Paradise Burns (18 page)

THIRTY-NINE

I was driving
her car, which she’d parked a couple of blocks away. She was sat next to me in
silence. She’d not said a word since we left the house. I don’t even think she’d
blinked since then either. She was staring into space, clearly in shock. I had
no words of comfort to offer her. It wasn’t all going to be okay. We were
officially at war.

I was heading back to the hospital. I’d
left my bag in Clara’s room and I needed it for my plan to get Pellaggio off my
back. I needed to stay productive, and this will distract us from our recent
Dark Rain encounter.

I’d rung Josh before we set off and
brought him up to speed. It was times like these he was thankful for his desk
job I think.

Me? Well, it’s not the worst thing I’ve
ever seen. If I was honest, it’s not even the worst thing I’ve ever done. But
it still wasn’t nice, and I don’t agree with innocent people being hurt. Dark
Rain didn’t need to do that to Webster. They did it to send a message. Well,
message received.

They won’t like my response.

I pulled into the hospital driveway
entrance. The roar of the engine in Clara’s Dodge Viper was enhanced outside of
the quiet building, so it sounded like a day at the races.

‘Come on,’ I said to her. ‘You need to
come in and get patched up again.’

‘It’s alright,’ she said, vacantly. ‘It’s
just a flesh wound.’

‘Yes, but it’s a flesh wound that’s
bleeding all over your top. Now come on.’

She didn’t bother arguing again. We got
out of the car and walked into the hospital, taking the elevator up to the
fourth floor. There was no sign of any GlobaTech personnel. They must have
cleared out after I’d left. They obviously weren’t too bothered about their
Jeep.

We approached the front desk and a nurse
came rushing round and took Clara to her room, shouting for a doctor as they
walked off down the corridor.

I followed them and found my bag in Clara’s
room, where I’d left it. I looked inside, checked what I needed was still
there, then slung it over my shoulder.

The nurse had managed to get Clara back
into her hospital bed and was busy mopping up the blood from her gunshot wound.

‘You gonna be okay?’ I asked her. It was
the nurse who responded.

‘She’ll be fine. The stitching burst,
but it wasn’t a serious wound. The bullet was removed from the shoulder quickly,
and there was minimal damage to the muscle tissue. She was lucky, and she’ll
recover completely, but your friend needs to rest.’

‘She will,’ I said, before turning back
to Clara. ‘Won’t you?’

She nodded, but remained silent.

I squeezed her hand, then left without
saying anything more. I got back into the car and set off for the center of
town.

I felt bad for Clara. She’s been through
a lot in the last few days. The people she worked for turned out to be more of
a terrorist cell than a local militia. She had no idea what she was mixed up
in, and was now running for her life trying to escape them.

Considering she’s been a soldier for
most of her life, I was beginning to think she’s been quite sheltered. Being a
good fighter doesn’t make you a good killer. She was a helluva soldier, there
was no doubt about it. I’d seen her in action in the bar yesterday when Salikov
turned up with her hit squad. But given she was currently in shock, I don’t
think she’s had much exposure to the true horrors of conflict.

Happy she was safe in the hospital, I
drove on. It was time to execute my grand plan for getting the mafia off my
case once and for all.

Any good assassin knows how to cover
their tracks. You do it right, and most of the time it’s like you were never
there. But on the odd occasion when you can’t escape the fact that you were
present when a hit took place, the trick is to disguise that fact. What’s the
best way to do this, I hear you ask? Simple: make it look like someone else was
there instead of you.

I pulled up outside The Four Seasons,
walked in and headed straight for the elevator. I pressed the button for Floor
16. I exited the elevator, retrieved the key card I took the other day from my
bag and then opened the door of Ted Jackson’s suite.

The room was exactly as I’d left it.
Jackson was still tied to the chair, and still very much dead. His blood had
begun to dry out and was now just a dark, sticky patch on the carpet.

I walked over to the table in front of
Jackson’s body and set my bag down in front of it. I reached in and took out a
pair of surgical gloves. I put them on, then took out a tub of cocoa power, a
teaspoon and a small brush - like the one you’d use to marinade a chicken.

Stay with me on this, I’m not pausing
for a hot chocolate, I promise.

I then retrieved the envelope that Jimmy
Manhattan handed me with Jackson’s photo in it the other day. I put it on the
table and covered it in a light sprinkling of cocoa powder. I then brushed it
gently all over. What happens, you see, is the cocoa powder will stick to any
fingerprints on the surface. I found a full print near the top of the envelope,
from where he’d held it when he first gave it to me in Dimitri’s cafe the other
day.

I got some sticky tape out, tore off a
strip and carefully lay it on top of the print, pressing it down firmly. I
slowly lifted it up off the envelope, taking Manhattan’s print with it.

I picked up the gun that Clara had had
with her when I killed Jackson, and pressed the tape firmly down on the butt of
the gun, near the trigger guard.

Voila! Jimmy Manhattan now killed Ted
Jackson.

I carefully tipped all the cocoa powder
back into the tub and packed away my little CSI kit. I gave the room a once
over to make sure there were no other signs that myself or Clara had been
there, then I left.

When I got back down to the hotel’s
front desk, I walked over and spoke to the young girl with dark hair who booked
me in when I checked in the other day.

‘Excuse me, Miss,’ I said, to attract
her attention. She greeted me with a warm, friendly smile.

‘Hello, Mr. Aday,’ she said. ‘How may I
help you today?’

‘My colleague, Mr. Jackson, hasn’t been
to either of our meetings and I’m concerned for him. I’ve knocked on his door,
but there’s no answer. Can you please send someone up to check on him?’

‘Of course, sir. I shall arrange a
courtesy call right away.’

She walked over to a phone, dialed a
number and began explaining what she needed. I smiled to myself and walked out
of the hotel. I climbed into the car and drove off.

I’ll give it three hours.

FORTY

It actually
took two and a half hours.

After leaving the hotel, I drove over to
The Pit, Jimmy Manhattan’s nightclub in the Neon district, and parked a
reasonable distance away to wait. I figured after he regained consciousness in
the portable cabin last night, he’d make his way back to where he can protect
himself. I’d bet that inside that club right now, he’d gathered as many local
goons as he could. He’ll be sat in his office with the broken mirror, on the
phone to Roberto Pellaggio, asking advice and planning their revenge.

It would’ve taken ten minutes or so from
me approaching the front desk at The Four Seasons to someone opening the door
to Jackson’s suite to see if he was there. He was a rich and important guest,
after all.

I imagine the guy who I recently found
out was on my payroll who works on the front desk at the hotel would’ve volunteered
for the job. He will have sounded the alarm straight away, and the hotel
manager will have rung the police immediately.

They would have wanted it to be handled
discreetly, as a hotel like that has a reputation to think of. They would
insist on the police handling it quickly and quietly, so a forensics team would
be there within the hour. Give their experts half an hour or so to begin their
examination of the crime scene. The first thing they’ll go to is the body, then
the weapon.

The trick is to try and make it all look
natural. Too much detail in the phony evidence and it becomes obvious it’s a
set up. Too little, and they have nothing to go on. With this, it will
immediately seem strange that someone would use a gun to kill someone, not wear
gloves and leave the weapon at the scene of the crime. But, the fact they’ll
find a fingerprint means they’ll have to bring in the owner of it for
questioning at the very least, even if they don’t have enough evidence to make
an arrest and get a conviction in court.

So, here I was, two hours and thirty
five minutes after leaving the hotel, sat half a block away from The Pit in
Clara’s Dodge Viper, waiting.

Then I heard the sirens.

A couple of minutes after that, two
police squad cars and a van pulled up outside the entrance to the club, all at
different angles so they were facing the doors. There were seven officers in
total, all armed and moving toward the door.

A team of four were lined up with their
backs to the right hand wall, poised to enter through the main doors. Three
officers remained stationed behind their open car doors, weapons trained at the
entrance.

The officer at the back of the line ran
to the front and worked the door. Once open, he held it so the other three
could file in. He fell in behind them, disappearing into the gloom of the
nightclub.

Less than five minutes passed before the
officers emerged back onto the street. Two officers appeared first, walking backward,
guns trained on Jimmy Manhattan and three men in suits. They were handcuffed
and looked very pissed off. They were arguing and shouting.

Still, it’s better to be pissed off than
pissed on, as the saying goes.

The two officers bringing up the rear
came out, and they loaded Jimmy and his band of merry men into the back of the van.
They then piled into their cars and all sped off, sirens wailing.

I rang Josh.

‘It’s me,’ I said.

‘How’d it all go?’ he asked.

‘Exactly as planned. They might not make
much stick long-term, but for the foreseeable future, Jimmy Manhattan is no
longer a problem.’

‘Nice. Well, to add to your good news, I’ve
got some of my own.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘I’ve just been speaking to Robert Clark
from GlobaTech.’

‘And that’s good news, how?’

‘They contacted me and said they’ve
spoken to you and Clara about a plan of action for Dark Rain, and wanted to
know if they could rely on me for logistical support.’

I wasn’t happy at how easily people
seemed to trust Clark. I’m the first to admit I’m a sociopathic, paranoid cynic
who hates most things and most people, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong for
being skeptical of the company who was funding the people who have been trying
to kill me all week. I take more convincing than most.

‘And what did you say?’ I asked.

‘I asked what they were planning, and
what my involvement would entail. At the end of the day, I work with you,
Adrian.’

‘Thanks. So what’s their plan? I know
they’re handing the land over to the U.S. government, so at least that’s no
longer a factor. But Dark Rain have the numbers and have had the funds. I can’t
take on an entire army on my own.’

‘You don’t have to take them on at all.
Their plan is to mount a two-pronged attack on the ground and in the air. They’re
a private military, which typically works out of Afghanistan and Korea,
sub-contracting for the U.S. government. With their resources, it’ll be like a
hot knife through butter.’

‘Sounds good to me. So where do you fit
in?’

‘Given our contribution to the situation
so far, plus the information I have already, they’ve asked if I’ll help
co-ordinate their attack. They’re giving me temporary access to their satellite
network.’

‘Which means...’

‘Which means I’ll be giving myself
permanent access to their satellite network.’

We both laughed.

‘I’m sure that’ll come in handy
somewhere down the line,’ I said. ‘I’ll just be happy when I can walk away from
this. I don’t even care that I didn’t get paid for taking out Jackson. This has
been a nightmare from start to finish. I can’t wait to leave Heaven’s Valley
once and for all.’

‘How come you’ve not left already?’

‘I’m just waiting to get an update on
Clara’s condition. Once I know she’s okay and safe, I’ll leave town.’

‘Sounds good. Let me know how she’s
doing, yeah?’

‘Will do, thanks.’

I hung up and sat there for a few
moments, thinking about everything. Was that it? Am I done here now? Dark Rain
are about to be wiped off the face of the earth by GlobaTech Industries, Jimmy
Manhattan has been arrested for the murder of Ted Jackson, which will keep
Pellaggio’s mafia off my back long enough to disappear, and the uranium mine is
now the property of the U.S. government - which may or may not be a good thing.
Aside from Clara being in hospital and me not finding Jonathan Webster in time,
I’d say that’s a decent outcome, under the circumstances. As much as I wanted
to see things through to the end, realistically, I think I’ve done all I can
here now.

My phone rang, interrupting my train of
thought. I looked at the screen, but it was a withheld number.

Very strange.

‘Hello?’

‘Adrian Hell. This is Roberto Pellaggio.
I think me and you need to talk, kid.’

Oh, for fuck’s sake…