Paradise Burns (4 page)

SIX

So, on the
surface, it still seems cut and dry: Pellaggio wants to continue his monopoly
of Heaven’s Valley. Jackson unscrupulously got in the way of that. I’m called
in to send a message and help get Pellaggio back on track.

But something wasn’t quite right about
it. Jackson was also set to make a decent sum of money from selling the land to
Pellaggio. While I’m sure there are lots of reasons why he would pull out of
the deal, he would surely understand that not explaining himself to the likes
of Roberto Pellaggio wouldn’t end well for him.

I picked up the phone and called Josh.

‘Hey, it’s me,’ I said.

‘Hey, Cupcake, whaddaya need now?’ he
replied as he answered the phone. I tried to ignore his greeting.

‘I’m just thinking out loud here, okay? So,
Jackson approaches Pellaggio to sell him the land, knowing they were in the
market for this casino venture. Both parties are set to make a shitload of
cash. Then, all of a sudden, Jackson pulls the plug, costing both himself and
Pellaggio a small fortune.’

‘Yeah, seems strange,’ said Josh. ‘If
you’re the kind of guy who approaches the mafia with a business deal, you’re
probably the kind of guy who’s always on the lookout for the big money deals
and does whatever it takes to secure them.’

‘My thoughts exactly. So there must’ve
been a damn good reason for Jackson to pull a move like this, and in such a
hurry that he doesn’t even bother to tell Pellaggio. That’s both corporate, and
in this case, actual, suicide.’

‘Well, that’s why
you’re
there,
after all.’

‘Precisely. Do me a favor, would you?
Look into Jackson a bit more. Find out what else he’s working on at GlobaTech
and see if you can find out if they’ve got anything in the pipeline that might
cause him to switch his priorities in a hurry.’

‘Good idea. These people work military defense
contracts – could be something big came up that dwarfed the Pellaggio deal?’

‘I guess their thinking being: what’s a
mob boss going to do to them, when they’re working alongside the United States military?’

‘Sounds like a good theory. Give me a
few minutes,’ he replied, and hung up.

While I was waiting for him to work more
of his magic, I looked at the photograph again of Jackson and his bodyguard
that I’d taken a couple of hours ago. I’d uploaded it to my laptop so I could
see it more clearly on the bigger screen. Josh hadn’t managed to get a whole
lot of information about our mystery woman. Which in itself actually told me
quite a bit.

He’d managed to get hold of a grainy
photograph, allegedly taken four years ago, in what looked like the middle of
the jungle. It showed our woman, minus the lipstick and leather, wearing jungle
camo fatigues and holding an assault rifle. She was flanked by two guys dressed
roughly the same way.

Other than that, there was very little
to go on. No names or aliases, no known addresses, no reported sightings in the
last few years. She was a ghost. And take it from someone who’s spent half his
life staying invisible - it’s very hard to be good at it.

You typically either gain the skills while
serving in the military - which I did, after a decade of black-ops and covert
assassinations - or you get made invisible by the military or government
directly, meaning she was still in active service. Whether she was on the books
or not, and whose books there were, is a different matter altogether. Either
way, she’s a variable in this equation and I don’t like it. It’s human instinct
to be weary of the unknown. She’s very talented and apparently doesn’t exist,
which is troublesome. Although it explains why Jackson hired her for
protection. Sounds like she’d do a damn good job of keeping you alive.

Maybe she was a gun-for-hire, like me?
Surely I’d have heard of someone in the business who was good enough to be
heard of at all?

Josh was running searches through active
military and government databases all over the world, which was why his results
were taking time to come through.

My phone rang, interrupting my train of
thought. It was Josh again.

‘What have you got for me?’ I asked as I
answered.

‘Nothing new on GlobaTech,’ he said,
sounding slightly deflated. ‘There’s nothing in the news and nothing on their
website or their local servers.’

‘So either there was no pressure on
Jackson from GlobaTech, or whatever’s happening is classified and not on the
public record?’

‘That’s about the size of it, yeah.’

‘Well, either way it’s a dead end right
now.’

I got up and paced around my hotel room,
thinking. After a few moments, Josh spoke.

‘You’re doing that thing where you wear
the carpet out walking around trying to think, aren’t you?’

I sat back down on the bed.

‘No... I was just sat here trying to
figure this all out.’

I heard Josh scoff down the phone,
knowing full well he was right. I ignored him.

‘So what are you gonna do?’ he asked.

‘I’m going to speak to Jimmy Manhattan
again, try and find out what the hell’s going on. Either there’s more to this
than he’s letting on, or he’s as oblivious as the rest of us as to Jackson’s
true intentions. Whatever the case, it’s still probably worth having another
conversation.’

‘Adrian, make sure you don’t say or do
anything you may regret later, okay? Just some friendly advice.’

‘If this is any kind of set up, they
should be more concerned that I’ll do something
they
regret right now.’

SEVEN

Josh had
managed to find out where in this city, Jimmy Manhattan spent his time, so I
was preparing to go and pay him a visit. I had a lot of questions, and I don’t
care who he works for, if he doesn’t give me some satisfactory answers, I’d
make his life very unpleasant.

I was wearing my jeans and boots, with a
black t-shirt and my trusty, brown leather jacket. Tucked into the back of my
jeans was one of my prized possessions - a custom Beretta 92A1 handgun. It held
fifteen, nine by nineteen millimeter Parabellum rounds in its magazine. The 92-series
was the preferred firearm of the United States Armed Forces. I always liked
this variation over the 96-series, which was designed for the ten by twenty-two
millimeter, .40 caliber Smith and Wesson rounds. The reason being, the
Parabellums had a higher rate of velocity than their Smith and Wesson
counterparts, and as a result had a higher penetration depth. Meaning they
ultimately did more damage.

I might be a stats guy and an
information junkie, but when it all comes down to it, I wanna make the biggest
bang.

The barrel was metallic silver, as were
the outer edges of the butt. On either side of the butt was an ebony plate with
a downward-pointing pentagram engraved in silver. I’ve always liked the moniker
of
Adrian Hell
that I acquired several years ago, and I tried to play on
it as much as I could. Thankfully, it stuck, and having expensive, customized
handguns with the Sigil of Baphomet on them really adds to the image. I
actually have two of them, and if I’m on a job, I wear them both on a custom-made
holster at the small of my back. The barrels touch and the butts point outwards
forming a T-shape which I can easily conceal beneath whatever top I’m wearing.
Today, I’ll just be taking one. I’d rather have it and not need it, than need
it and not have it, as the saying goes.

Manhattan works out of one of Pellaggio’s
nightclubs, called The Pit. It was situated on the fringe of the city center,
surrounded by other popular night-time destinations. From what Josh told me, it
was your typical hotspot for neon lights, hot girls and guys looking to either
deal drugs or get laid.

I wasn’t worried about any security he
might have there. A nightclub in the morning wasn’t going to be open for
business, and any staff that were there would be minimal and probably cleaners.
Plus, I’ve already met two of his bodyguards, and we all know they won’t be of
any use to him.

But I wasn’t going looking for a fight,
I just wanted some answers. From what I’ve put together about Jackson since yesterday,
there’s got to be more to it than Manhattan told me. I intend to ask him, quite
politely, if he’s trying to set me up in some way for some reason, or if he’s
just plain stupid.

There’s a polite way of asking that,
right?

Half an hour later, I was walking
through the Neon district, as it was known to the locals of Heaven’s Valley, which
covered three square blocks on the fringe of the city center. Each side of the street
was lined with bars and clubs, separated every now and then by a hotel or fast
food restaurant. I could well imagine what this place would look like at night.

The Pit was on the corner of the second
block, with the entrance diagonal on the street corner, facing north-west toward
the crossroads. The building itself covered a quarter of the streets running
both south and east of the block. Above the small alcove of an entrance was a
neon sign that announced the name of the club. I had no idea what color it lit
up at night. I figured blue and white.

I pushed the doors gently to see if they
opened, but they didn’t budge. On the right hand wall of the alcove was a large
security keypad with a speaker, and a buzzer to press. I pressed it and waited.
After a few moments, the speaker on the keypad crackled into life and a voice
came through.

‘What?’

Hardly an advertisement for world class
customer service.

‘I need to speak to Jimmy Manhattan,’ I
said.

‘Never heard of him,’ replied the voice,
who promptly hung up.

Well, that was rude. And a lie. I don’t
like being lied to. It makes me trigger finger twitch.

I pressed the buzzer again.

‘What?’ said the same voice, as before,
except this time slightly less patient.

‘At the risk of sounding disrespectful,
we both know Jimmy’s in there. So how about you open the door so I can talk to
him? That way, I don’t have to kick your teeth so far down your throat that you
need to stick a toothbrush up your ass to get at your pearly whites.’

There was silence on the other end for a
moment, then the buzzer clicked off again. I waited for a few moments, then I
heard several locks being undone behind the doors.

The right hand door opened. I expected
whoever opened the door to be stood just behind it, ready to grab me as I
walked through, so as I stepped inside, took a step to my left and shuffled
sideways, so I was facing to the right. The guy that opened the door made no
attempt to attack me - he simply fixed me an intense, indignant gaze as he shut
the door and walked back into the club.

He was a lot bigger than me, in both
height and width. He was wearing a gym vest and jeans, and had arms like my
legs. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a small guy by any means. But physically
speaking, this guy dwarfed me in every way. I subconsciously moved my hand behind
me, touching the barrel of my gun for reassurance.

Just in case.

I assumed I was to follow him, so I did.

EIGHT

The club inside
was a nice, big place. The main area of the bar was wide open, with the
occasional table and chairs positioned around the perimeter. There were
different levels and podiums throughout the area, presumably for dancing on.
The bar ran a good length along the far wall, surrounded my mirrors and neon
blue. Behind the bar were rows of glass shelves that housed more liquor than I
knew existed.

To the right of the bar was a red
curtain, leading into the back like some kind of VIP area. We were heading in
that direction, but before we got there, Jimmy Manhattan came out from behind it
to greet us. He was wearing a different, but I’m sure equally expensive, suit
from the one he had on yesterday morning. He looked a little more stressed than
the last time we met as well, but he hid it expertly behind his powerfully calm
persona.

‘Adrian, what a nice surprise,’ he said,
in his trademark friendly, smooth tone of voice. ‘What brings you here? Is the
job going well?’

‘That’s what I need to talk to you
about,’ I said. ‘The job isn’t panning out the way you, so confidently, said it
would.’

‘How so?’

‘Well, for starters, Ted Jackson has
some serious security. He’s got an armored limousine and what looks like a
highly-trained assassin as his personal bodyguard. So, what aren’t you telling
me?’

‘I’m not sure what you’re implying here,
Adrian, but I don’t care for your tone.’

‘I could care less what you think of my
tone, and I’m not implying anything, I’m stating a fact. This guy
you
hired me to kill is clearly not your everyday, run-of-the-mill, working stiff
who just so happened to piss off your boss.’

The big guy who let me in made a move
from the side where he was stood to stand next to Jimmy. In the proper light, I
could get a better look at him. Aside from being built like three sides of a
house, he was a good four inches taller than me, which would put him around the
six foot six mark. He had muscles in places most people don’t have places, and
his arms were crossed across his chest. He also had a tattoo of a fire axe on
his left temple. He was burning a hole through me with his gaze. While I wasn’t
fazed in the slightest, he was an impressive sight. Much better than Stan and ‘Oli’
from the other night.

‘Adrian,’ Manhattan began, taking a step
in front of his hired muscle, as if the gesture of doing so would defuse any
potential confrontation. ‘I can assure you we gave you all the information we
had on Ted Jackson. We used one of our best men to tail him.’

‘Well, in just a couple of  hours of
digging around, I’ve managed to find out that our friend Ted works for a
military contractor, who specializes in weapons R&D and private security. Your
“best man” failed to mention the target was so well connected.’

I paused for a moment, so he could
process the information I’d just given him. He hid any shock or emotion behind
his cold, dark eyes very well.

‘If that’s true...’ he started, but I
interrupted.

‘If that’s true, you’re asking me to
take out a guy who’s more protected than the President. Which will cost you a
hell of a lot more than a hundred grand. You also need to be thinking about why
he decided not to sell you that land. These people conduct business deals that
dwarf your entire operation ten times over. If I carry out the hit on Jackson
and take the deeds for you, it won’t be the last either of us hear of it.’

He could see I had a point. He told me
that Pellaggio was a businessman first and foremost, which means he’s going to
do what’s best for business. Having military contractors and private security
firms pissed at you probably doesn’t make the list of good corporate
strategies.

Manhattan thought for a moment longer in
silence before responding, choosing his words with years of care and diplomacy.

‘For now, I would like you to proceed as
you normally would and carry out the contract on Ted Jackson. If you require
additional funding to do so, simply name your price. I would like to thank you
for bringing these developments to our attention, and I will speak to Mr.
Pellaggio about how he wishes to proceed. I appreciate your input, but you
simply need to do the job you were hired to and leave the rest to us.’

At that moment, my phone rang. I quickly
checked, and it was Josh ringing me.

‘I’m sorry, but I need to take this,’ I
said. I answered the phone. ‘What have you got for me?’

‘I’ve had a hit on the searches for our
mystery woman,’ Josh began. ‘I still don’t have a name, but there’s another file
photo – this one more recent.’

‘How recent?’ I asked.

‘Six months ago. It was taken during a
routine surveillance operation right there in Heaven’s Valley.’

‘So what’s the story?’

‘The photo shows her stood with another
man who you can’t see clearly. The photo itself isn’t the important part. It’s
where I found the photo that we should worry about.’

‘So what should we worry about?’

‘
Where
I found the photo. It was
on a secure military database on one of the servers housed in the Pentagon. I
was very lucky to come across it. It was stored in a folder that relates to an
ongoing investigation into something called Dark Rain. That name mean anything
to you?’

‘Not to me, no. Keep digging though,
Josh. That’s great work.’

‘Will keep you updated,’ he said before
hanging up.

‘Is everything alright?’ asked
Manhattan, as I put my phone back in my pocket.

I was debating how much information to
give him. I always try and keep my cards close to my chest, but under the
circumstances, I don’t have much more information than they do, and I’ve got
too many questions of my own to mess around being discreet. In the end, I was
straight with him.

‘Depends on your point of view,’ I said.
‘I’m starting to think you’ve stumbled onto something big with this land you
want.’

‘What do you mean?’ he asked, sounding
for the first time like he wasn’t in complete control of something. Which he
clearly didn’t like.

‘Jackson’s unknown bodyguard appears to
have been under surveillance by the US government in the last six months.’

‘So what does that have to do with Mr.
Pellaggio?’

‘It means Jackson is being protected by
another party. I don’t know why, but this is further evidence that this whole
thing is bigger than just Jackson screwing you over. I would suggest
approaching this with more caution than simply sending me in to kill him.’

It didn’t take long for Manhattan to see
I had a valid point. He signaled his hired muscle over to him and whispered
something in his ear. The big guy nodded intently, then walked off and
disappeared behind the red curtain in the corner, where Jimmy first came out
of.

He turned his attention back to me.

‘Adrian, it would seem we have
underestimated Ted Jackson and his resources. It appears we have also
underestimated you. I want to thank you for your vigilance and commitment to
this situation, and to your job. In light of this development, I would like to
extend your contract with us beyond simply disposing of Ted Jackson. I want you
to work with us to see this situation through its conclusion.’

I’m a freelance contract killer. I don’t
work exclusively with anyone, even on a temporary basis. Especially the mob.

‘I’m flattered, but I have no interest
in doing any more of your dirty work than I already am. I’ll kill Ted Jackson
for you, and retrieve whatever money or paperwork he has on his person at the
time. But once that’s done, I’m gone.’

Manhattan nodded, as if he was hearing
what I was saying, but not accepting it.

‘Fine. I’ll get a couple of guys on this
and leave you to take out Jackson. We’ll be in touch.’

With that, he turned and walked away,
disappearing behind the red curtain from which he came, leaving me alone in an
empty nightclub.

‘I’ll see myself out then?’ I said to
nobody but myself.

As I opened the door back onto the
street, my eyes squinting as they adjusted from dark nightclub to bright
sunshine, I saw a motorcycle on the other side of the street. It looked like
the rider, who was dressed head to toe in leathers, was staring in my
direction, but it was hard to tell as the visor was down on their crash helmet.
It was a lightning blue and white colored bike - a really sweet looking ride.
As I stepped out on the street, the mystery rider revved their engine and sped
off out of sight.

How odd.