Paradise Burns (3 page)

FOUR

I was alone
again in my booth. I finished off my coffee and slid the photograph back into
the envelope. I took out my phone and rang Josh. He answered in his usual,
sickeningly enthusiastic tone.

‘How’d it go with Jimmy The Glove?’ he
enquired.

‘Is that what people call him?’ I asked.

‘Apparently.’

‘Do I want to know why?’

‘Probably not,’ he chuckled.

‘Fair enough. The meeting went fine,
despite finding out that Manhattan’s hired goons were the assholes that started
a fight with me last night.’

‘You’re shitting me?!’ said Josh,
laughing in disbelief.

‘I shit you not, my friend.’

‘I bet that went down well?’

‘It was fine – he seemed to find it
quite amusing, to his credit.’

‘Only you, Adrian. So are you happy with
the contract?’

‘Yeah, this should be a straightforward
job and easy money. It’s a property deal gone bad. He wants me to take out the
target to send a message, then recover the deeds to some land they were meant
to be buying from him before he screwed them over. It shouldn’t take me more
than a couple of days. Will be glad to get out of this place and go somewhere
slightly colder - this heat is unbearable.’

‘Surely the ice in your veins cools you
down?’ he responded in jest. ‘You need anything for me?’

‘Not right now, but I know where you are
if I need you. I’ll be in touch.’

I was about to hang up, but then
remembered one final thing.

‘What do you think of “Mr. Hell” as my
business name?’

Josh laughed, loudly, for a good two
minutes. I held the phone away from my ear until he’d calmed down.

‘Seriously?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, it’s how Jimmy addressed me when
we were exchanging pleasantries. Kinda liked it.’

‘Adrian, you know I love you, right?’

I paused.

‘Yeah...?’

‘It makes you sound like a professional
wrestler. Who’s gay.’

I remained silent for a few moments, to
try and make him feel uneasy. Although I knew that probably wouldn’t work.

‘Josh, you know I love you, right?’

He laughed.

‘Yeah...?’

‘You’re a dick.’

I hung up and walked out of Dimitri’s,
leaving a small tip on the table for the old guy. As I opened the door, I was
hit by a blast of heat, as if I’d opened an oven that’s been cooking for three
hours. I was only in there just under half an hour, but the increase in
temperature was staggering.

The sun was pounding down as I walked
along the street. I had a white t-shirt and denim shorts on, with black
sunglasses and a baseball cap to complete my care-free tourist look. I’d
crossed over to the side of the street that was partially shaded, but it did
little to cool me down. It was a lovely day, don’t get me wrong, and if I was
on a beach, sipping a cocktail and surrounded by women in bikinis, I’d be very
content. But I wasn’t. I was walking down a very busy street in the center of
the business district. Maybe it’s because I’m not local and haven’t adjusted to
the climate or something, but I was baffled how anyone could walk around in a
suit on a day like today.

I decided to get the lie of the land and
do some recon work for the job. According to the information I got from Jimmy
Manhattan, Jackson was attending a meeting here in town, which was scheduled to
finish about an hour from now. I was going to tail him on foot for as long as I
could, get a look at his car, any colleagues and just try and get a feel for
his behaviors. I also had his itinerary for tomorrow, so all being well I’ll
make the approach when he’s finished for the day, to minimize exposure and
attention.

I walked on through the city, taking in
the sights around me. The working day was in full swing, and everyone around was
dressed for the office and rushing in all directions. People carrying bags, or
papers, or their morning coffee, weaving in and out of the crowds on either
side of the road.

The road itself was just as busy, with
traffic – mostly taxis – nose to tail, fighting to get through the next set of
lights before they changed again.

I came to a large junction, where Main
Street met 9
^th
Avenue. I crossed over and turned right, which
according to the information I had would lead me to Cannon Plaza, where Jackson
was currently in a meeting. The plaza had a large fountain in the center and
lots of people walking across it in every direction.

He was in the building at the far end. It
was a tall, unmarked, dark glass structure, easily twenty floors high,
overlooking the plaza. I fought my way through the bustle of people and sat on
the edge of the fountain facing east, so that the entrance to the building was
on my left, about fifty feet away.

Next to me, on my left, there was a
young woman with a new-born child in a baby buggy. I’ve never been a
particularly broody guy, and children haven’t really been on my radar at all
since I lost my daughter. But I have to admit, it was one cute little kid.
Couldn’t have been more than eight months old. It had a bubble of spit on its
lips, and these big, wide brown eyes, that looked around in awe at everything.
It was nice to see that true innocence still existed in this world.

I turned my attention back to the
building, looking out for Jackson. I didn’t have to wait there long before he
walked out. As in the photograph, Jackson looked ever the businessmen. He was
in his late forties, and dressed in an expensive gray suit. He had his phone in
his right hand, and he was talking hurriedly into it. In his left hand was a
brown, leather briefcase. What struck me as odd right away was that it was
handcuffed to him. You don’t normally see that kind of security measure on
everyday people. I’m a details guy, and I question everything. Sometimes the
smallest detail can have the largest impact. I shelved the observation for now,
and made a mental note to ask Josh to work his magic and look into it for me
later.

He was walking fast, like he was running
late for something. It looked like he was alone, so I went to get up and follow
him, but something caught my eye just behind him that made me sit back down. At
first, you wouldn’t have associated one thing with the other, but with my
professional eye, I realized that he wasn’t alone. He had a bodyguard with him,
walking a couple of paces behind, at roughly the same speed.

And she was beautiful.

FIVE

She was dressed
head to toe in leather - fitted pants and vest top. I briefly wondered how she
managed to walk around in this heat dressed like that. But I didn’t dwell too
much on it. She also had a long, leather trench coat on, that came down to her
shins. She had dark sunglasses on, and the brightest red lipstick I’ve ever
seen. Her dyed-blonde hair rested on her shoulders, and bounced as she walked, purposefully,
never taking her eyes off Jackson. She had an amazing body, and long legs.
Because her clothes were so tight, you could see the definition of her arms and
legs. She was in very good shape.

After the initial shock of seeing
someone who could easily be a model, dressed like an extra from
The Matrix,
guarding the guy I’ve just been paid to kill, I quickly took my phone out and
discreetly snapped a couple of pictures of the two of them. I sent them to
Josh, then put my Bluetooth earpiece in and rang him as I set off walking after
Jackson and his mystery woman.

‘Josh, it’s me. Have you got the
pictures I just sent you?’ I said, as I negotiated my way through the crowds,
trying to keep sight of my target.

‘I sure have,’ he replied, laughing to
himself. ‘Who’s the stripper?’

‘That’s what I want you to find out. She’s
Jackson’s bodyguard. And as much as I’m sure you’d love to find out she
actually
was
a stripper, trust me - she’s all business. Definitely a
pro. Find out all you can about her, as well as Jackson, and why he hired her
for protection. Also, dig up what you can on Pellaggio, would you? The game’s just
got interesting, and I want to know about all the players on the field.’

‘Leave it with me, Bossman,’ he said
before hanging up.

I kept a reasonable distance behind
them, and followed them round the corner to where Jackson’s limousine was
parked. The car was beautiful and very high end. It was a stretch, with a personalized
license plate. I cast an approving, well-trained eye over it as I memorized the
number. It was definitely armored, with bullet-proof, tinted windows and
run-flat tires. This was a serious vehicle, and it immediately became apparent
that taking this guy out isn’t going to be as easy as I thought. I took a
couple of pictures on my phone and sent them to Josh, then hung back as Jackson
and his leather-clad protector approached the car. I was leaning against one of
the small trees that lined the road on both sides, pretending to be on the
phone as I casually glanced over at them.

Jackson ducked into the car first, then
the woman put one foot in the car and before she ducked down and in herself,
she looked all around the street in every direction, including upwards, which I
noted. She had a level of professionalism you don’t find in your typical
bodyguards. Not many people would think to look up and check for snipers. I was
becoming increasingly concerned with her presence in this equation.

She looked in my direction. With her
glasses on I couldn’t see her eyes, but I knew she hadn’t made me. I’m
practically invisible when I want to be, and there’s no way I’d be spotted on a
standard surveillance run like this. But even so, her thoroughness was going to
be an issue.

She finally got in the limo, and it sped
off up the street, turning left and out of sight at the first set of lights it
reached.

I turned and walked back the way I came,
heading for my hotel. My recon trip hadn’t quite gone how I’d expected. I now
had more questions than answers, and this straightforward job was a lot more
complicated than it had been this morning. And I had a nagging feeling it wasn’t
about to get any easier.

I went back to my hotel room and sat on
the edge of the bed, relishing the air conditioning after a couple of hours
outside.

It was a standard size, filled with
standard stuff. The window overlooked the parking lot, which was almost empty
save for one silver, four door sedan. There was a flat-screen TV mounted on one
wall. It was above a table that had a lamp on it. It was facing the double bed,
which was unusually comfortable, given the price of the room. The bathroom had
a shower stall, a toilet and a hand basin. It wasn’t fancy, but it’d certainly
do for a couple of days while I conduct my business.

I’m not cheap or anything. I have more
money than I know what to do with - I’m just not one for all that luxurious,
five-star, A-list crap. I’m more than happy in a generic, anonymous, no-frills motel.

Like this one.

I’d fired up my laptop and was reviewing
all the information Josh had sent me on Pellaggio, Jackson and our mystery
woman.

Josh Winters is a genius. Sure, we
insult each other non-stop whenever we talk, but that’s just to get us both
through the day. When it all comes down to it, the guy is a legend in so many
different ways, I’ve lost count. The things he can do with a computer are astounding.
I don’t understand half of what he says or does. But he gets results, every
time. I need information, Josh can get it. I need a car or a plane or a gun,
Josh can arrange it. I need fake documents, Josh gets them to me.

My recon trip earlier had set my spider
sense tingling. Whenever there is doubt, there is no doubt - that was the first
thing they taught me. Trust your gut, and never pull the trigger until you’re satisfied.
Some people prefer not to know anything - they just turn up, shoot and disappear
with their money. Me? I’m an information junkie. I have to know everything
about everything. If you ask a shrink, they’ll probably say I have control
issues that need to be addressed or something. But personally, when it comes to
this game, I simply want to be the smartest guy playing. As much as I like to
get paid for shooting people, sometimes ignorance isn’t bliss. Especially when
I’m dealing with the mob, because for all I know, they could be setting me up
right now.

I began by looking at what he’d found on
my target. Ted Jackson is a high-ranking employee of a large, multi-national
umbrella corporation called GlobaTech Industries. They had numerous subsidiary
companies who serviced military contracts - be it private security or Research
and Development. They own the land that Jackson was originally going to sell to
Pellaggio.

In his line of work, I can understand
him being overly cautious. Military contracts are big business. Like, billions
of dollars big. And competition for them and the related research can be fierce
to say the least. But handcuffing his briefcase to his hand, riding around in a
limousine that would make the President jealous, and hiring a very hot and
probably lethal bodyguard still seemed like overkill.

Having said that, given he’s just
screwed over the biggest mob boss in the state, maybe it’s not such a surprise
that he’s upped his personal security.

I turned my attention to my employer,
hoping for any detail that would offer an explanation.

Roberto Pellaggio was a big time mafia
Don, who owned half of Heaven’s Valley. On the surface, he’d opened businesses
all across the city, which had created many jobs and lots of revenue that he’d
re-invested into the local areas. He owned car dealerships, barbershops,
nightclubs and casinos. All big business. All legit.

Underneath all that respectable
businessman crap, however, was where he earned his real money. Drugs,
prostitution, extortion, you name it. You go down the list of crimes the mob
can commit, and they tick every box. The money they earn is laundered through
their legitimate businesses, and it disappears back into the city. With the
help of some clever accounting, Pellaggio is running a massive,
highly-profitable outfit. Also, given how much of his money was invested back
into the city, he’s got a lot of pull with all the officials - local
government, police, and even some state politicians. On the whole, he was a big
deal. Definitely not someone you’d want as an enemy.

There was a news report from a couple of
weeks ago that detailed how Pellaggio had tried to purchase a plot of land near
the outskirts of Heaven’s Valley. It detailed how he was looking to expand his
empire by building another casino, like Manhattan had said to me earlier. The
land was ideally situated near the city limits, so it held appeal to people
from neighboring towns and cities, and could, in theory, service all of state’s
gambling needs north of Vegas.

Then, a few days ago, another report
surfaced in the business section of one of the local papers explaining how the
deal had apparently fallen through. There was a picture of our good friend and
future corpse, Ted Jackson. The news report went on to say how Jackson pulled
out of the deal for undisclosed reasons, allegedly costing Pellaggio hundreds
of millions of dollars in potential earnings.

I guess that’s why I was called in. No
wonder Pellaggio’s pissed.