20
I open my eyes slowly, stretching and cracking my back and legs. I feel like I’ve just slept for a lifetime… I need a minute to get my bearings. I’m sitting on a comfortable chair, slightly reclined, with a pillow behind me. I turn my head and look out the window on my left, seeing nothing but blue skies around me and white clouds below.
After I arrived in Barranquilla, I made my way to a small airfield and bribed the pilot of a cargo plane bound for Panama to let me sneak on board. I didn’t get any rest on the journey — there was nowhere really to sleep, and my mind was doing a hundred miles an hour trying to figure out the shit-storm I’ve found myself in.
It took about two hours to reach Panama. I made contact with Josh, when I landed, who directed me to another airfield, where he had arranged for another GlobaTech jet to fly me home. He said it’d take some time to get to me, and he sounded stressed, so I didn’t push him or stay on the line any longer than I needed to.
It had taken quite a while for the plane to arrive, and I used the time to get some much-needed rest. There was a small office on the airstrip, and I got some sleep on the sofa in there. And even once I was on board, as soon as ass touched seat, I was straight back out like a light.
There’s a stewardess on the flight, who smiles at me as I look around, slowly emerging from my deep sleep.
“Are we there yet?” I ask, smiling.
She laughs. “We’re making the descent now,” she says. “We’ll be on the ground in fifteen minutes or so. You’ve been asleep well over three hours. Is everything okay?”
I take a deep breath. “That’s a pretty broad question, under the circumstances. I’m alive, and if we can make it home without another plane I’m on being hijacked, I’ll consider that a victory for the day.”
Her face changed immediately to one of concern.
“Another plane?”
“It’s, ah… it’s been a rough few days,” I say with a weak smile, standing and stretching again. “You’ve not seen my bag, have you?”
“It’s stowed at the back of the cabin,” she replies, now sounding distracted. “Oh, and Mr. Winters requested a change of clothes be made available for you as well.”
I notice as she says that, she looks me up and down. I realize I still have on the shirt I stole, which is both insulting and offensive to all other shirts in the world.
“Thanks,” I say, a little embarrassed.
I walk to the back, seeing a new outfit hanging from a clothes rail in a small, open closet space opposite the bathroom. My bag and a change of shoes are underneath.
I step inside the bathroom and change my clothes, putting on the fresh pair of jeans, tan work boots, and a plain black T-shirt.
I leave my old stuff in the trash and step back out, picking up my bag on the way past and walking back to my seat. The stewardess isn’t there, so I assume she must be in the cockpit, talking with the pilots.
I take my Berettas and back holster out, load the guns, click the safety on and slide them into place. I put the holster in the bag again and relax back in my seat. I feel better now I’ve changed my clothes and I’m on my way home.
I hope Tori’s doing okay… As soon as this mess is over, I’m going to take her on holiday somewhere — put some distance between us and the real world for a while. And then, once the FBI, and God knows who else, have finished dissecting my bar, I’ll get the place back up and running. It shouldn’t take long to do. It might sound crazy to say, but I sometimes forget I’ve got a quarter of a billion dollars in my account. I’m a simple man with simple tastes and needs — I took that money more out of principle than necessity. But I’ll get the place looking brand new in no time.
The stewardess reappears, smiling professionally and looking a little more relaxed.
“We’ll be landing in San Antonio in ten minutes,” she announces. “There’ll be a vehicle waiting for you to take you home.”
“Thanks. Do you mind if I drive myself? Could do with the alone time if I’m honest.”
She smiles, like she understands. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”
We land just over ten minutes later, as she’d said. There’s a black rental car waiting on the runway with the driver standing by it, resting on the hood. I thank the stewardess and the pilots for their service and step off the plane, feeling the early Texas sun on my face. Without a word, the driver hands me the keys before turning and walking across the runway toward the Terminal building at the far end. I climb in, crank up the air conditioning, and set off.
I’m excited to see Tori again, but also a little nervous. I’ve spent the last two and a half years burying Adrian Hell and starting over, and I’ve just spent the last seventy-two hours resurrecting him. In a strange way, I feel like I’ve betrayed Tori. I’m going home with so much blood on my hands. Regardless of how necessary it might have been, it still wasn’t me — not anymore.
I let out a sigh. I need to stop worrying — I’ve got enough on my mind as it is. I lean over and turn the radio on, fiddling until I find a station playing something half-decent. After a moment, I stumble across the opening line of I Wanna Rock by Twisted Sister. I smile and wind my window down, feeling myself go a little bit faster.
I soon reach Devil’s Spring. I feel a warm sense of familiarity and comfort as I drive through the center of town, truly feeling like I’m home. I stop at a red light. If I go right, it’ll take me up the hill toward the station house.
I wonder how Sheriff Raynor’s doing… He handled the truth about me really well, which I’m grateful for.
The lights change and I turn left, following the road around to the right and finally pulling up outside The Ferryman. I get out and stretch, looking around for a moment and soaking it all in.
Jeez, it’s quiet around here…
I get my bag out of the trunk, sling it over my shoulder, and then head around back and up the stairs to my apartment. The first thing I notice is that the door is open… I place my bag quietly on the ground, and take out one of my Berettas, holding it firmly in my hand. I push the door open gently and step inside.
The place is a mess. All the furniture is either upturned or broken, scattered across the floor.
Jesus… when did this happen? I’m just glad Tori wasn’t here.
I walk over to the bed. The mattress is on the floor, and the frame is on its side. I check the other door, that leads down to the bar area, but that’s still locked.
Strange… whoever did this was coming to my home specifically, not the bar.
I hear a noise behind me, and spin around, bringing my gun up to aim.
Sheriff John Raynor is standing in the doorway at the top of the stairs outside. He looks like shit — a couple of days’ worth of growth on his chin, and his right arm in a sling.
He holds his left arm up when he sees my gun. “I’m a friendly,” he says, with a weak smile.
I relax, lowering my gun. “Jesus Christ, John, what the hell happened to you?”
“It was… a nightmare, Adrian,” he replies. “That’s the only way I can think to describe it. An absolute nightmare. There were only five of them, too — and I never thought I’d use the word only when describing a five-man assault… That’s your goddamn influence… Anyway, they came the night you left for New York. It wasn’t guns blazing, like the others. It was… it was planned. Meticulously. They came knowing exactly what they intended doing, and how they wanted to do it. I got here as soon as I could — brought all my deputies with me. In hindsight, we never stood a chance…”