One Last Bullet: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 3) (16 page)

25.

ADRIAN HELL

10:17

Frank drove us to a motel on the outskirts of town. We’d all checked in and headed to our rooms, having agreed to meet back up after a few hours’ sleep. It’s your typical place—big neon sign, basic single rooms with a double bed, generic bathroom and questionable carpets. I’ve only managed a few hours—my mind’s going at a hundred miles an hour, processing everything over and over again.

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, gently massaging the area of my lower back that had a rogue mattress spring sticking in it while I was asleep. I walk to the bathroom and turn the shower on. While I wait for the water to heat up, I look at my reflection in the small mirror above the basin.

I look old…

Am I old?

No… Forty-three isn’t old, is it?

I don’t know…

I don’t
feel
old… but I damn sure look it.

Old and tired…

No, worse than tired… I look
beaten
.

I’m not—Hell, I
know
I’m not… but that doesn’t change the fact I look like shit.

My eyes are sunken slightly, carrying big, black bags below them. My eyes have always been a stark blue, like ice, but at the moment their piercing color seems dull, almost subdued, by day after day of minimal food and sleep, coupled with high levels of emotional stress.

I’m long overdue a shave and as I rub my hand quickly across my face to wipe away the cobwebs, the scar below my left eye itches.

Which reminds me—I still need to call Manhattan and tell him about Wilson Trent. I let out a heavy sigh. Shower first… then the awkward conversation.

I step under the hot water, standing for a moment and appreciating the feel of it on my skin. It’s almost like it’s washing away my troubles. If only that were true… Nevertheless, after five minutes, I turn the water off and dry myself down and, by the time I’m dressed again, I feel like a new person.

I cross the room to my bed and pick up my cell phone, selecting a number from my recent contacts list and hitting dial.

“It’s me,” I say, as the call’s answered.

“Good morning, Adrian,” replies Jimmy Manhattan. “What can I do for you?”

I pause and take a deep breath. I have to give him as much information as I can, without telling him my role in everything. I need to choose my words very carefully.

“Step forward all those who
aren’t
completely fucked…” I say. “…Not so fast, Jimmy.”

“Is there a problem?” asked Manhattan, innocently.

“Well, I took out King for you, no issue there.”

“I know, and you were paid rather well for it.”

“Indeed… however, before left, we checked his office and found that he actually worked for someone else.”

There’s a brief moment of silence on the other end of the line. “That’s of no concern to me, Adrian. My only interest was in getting him out of my city, and thanks to you, that’s a job well done.”

“Actually, Jimmy, it does concern you. Ever heard of Wilson Trent?”

More silence. I wait a moment to give him chance to respond, but he says nothing.

“I’ll take that as a
yes
,” I continue. “King worked for Trent. In fact, King ran most of Allentown for him. Do you need me to draw you a picture of how truly boned you are right now?”

“Why are you telling me this?” he asks, after another few moments of silence. “Why do you care if Wilson Trent has an issue with me?”

“I have my reasons—most of which are none of your goddamn business. But after taking that job for you, I now have a vested interest in you and your little organization’s well-being, seeing as you owe me one. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you before I can cash in my favor now, would we?”

“Okay, so what would your advice be? You seem quite well-informed, so I’m assuming you have an opinion on the best course of action here?”

“I do… prepare for war.”

I hang up and head outside to the parking lot, where Josh and Frank are waiting for me. Without a word, we climb into his car—a rusty, light-brown sedan with torn leather seats and an engine that sounds like a dog chewing a socket wrench—and Frank eases out onto the road and sets off to find somewhere to eat.

It takes less than five minutes to find a diner that looks adequate. We pull up in the parking lot around the back and head inside. It’s a small place, not a franchise, and looks nice enough, despite being in need of a clean. There aren’t many seats, but we spot a table at the back for the three of us. As soon as we sit down, a waitress comes over with a pot of coffee. We all order a cup, as well as food. Josh and I opt for the pancakes, while Frank asks for toast.

Josh has brought his laptop with him, and he’s sitting silently, looking through all the information downloaded from Johnny King’s computer. I regard him for a moment, watching him work. He looks as tired and old as I do. I sigh, feeling guilty for dragging him along with me. He’d have been so much better talking to me on the other end of the phone, out of the firing line. But then, I suppose he’d just say he volunteered to watch my back, and he’d never hold me accountable for anything that happened while he was with me.

I smile, but Frank’s gravelly voice interrupts my train of thought.

“So…” he says. “You mind telling me exactly what the hell’s going on?”

I look at him. I can see a cocktail of doubt, confusion, and disdain swirling around in his eyes as he stares back at me.

“Where to begin…?” I reply, genuinely unsure.

“Start with why my sister and niece were killed.”

So I do.

11:15

After our food arrived, I spent a good half hour telling him everything that had happened in my life since leaving the military—becoming a hitman, taking the Darnell Harper job, Wilson Trent’s retaliation… everything.

I’m not sure how I expected him to react, but I’ll admit to being surprised at how calm he remained. He didn’t nod or ask questions or give any sign he was actually listening to me. He just sat there and let every single one of my words hit him.

“So,” I conclude, “after San Francisco, I realized I was ready to avenge their death… ready to finally put them to rest. And here I am.”

I imagine it’s a lot to take in all at once. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Josh crack a slight smile, but he says nothing. Frank finally nods, slowly, having absorbed as much of what I just said as I suspect he was able to.

“You’re a hitman?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Are you any good?”

The question throws me a little. After everything I’ve just told him and
that’s
the first thing he thinks to ask?

“He’s the best,” answers Josh, without looking up from his laptop.

“Okay,” says Frank. “If you’re so good, why isn’t Wilson Trent already dead?”

I smile humorlessly. “I’m working on it. These things take time if you want to do it right.”

He nods again.

“So, what’s your story?” I ask him. “Start with how you found me.”

“That’s easy. Your old neighbor called me after you’d spoke to him. He said you’d told him you were staying in Pittsburgh, so I checked all the hotels and hospitals in the city, starting in the city’s center and working out. It didn’t take long.”

“That’s pretty smart,” I say, impressed.

He shrugs, humbly. “I’m a P.I,” he declares. “Pretty basic stuff, really.”

“Holy shit, really?” I ask, unable to hide my surprise.

He nods. “Yup. Set up on my own not long after…” His words trail off, and he stares vacantly at the table for a moment before continuing. “I just wanted to do something. I wanted to know who was responsible and why. So I’ve dedicated every second of my life since to finding out what happened. And now, a thirty minute conversation with you has filled in every blank I had.”

“You’re welcome,” I say.

“I wasn’t thanking you, asshole. I’m
blaming
you!”

“Hey!” says Josh, finally looking up from his work. “That’s a bit unfair, isn’t it?”

“It’s alright, Josh,” I say, before looking at Frank. “I blame myself too. I have done all these years and the weight of all the guilt has finally become too heavy to bear. That’s why I’m here. I realized it wasn’t my fault they died. It was Wilson Trent’s. And I will have my vengeance.”

An uncomfortable silence descends on our table. Josh retreats to his laptop. I hold Frank’s gaze until he looks away. He seems to be wrestling with his conscience over something, but I don’t know what.

Josh had been right, and it feels good to finally say it out loud.

I wasn’t to blame.

I
wasn’t
to blame.

Frank slips his hand inside his long coat and takes out a folder, which he puts down on the table and slides across to me.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“Everything I’ve managed to put together on Wilson Trent in the last nine years or so,” he replies.

Josh pushes his laptop to one side and takes the folder before I get chance to pick it up. “Let me see that,” he says, flicking through what looks like a very concise dossier on Trent.

“It didn’t take very long to find out it was Trent behind the murders,” Frank concedes. “The big gap in the story was why and how you fitted into it. Did Janine know what you did for a living?”

I shake my head. “My cover was always that I was a consultant to a private security firm,” I reply. “It made sense, given my military background, and explained the good money.”

“Smart…” he says, reluctantly.

“Frank, this is amazing,” says Josh, whose growing excitement is starting to bring out the British in him once again. It’s good to see. “You’ve got evidence linking him to all kinds of shit!”

“I asked around, followed the right people… it took a long time,” he said. “I finally started making some progress, but I never had enough damning evidence to take to the cops. It was always circumstantial or from anonymous sources. Basically, it was all stuff that could be explained away or buried by the people on Trent’s payroll.”

“Well,” I say. “Maybe if we combined our efforts, we might have more luck… but I have to ask, Frank—how badly do you want to take him down?”

“I wanna see him rot,” he replies instantly. “Why?”

“Because, as
we
have discovered,” I gesture to Josh and myself, “you have to do things you wouldn’t normally do when going against someone like Trent. And trust me, there aren’t many things I take issue with. But I’ll admit I’ve pushed the boundaries a little more than I usually would, and I don’t want to involve you in my world if you’re not ready for it. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“Pushed the boundaries?” asks Josh, briefly looking up from the folder. “That’s putting it mildly, isn’t it?”

“Not now,” I say, with a half-smile.

Before Frank can answer, Josh shouts, causing what customers are in the diner to turn and stare at us. “We’ve got it”’ he exclaims.

“What?” I ask.

“Our way in… our way to get Trent… we’ve got it!”

“Care to calm down and elaborate?”

“There’s mention here of Trent’s accountant, Joseph…”

“…Bernstein,” adds Frank. “Yeah, a slimy little prick who meets with him a couple of times a week. So what?”

“Adrian, if we can get to the accountant, we can get to his accounts…”

“And with his accounts, you can do your online robbery…” I say, finishing his sentence.

“Okay, what?” asks Frank, his head in his hands with frustration.

I stroke my chin for a second, thinking. Putting more of the pieces into place…

“Josh is planning to rob Trent by stealing all his money over the internet. Hit him where it hurts and cripple his empire before I face him. He’s got the tech side of it ready, we just need details of all his business accounts. And we might just have found a way to get them…”

It’s Frank’s turn to show signs of life and excitement, probably for the first time in a long while. “I can take you to his office,” he says. “I’ve followed him a few times in the past, and I know his routine. It’s Sunday, right? He’ll have been to see Trent this morning, like he always does…”

I look at Josh, who’s staring at me with a big smile on his face.

“This would be that break we’ve been trying to catch all week,” I say.

“Let’s rock and roll,” he says, picking up his laptop as he stands and sets off for the door.

“So that’s it?” asks Frank, as I move to follow Josh. “You get an idea and two minutes later you’re off?”

“Pretty much,” I say with a slight shrug. “That’s kinda how we do things. I don’t have time for hesitation or doubt. That shit will get you killed. Now, this is your last chance, Frank. If you take us to this Bernstein guy, there’s no going back. You’re in this with us until the end…”