“Will do, Boss.”
Tarantina turned and walked back to the thinning crowd of men, and Manhattan put his overcoat back on and headed downstairs.
He left the bar and made the short walk back to his hotel, took the elevator up to his floor and entered his room. He laid his coat and suit jacket on the bed, and then walked over to the large window that ran floor to ceiling, un-strapping his holster and placing it on the table next to him. He put his hands in his pockets and stared out at the city below him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
All that lay before him would soon be his.
10
Josh hasn’t spoken much since last night at Billy McCoy’s house. No disputing that I had to take those guys out — I can’t run the risk of Trent getting word that I’m back in town just yet. I have to keep the element of surprise, as that’s pretty much the only advantage I’ve got.
After leaving McCoy’s place, we went back to the hotel and got some sleep, then set off early this morning to get a quick breakfast before paying a visit to Shakes.
We found a nice little café just a short walk from where we’re staying. It looked clean and the menu looked appetizing, so we’ve come in, found a table, and placed our order.
The tables are a standard marble-effect with a wooden trim, and the booths are an aged red color. A row of seating runs in front of the counter, with a smaller stretch of booths down each side. The large window looks out at the parking lot out front.
“Adrian,” says Josh, as a waitress brings our coffee over, “about last night…”
“It was necessary,” I say, cutting him off before he has chance to say anything else. “We couldn’t risk them talking to Trent before we’ve had chance to plan our attack.”
“Yeah, I get that,” he counters. “But you’ve always, always pulled the trigger for a price, and even then, it was after I’d convinced you the target was deserving of a bullet. That’s how we work, man. Last night…” He trails off momentarily, as if he’s searching for the right words. “…Last night you executed them, Adrian. I saw it in your eyes — there was nothing. No remorse or hesitation. I know I’m hardly in a position to argue the finer points of morality, given what we do for a living, but to me there’s a difference between being an assassin and being a murderer. I saw you cross that line last night, Adrian… And it scared the shit outta me.”
I take a sip of my coffee and think about what he’s just said. I hadn’t thought about it like that. I just see myself as being on a job and doing what I need to do, so I can get to the target — who, in this case, is Wilson Trent. I’ve done much worse for the sake of a contract than kill a drug addict and his dealer. I’m genuinely struggling to see his point, but at the same time, I know he wouldn’t have said anything if there was nothing to it.
I take a deep breath and sigh heavily.
“Look,” I begin. “This isn’t just another contract. This is Wilson Trent. I’d tear this world apart if it meant I could put a bullet in his head. You said yourself this has been a long time coming. You must’ve known that once we got here, there would be no holding back? That I’d show zero restraint in going after him?”
Josh nods his head slowly, reluctantly conceding my point.
“Yeah, I know,” he replies. “I guess, even after all these years, it’s just strange seeing you act in a way that I can’t justify.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, like I’ve said, when we get a contract, we do our research and take them out. There’s no emotion there… it’s just a job. And I think knowing that makes it easy for me to justify doing it. But there was no job last night — no contract or moral justification. You simply murdered two people in cold blood — albeit really horrible people… but nevertheless, the lack of… anything on your part just looked borderline psychopathic.”
“I understand what you’re saying, Josh — I do. But I’m not apologizing. I fully intend killing a lot more people before this ends, and every one of them will likely deserve it. Every now and then, my demons need to come out so they don’t consume me. And I’m fortunate that my life allows that with some level of valid reasoning. I’m not a mindless psychopath or a calculated serial killer, I’m a professional assassin — I rely on my darkness to keep me alive. And I rely on you to keep me in check — which you do a spectacular job of, by the way.”
He smiles. “Ah, shucks!”
We both laugh, and any tension quickly disperses.
“I appreciate you speaking up,” I add. “But I need you to be okay with whatever I decide is necessary here.”
He shrugs. “I remember watching you via that satellite feed take out Roberto Pellaggio and his small army in the space of about ten minutes. That guy had pushed you farther than I thought possible, and he deserved everything he got. It was insanely beautiful to watch. But last night, Billy McCoy hadn’t done anything to you, and you still unleashed that tiny Satan of yours. I guess I’m just used to seeing more… provocation. But I know why we’re here and the bottom line is: whatever it takes. Right?”
“Amen, brother.”
I lean over the table and we bump fists just as the waitress brings us our breakfasts. We eat heartily, pay the check, and head back to the hotel to collect our things. We’re in the Winnebago and on the road within twenty minutes.
“Okay, so where is this place, do you know?” I ask, as we stop at a red light.
“It’s in Hazelwood,” he replies. “Not far from here. We’re gonna have to be discreet with this though, Boss. If this is one of Trent’s businesses, he’ll have security cameras, hired muscle on site, you name it. You’re about to make yourself very visible, and we need to minimize that as much as possible.”
I smile. “It will be as if I’m a gentle breeze, disturbing no one.”
He quickly throws me a skeptical glance. “Bullshit. Not only does that not even make sense, we all know you’re about as subtle as a tank.”
I shrug. “Guilty… But I’ll do my best.”
“Just give me five minutes when we get there before you go in, see what I can do with my toys to help you out.”
“Like what?”
“Maybe get the blueprints of the building, disable the security feed, use satellite imagery to see who’s inside…”
“Christ, you can do all that?”
Josh simply smiles and focuses on the road.
“Jesus…” I say quietly, shaking my head and laughing. “I’m glad you’re on my side…”
The drive was reasonably short and uneventful, and twenty minutes later, we pulled up opposite the club. I get up and move into the back of the Winnebago, retrieving my guns from my travel bag and attaching the holster to the base of my back. I pull my jacket on and adjust it so it covers them. Josh appears next to me, sitting down at the workbench and turning on his laptop.
“Right, gimme a minute,” he says as his fingers move over the keys like a pianist in the middle of a concerto. I watch the screen as he works his magic, different windows opening and closing in a blur. “Okay, here are the schematics for the building,” he says, pointing to the screen. “At the back of the main club area, you have two doors — one straight ahead and one off to the right. The one that will be facing you leads to a corridor at the back of the building. Turn left to the office and right to the changing rooms.”
“Okay, so I’ll head for the office and see who’s there. You got a head count yet?”
“One second, and… yes! Thermal satellite imagery of the area is up and running. You know, I even impress myself sometimes!”