“Will do, Mr. Trent,” replied Duncan. “You think they’re gonna win today?”
“They better fucking win! I’m not in the mood for failure.”
Duncan nodded and took his leave, having learned over the years how to read Trent’s moods.
A moment later, as Bernstein was preparing to leave, Duncan re-entered the room, talking animatedly on his phone.
“What happened to fucking knocking?” asked Trent.
Duncan put his hand over the phone and held it away from his head to respond.
“Sorry, Boss, but you’re gonna wanna hear this. Gimme a minute.”
He resumed his conversation as Trent looked on with impatience and curiosity.
After a couple of minutes, Duncan ended the call and looked at Trent, his eyes betraying his fear. “Mr. Trent, that was one of my guys over in Allentown. They just got word that Johnny King’s been taken out.”
Trent slammed his fist on the desk, his eyes so wide they bulged against their sockets and threatened to pop right out of his head.
“What?” he yelled. “How?”
Duncan took an involuntary step back, seemingly reluctant to answer.
“Was it him? Was it Adrian fucking Hell?” Trent asked, practically spitting the name out with disgust.
“We don’t know who pulled the trigger yet,” he replied. “But it happened yesterday afternoon. We asked around and there’s a new player in Allentown who’s taken over everything except what King ran for you. My guess… it was him.”
“So quickly? Christ… Who? Anyone we know?”
“His name’s Jimmy Manhattan. Word is he made a helluva name for himself over on the West Coast. He’s old school, like you, Boss. Big reputation and his new outfit is growing fast over there.”
Trent sighed heavily as he stood, turning to look out of the window once more.
“If you no longer need me…” began Bernstein.
“Get the fuck outta here,” said Trent, without looking around.
Not needing telling twice, Bernstein left the office.
“Bring me this Jimmy Manhattan,” he said finally as he turned to face Duncan, who was shifting nervously on the spot. “I don’t care how you do it, but he’s gonna be standing right in front of me before the Steelers kick off. Am I clear?”
Duncan nodded then headed for the door.
Trent looked at his watch. It was just over ten hours until the Steelers game started. He took a deep breath and sighed heavily again.
He had a feeling the day was going to get worse before it got better.
25
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.