“Something much bigger than a few racks of guns,” I reply.
Oscar re-appears and leads us all across the complex to the first of the two hangar-sized warehouses. The rain’s coming down hard, and more thunder rumbles in the dark clouds overhead. Time’s running out if I want to get to Manhattan before what’s left of Trent’s organization decides it’s simply easier to kill him than question him.
As we near the warehouse, I see there’s no front office — it simply has two large hangar doors padlocked shut. He stops just short of the doors and spins around to face me with a serious look in his eyes.
“Now… a betting man would wager his annual salary that you fellas are fixing to do something real stupid… am I right?” he asks.
“Stupid’s a pretty broad term,” I say. “I prefer to think of this as necessary insanity.”
He smiles and walks over to the doors. He unfastens the padlock and heaves both doors wide open.
“Insanity’s right…” he says.
As the fluorescent lights flicker into life, illuminating the hangar interior, I hear Josh and Frank both audibly gasp in shock. In front of us is a UH-60A Black Hawk helicopter, painted jet black.
“Holy shit…” mutters Josh.
It looks in amazing condition, considering they’ve been out of active service in the military since ‘89. I walk inside the warehouse and slowly circle the helicopter.
“Somewhat of a collector’s item, I admit,” Oscar explains. “But she’s in perfect working order. I’ve had a few enquiries about her over the years, but never could bring myself to part with her.”
“Well, I don’t want to buy it,” I say. “Just borrow it.”
“Mind if I ask what for?”
Josh and Frank gather around too, eager to hear my plan.
“There’s a tower block in the city that’s surrounded by cops, and I need to get to the top floor. The way I figure it, it’s easier to go in from the roof than it is from the ground, under the circumstances.”
“Genius…” says Josh. “Except you can barely walk straight, let alone fly one of these things… What about you, Frank? Don’t suppose you’re a helicopter pilot are you?”
He shakes his head.
“Josh, will you just relax? Ol’ Oscar here’s gonna fly it,” I say, turning toward him. “Aren’t you?”
“Well, I… I mean, I can fly it, don’t get me wrong…”
“Good. I’ve got a million dollars to rent your machine, and half a million for your time and risk. Can you be ready to take off in fifteen minutes?”
Everyone exchanges looks of shock and concern, but says nothing.
“I’ll take that as a yes… c’mon, let’s get ready.”
I walk quickly back to the Winnebago, leaving the rest of them standing inside the hangar. The rain’s getting worse by the minute, and as a flash of lightning illuminates the industrial estate, it looks like the storm that’s threatened for days is finally unleashing its fury on the city of Pittsburgh.
I can totally relate…
We’re flying across the city, huddled in the back of the Black Hawk as Oscar expertly pilots us toward Trent’s building. We’re sitting and strapped into our seats. Josh and I have traveled in the back of a chopper many times during our days in the military, but Frank looks a little under the weather.
“You okay?” I shout to him over the roar of the blades.
He simply shakes his head and continues his deep breathing. I look over at Josh and smile.
“I don’t think he’s a very good flier,” I say.
We’ve left the Winnebago at Oscar’s place and kitted ourselves out with every weapon we have. I’ve got my Berettas at my back. Frank has opted for a Mossberg 500 shotgun, while Josh has chosen an M-16 assault rifle.
As we near our destination, I see the blue flashing lights below us, blocking off the entire street. We bank left and approach the building from the back. There’s no hiding the fact a huge helicopter is overhead, but there’s no sense in making things too easy for them on the ground. As soon as we got near enough that we’d be heard over the storm, calls would’ve been made to every single piece of shit inside that building, making sure they’re ready for us.
Definitely not the most discreet entrance I’ve ever made, but I’ll take easy over quiet any day of the week.
The tower has a flat roof with a fire escape on it, and Oscar hovers low so we can jump out. Josh goes first, followed by Frank. I pat Oscar on the shoulder.
“I owe you one, thanks,” I yell.
“Bullshit!” he yells back. “You paid me a helluva lot of money for not much work. If anything, I owe you!”
“See you again, Oscar.”
I jump down, landing on the roof with a thud. I draw both of my Berettas and take a deep breath, composing myself. Frank appears on my left, the double-crunch of him cocking the Mossberg loud in the rain.
“I’m ready,” he says, nodding to me. “You’ve killed Trent, now let’s kill his legacy.”
On my right, Josh stands next to me with his M-16 locked and loaded.
“You good?” I ask.
“I live for this shit, Boss!” he replies, barely able to contain his excitement.
We all stand side by side, our eyes fixed on the fire escape in front of us. We’re soaked to the skin from the torrential rain that’s pelting the ground around us. I take another deep breath. The numbness I’ve felt since killing Trent is finally letting up, allowing me to lose myself in the task at hand. Allowing me to start appreciating what we’ve accomplished. Taking down an entire criminal empire on your own is no mean feat, but we’ve done a pretty good job so far.
“You ready?” asks Josh.
I turn to look at him, finally letting my Inner Satan off its leash. I feel the fire behind my eyes — the anger… the untamed fury… the pleasure… and I simply smile back.
“Yeah… you’re ready,” he says.
We head for the door, full of purpose and ready for war. But, deep down we all know that getting in is the easy part… the challenge will be getting back out.
34
It had been a long and silent journey from Allentown, and the weather had taken a drastic turn for the worse along the way. As they finally came to a stop in front a tower block, thunder rumbled over the noise of the pouring rain outside.
Duncan got out of the car and walked around to the other side, opening Jimmy Manhattan’s door and dragging him out. Ahead of them, the other vehicle had pulled over and the three men were dragging an injured Tarantina across the sidewalk.
Without a word, Duncan escorted him toward the main entrance, flanked either side by, what he assumed, was Trent’s private security. As they approached, the door flew open and a man came running toward them, visibly shaken.
“We got a problem,” he said, ignoring Manhattan completely.
“Bennett, what’s happened?” asked Duncan.
“It’s the Boss… he’s dead,” he replied.
His eyes went wide. “Mr. Trent? How?”
Manhattan chuckled, just loud enough that they could hear him. “I bet I can tell you how,” he said.
Duncan turned to him. “You — shut the fuck up,” he ordered before addressing Bennett. “Was it him?”
“Yeah, Adrian Hell and his partner attacked him at the Steelers game. I saw the news as it was happening. They had a big fight in the crowd. Hell was a maniac, man.”
“Let’s get up to the office and sort this from there. We gotta make some calls.”
They all marched Manhattan and Tarantina into the building, across the lobby and straight to the elevator.