over the chair.

“I c-can’t give you that!” he exclaims, turning to me. “That would basically give you full access to every cent he has!”

I smile. “Why else would we ask for it?”

“You’re insane. Do you even
know
Mr. Trent? He’ll kill you, your family, everyone you’ve ever cared for, if he finds out what you’re doing.”

“Joe, that ship has sailed—trust me. Trent won’t do shit to me. His time’s running out, and I’m gonna take everything from him. Understand? Everything. Now, before you get me all the account information my colleague has asked for, tell me more about where he lives. This big penthouse apartment he works from.”

Bernstein shrugs. “What’s to tell? He works on the top floor of an apartment building. Everyone who lives there works for him. He runs some businesses out of the apartments there too.”

“How tall is the building?” I ask.

“Thirty stories, I think.”

“What kind of protection does he have?”

“I’ve only ever seen his two bodyguards, Duncan and Bennett, by his side. But there’s a lot of muscle in that place. Scares the shit outta me every time I go in there.”

Frank steps forward, level with me. He glares at Bernstein for a moment before speaking. “If we wanted to get to him, how would we do it? Doesn’t sound like knocking on his front door is really an option…”

“I have no idea, honestly. He doesn’t confide in me and I’m not privy to any of his movements. I literally just make sure his money is all accounted for and in the right place. Please, you have to believe me!”

Frank takes another step forward, his face turning red and his eyes going wide, as his anger builds. I’m assuming that’s out of frustration, and I can relate. I put my hand on his arm. He looks at me for a moment then walks away, out of the office.

I look at Josh, then back at Bernstein.

“Get the account details for my friend,” I say, leveling my gun at him once more.

He nods hurriedly and starts typing on the keyboard in front of him. A few mouse clicks later and the screen flashes as spreadsheet after spreadsheet loads up.