One Last Bullet: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 3) (9 page)

13.

MEANWHILE…

22:19

Wilson Trent sat in a large, brown leather chair behind his desk. His office was located in the penthouse suite on the thirtieth floor of a building he owned in the Manchester neighborhood, overlooking the Ohio River. On the first few floors were local, honest businesses which he was happy to accommodate, as they masked his other, less reputable, enterprises that also operated out of the building. The rest of it was luxury apartments that many of the men who worked for Trent lived in and worked out of.

His suite was spacious and sparsely decorated, giving it a very contemporary, modern feel. He had always been fascinated with the concept of Feng Shui. So what little decoration he had—a large plant on the right in the corner, a pet goldfish in a bowl on a small table to the left, various works of art on the walls and rare samurai swords in a display case by the right windows—were all arranged to best accentuate a positive environment for him. Some people who worked for him joked about his strange, spiritual beliefs, albeit never to his face.

The entire wall behind his desk, plus half of either side of the room, was made entirely of glass that ran floor to ceiling, offering a beautiful panoramic view of Pittsburgh. Trent was looking out at the city, still bustling with life below him, and the river that ran purposefully next to it. Above, the night sky was dark as the moon and the stars were hidden behind the low, menacing cloud. He enjoyed the view, and he often spun around to soak it in for a few minutes while he was working.

With him was his accountant, Joseph Bernstein. He was a well-dressed man with greased, jet-black hair and a permanent suntan that made his already perfect white smile seem luminous. He sat on one of the two leather sofas that were in front of the desk, facing each other length-ways.

“So is everything to your satisfaction?” Bernstein asked.

“It all looks in order, yeah,” replied Trent, who then spun around to face the room and rest his hands on his dark, solid oak desk.

As he was about to say something else to Bernstein, there was a knock at his door. He sighed wearily.

“What?” he shouted at the door.

It opened, and Duncan and Bennett entered. They were escorting a young, blonde woman wearing tight jeans, knee-high boots, and a short, furry jacket.

“What’s going on?” asked Trent, raising an eyebrow casting an approving glance over the new arrival.

“Boss,” said Duncan. “Sorry to disturb you at this time of night, but it’s important. This woman just showed up downstairs, said she’s got something she needed to show you that couldn’t wait.”

Trent massaged his temples, then sighed and looked over at Bernstein.

“We’re done,” he said. “Get the fuck outta here.”

Bernstein nodded, and without a word, gathered his belongings and hastily made his exit past the new arrivals, closing the door behind him.

Trent looked at Duncan and Bennett in turn, before checking his watch. “It’s twenty-two minutes past ten,” he said. “This better be fucking good.”

Duncan gestured to the woman to step forward, indicating she could talk.

“Mr. Trent,” she began. “I’m Tammy. I work at Shakes, over in Hazelwood.”

“And why aren’t you over there right now,
working
?”

“Because of this,” she replied, producing a USB flash drive from her pocket.”

“And what’s that?”

“The club got raided last night,” she explained, confidently, like she knew she was doing her civic duty reporting it to her boss. “This guy walks in, kinda tall, cute-looking… I go over, y’know, see if he needs anything.”

“Get to the point, my dear, before I lose my patience.”

“Well, he starts askin’ all these questions about who’s in charge. I figured him for a cop at first, but then he took out Eight Ball, Mike the bartender, and followed Justin into the back. I heard shouting and shooting, then this guy walks back out. I go back to look and see Justin all kinds of dead—even had two fingers missing off his hand. Anyways, I figured you’d wanna know. This here is the security feed.”

Trent clenched his jaw muscles, suppressing his anger. It wasn’t the girl’s fault. He was pleased she’d come to him with the information. He signaled to Duncan, who took it and walked around the desk to stand next to him. Trent gestured to his laptop, which was still open in front of him, and Duncan plugged the memory stick into it and played the video file stored on there.

Trent watched as the unknown man walked in and spoke to Tammy. He was then approached by Justin and another guy, both of whom he took out before shooting the bartender and heading to the back area. Another feed then picked him up going into the office, shooting Justin’s fingers off, getting into the safe before shooting him in the head and emptying the contents and then...

Staring right into the camera.

Trent’s short temper took over and he exploded with rage, slamming his fist down hard on the desk and letting out a visceral growl, causing everyone in the room to jump in surprise.

“Sonofabitch!” he yelled.

“Boss, are you alright?” asked Bennett, who was still standing by Tammy.

Without answering, he stood and turned to Duncan, pointing at the laptop—the video file paused on the screen showing the man’s face in vivid detail.

“Find
him
. Now!” He walked around the desk and stood in front of Tammy. “You did well bringing this to my attention,” he said to her.

She shrugged calmly. She’d worked at the club a long time, and had been involved in the world that Trent ran for even longer.

“Just figured you’d wanna know, Mr. Trent,” she replied, respectfully.

He nodded and looked at Bennett. “See she gets home safely,” he said to him.

“Sure thing,” replied Bennett, taking his cue to leave and ushering her out of the room.

After a few moments of pacing around his suite, trying to calm down and let his anger subside, he gave up and stormed out of the office to the elevator in the corridor outside. He took it down to the ground floor and walked out the front of the building, where his car was always waiting for him. He got in the back and slammed the door shut.

“Where to, Mr. Trent?” asked the driver, turning around in the front seat.

He rubbed his temples in frustration and anger. “Anywhere,” he replied. “I need a fucking drink.”

He sat back as the car drove off and looked out of the window at the lights of the city flashing by. His mind raced, and his anger boiled away just beneath the surface. He had no idea where he’d come from or why he’d resurfaced, but he was sure of one thing… Adrian fucking Hughes was a dead man walking.

14.

ADRIAN HELL

OCTOBER 3
RD
, 2014

08:46

I’ve left Josh working away on his idea of robbing Trent via cyberspace. I’ve gone for a stroll around town to find a breakfast bar. It’s another miserable day that’s threatening rain, but as yet has relented. I’m walking the streets, the collar on my jacket turned up, casually navigating the tail end of the morning rush hour crowds.

Last night, as we were in such a good mood after disposing of Trent’s drugs, Josh and I decided to celebrate with a few drinks, courtesy of our mini bars and room service. As a result, I’m feeling slightly delicate this morning and in urgent need of some food to make myself feel better. Josh has always been able to handle more drink than me—I think it’s a British thing. Their beer’s stronger than the stuff you get in the States, so they can down our booze like tap water.

Calling on my limited knowledge of the city from the depths of my repressed memory banks, I seem to remember there’s a nice place not far from our hotel that used to do a nice breakfast and tasty coffee, so I’m heading there to see if it’s still open.

I turn a corner and walk past a furniture store, which has a huge window displaying lots of discounted sofas and chairs and tables. For no real reason, other than it’s something to look at and occupy my mind with for a fleeting moment, I glance through the window. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a guy’s reflection walking behind me. He’s close, but no closer than anyone else is to anyone else at this time of a morning. But there’s something about him that’s immediately set my spider sense tingling. Something… familiar, almost.

Am I being paranoid, thinking someone’s following me? It could just be my mind playing tricks on me—after all, I’m going through a lot right now and I’m probably not thinking clearly…

I need to put my mind at ease though.

I chance one last look in the window before I pass the store and glimpse him again. He’s wearing black jeans and shoes, with a long coat, fastened, that finishes just above his knees. He has a determined expression and walks with a purpose. And he’s staring directly at me.

Okay… my first instinct was right—I’m not paranoid. I know a tail when I see one. My mind kicks into overdrive. Why am I being followed? And by who? Logic would dictate it’s one of Trent’s men, which means he’s seen the footage of me in his strip club and the game has begun... But I’m on a crowded street, and while I’m happy to get
his
attention, I don’t want to get anyone else’s. Not yet.

I casually put my Bluetooth earpiece in and dial Josh as I walk.

“Yo!” he says as he answers, his trademark enthusiasm and happiness even harder to stomach than normal due to my headache.

“Yo? Who says that anymore?” I ask.

“Just trying to bring it back, Boss!”

“Well, don’t—it sounded stupid in the nineties, and it sounds worse now.”

“You’re touchier than usual today… Still hung over, are we?”

“No… listen—I’m being followed.”

There’s a moment’s silence on the line.

“You sure?” he asks.

“I double-checked. Definitely a tail.”

“One of Trent’s?”

“That would be my guess, yeah.”

“Do I wanna know what you have planned?”

“I’m not gonna kill him, if that’s what you’re getting at,” I say. “But I
am
gonna ask him some questions when I get chance. Anything you wanna know that might help your little online robbery idea?”

“Well, I doubt we’re lucky enough to have Trent’s personal accountant following you, so there’s not much he could do for me,” he says. “But any information about how Trent’s handling you being back would be helpful.”

“Agreed.”

“Just don’t be too... y’know...
shooty
with your line of questioning.”

“Too
shooty
?”

“Yeah, not every interrogation needs a gun, remember?”

“Piss off,” I say with a smile as I hang up.

I take a quick look around. I can see the breakfast bar I’m looking for across the street… I’m so hungry, but food will have to wait. This inconsiderate asshole is getting in the way of my breakfast, and I’m not happy.

Up ahead there’s a crossing. I use it as an excuse to casually look behind me and see where my tail is, acting like I’m preparing to cross the street, like anyone else would do. I step into a small group of people and wait for the green WALK sign to appear. And just like everyone else, I instinctively look left and right. I get a good look at the guy following me, and I definitely recognize him from somewhere, but can’t place him.

He has to be one of Trent’s men... He’s trying to act as casual as I am, but he’s not very good at it. He might as well be wearing an A-board and ringing a bell, advertising his services as a talentless thug for hire with no sense of discretion.

I cross over and continue up the other side of the street. I see an alleyway between two sandwich bars on my right. It’s reasonably wide, and has trashcans piled up on either side belonging to each establishment. There are puddles on the ground and graffiti on the walls. Both doors leading into the kitchen areas of each building are open.

I make a snap decision and turn down the alley. It seems to lead right through to the street one block over, running parallel to me, so it won’t have looked too suspicious—just another pedestrian taking another shortcut. I speed up a little, in an effort to force my tail to break his not-so-subtle cover so he can keep up. My plan is to lure him farther into the alley, then stop and spin around suddenly and grab him.

Simple, but effective. The element of surprise is a powerful tool.

I’m over halfway into the alley, so I think now’s as good a time as any… I take one last step and spin quickly on the balls of my feet, doing a quick one-eighty and stopping in a loose fighting stance.

But I’m alone.

Huh…

Maybe I
am
getting paranoid in my old age...

I wait another thirty seconds, to make sure, then turn around again to head back out of the alley at the other side. I’ll just double back around the block and go into the breakfast bar, like I originally intended.

I turn into a powerful right punch that hits me squarely in the face. The impact, coupled with the shock, sends me staggering backward. I eventually lose my balance and drop to one knee.

What the hell was that?

I look up and see the man I figured was following me. He must’ve carried on past the alley and sprinted around to the other side. He doesn’t even look out of breath… His face is calm and expressionless.

I slowly get back to my feet. He stands his ground but keeps a respectable distance. I dust myself down and stare at him.

“That was your free shot,” I say. “You go to hit me again and I’ll break you in half.”

He regards me silently for a moment, before speaking in a heavy East Coast accent.

“You’re just like he described,” he says with a cocky smile. “Maybe a bit smaller.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You must really be sick of breathing,” I say.

“Save your threats. I’m not an enemy.”

“So why did you hit me? Who are you?” I ask, reaching behind me and taking a Beretta out of my holster, holding it loose and obvious by my side. “And, before you say anything, please be aware that, to avoid getting shot, you need to make your answer phenomenally good...”

His eyes flick between mine and my gun. He obviously knows who I am, which means he knows his life depends on what he says next.

“My name’s not important,” he says, remaining impressively calm. “But who I work for is. I came here to hire you.”

“I already have a job,” I reply with a shrug. “Take a ticket like everyone else.”

“I appreciate that your services are in demand, but my employer is an old acquaintance of yours, and he’s willing to pay top dollar for your services, as a gesture of goodwill.”

I frown. An old acquaintance?

“Who do you work for?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.

The man smiles and takes out his phone, dialing a number. When it starts ringing, he hands it to me.

“See for yourself,” he says.

I reluctantly take the phone from him. “Hello?”

“Hello, Adrian. It’s Jimmy Manhattan.”

My eyes go wide with surprise for a split second, and I silently curse myself for letting any emotion slip out.

“So, you’re not dead then?” I ask, quickly composing myself.

“As observant as ever,” replies Manhattan. “I always said you were smarter than you look.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to offer you a job.”

“We’ve been down that road before,” I say, “and it didn’t end particularly well for either of us. So, if it’s all the same, you can feel free to fuck off.”

The line goes silent and, in front of me, Manhattan’s man goes tense.

“Will you at least hear my proposal?” he asks me, finally.

I look at his man, who’s eyeballing me and trying to look menacing. I take a deep breath and sigh. I must be crazy…

“You’ve got thirty seconds,” I say. “Then I’m hanging up this phone and killing your guy.”

The guy relaxes and takes a step back, increasing his already respectful distance.

“That’s fair,” replies Manhattan. “Tell me, where exactly are you right now?”

I see no reason to lie—as far as he’s concerned, I’m just doing a job.

“In an alleyway in the center of Pittsburgh.”

“I’m in my hotel suite at The Carrington, over in Allentown.”

I fail to hide my surprise for a second time, and I’m thankful Manhattan isn’t here to see he’s caught me off-guard again.

“What are
you
doing in Pennsylvania,” I ask, unable to suppress my growing curiosity.

“I’m currently taking over the city,” he replies, quite matter-of-factly. “I’ve set up on my own; I’m eager to distance myself from any former association with the Pellaggio’s—something I’m sure you of all people can appreciate.”

“Probably the smartest thing you’ve done since I’ve known you,” I agree.

“Before I tell you the details of the job, I wanna skip ahead to how it benefits you.”

“Spare me the sales pitch, Jimmy. I’m not doing a job for you.”

“Humor me,” he says. “Hopefully, with your help, in a few days I will have total control of this city. I have a considerable amount of assets already at my disposal, and that is increasing with each day that passes. I will be kingpin in this state, Adrian.”

“Go on,” I say, intrigued. I’m not about to say anything to him, but given my reasons for being in town and what I know of the kingpins already in business, Manhattan suddenly throwing his hat in the ring may just make things a bit more entertaining.

“The way I see it, me and you are square,” he continues.

“Oh, are we? How you figure that?”

“You saved my life,” he says. “That cancels out all the slights against me in the last year or so.”

I sigh heavily down the phone, resisting the urge to argue the finer points of who
slighted
who. “Fine,” I say. “So we’re best friends—why would that make any difference to my life?”

“I’m sure it won’t do you any harm to have someone in my position as an ally... Certainly not in your line of work. I have a lot of resources that you may find helpful.”

He has a point. I’ll give him that. I don’t actively associate myself with people like Manhattan, as it’s bad for business. But on the other hand—and I’m sure Josh would agree—having a pet gangster isn’t the worst idea, especially under the circumstances. Same reason we keep a relationship with GlobaTech—every now and then, it’s nice to have some back up.

“But you’re not in that position
yet
, are you?” I point out. “That’s what you need me for.”

“Exactly. You help me now, I’m sure I can return the favor somehow.”

‘What do you want?’

“There’s a businessman here who is more reluctant to succumb to new ownership than other people have been. I think your particular brand of persuasion would prove most effective.”

“So you want him removed?”

“Just name your price.”

I think about it for a minute… I think about everything he’s said. I obviously don’t trust the old prick as far as I can throw him, but... But maybe I could use him. If he’s telling the truth, and he now effectively runs Allentown, I could use his help taking down Trent. It’s unlikely he’s anywhere near Trent’s level, but I could definitely use what he has.

“Lemme think about it,” I say.

“Excellent. You won’t regret it, Adrian. I’ll be in touch.”

He hangs up, leaving me standing in an alleyway with one of his men, holding a phone. I click it off and throw it the man, who catches it clumsily and stares at me.