“No one who ain’t invited comes through here without my say-so,” said Duncan to the man sitting behind the front desk as they walked past.
They came out on the top floor and turned right, walking straight into a penthouse office.
“Sit there,” he said to Manhattan, pointing to one of the leather sofas in front of the desk. Behind them, the three other men escorting Tarantina entered, shoving him down on the sofa opposite Manhattan, before grouping together at the side of the desk, in front of window looking out at the storm gradually raging across the city.
“So what do we do?” asked Duncan.
“We prepare for him coming here,” replied Bennett. “It’s the only logical move he could make. He wanted to finish Trent off, right? Well, now he’s killed him, he’ll come after what’s left of his organization.”
Duncan nodded in agreement then turned to the men standing with them.
“You four, go and gather every man in the building, tell them to arm themselves and call me if they see anything. Then get ten of your best and get them on this floor, guarding the elevator.”
An hour or so passed without as much as a word spoken to either Manhattan or Tarantina. Different men were in and out of the office, reporting to Duncan and Bennett.
Manhattan looked on with a bemused expression on his face. It was refreshing to see people rushing around in blind panic at the prospect of Adrian Hell coming for blood, and he not be one of them.
“You alright?” he asked Tarantina, who sat facing him, barely conscious.
“I’m good, Boss,” he replied. “Just lost a lot of blood — not feelin’ too great, y’know?”
“This will all soon be over, don’t worry.”
Duncan and Bennett walked over to them as the other men left to carry out their tasks. They stood side by side, arms folded, glaring down at them.
“So, you’re the guy who took out Johnny King and staked his claim in Allentown, huh?” asked Duncan. “Mr. Trent was gonna make an example out of you, so I figure that job now falls to us.”
“On the contrary,” said Manhattan, unfazed. “I believe Wilson Trent was going to extend the olive branch and embrace a mutually beneficial partnership between both our organizations. Something I now believe would be in your best interest to honor.”
“How you figure that?” asked Bennett.
“Because I have no doubt in my mind that Adrian Hell is on his way here with the sole intention of killing everyone in this building. But with my help, that could be avoided.”
“I think we can handle him,” said Duncan. “We’ve got nearly cop in the goddamn city stationed out front.”
“You don’t handle someone like him. You could have a squadron of Marines down there and it wouldn’t make a blind bit of different. No, you need my help if you wish to see tomorrow. Or, you can go ahead and kill me, ensuring the complete and total destruction of Trent’s empire. Your call, gentleman.”
Manhattan relaxed on the sofa and crossed his legs, catching Tarantina’s questioning eye long enough to let him know he was confident he’d done enough to guarantee their survival.
The two bodyguards looked at each other, their bodies tense, seemingly angry at the fact they knew Manhattan was right and didn’t want him to admit it.
“Okay, what do you have in mind?” asked Duncan, after a minute.
Manhattan stood and walked around the sofa, gazing at the room almost carefree, acting the part beautifully.
“To clarify something — yes, I ordered Mr. King be killed, but it was Adrian Hell who pulled the trigger. Mr. Hell and myself have somewhat of a history together, and going into business on my own, I’d rather stick with the devil I know, so to speak. He agreed to take the contract I offered him to eliminate Johnny King — a move anyone in my position would’ve done, from a business perspective — in exchange for a future favor. He carried out the contract and found out King worked for Trent. He called me to tell me that Trent is likely to seek retribution and would be coming for me. I presumed he would forcibly summon me to him first, which he did.”
“How is any of this helping us?” asked Bennett, crossing his arms impatiently.
“After doing some research,” Manhattan continued, ignoring the interruption, “it came to my attention that Adrian and Trent also had a history, so I let things play out, figuring the favor he would call in from me would likely be related to attacking Trent. From experience, I would never bet against Adrian Hell, and I was right. And now, as I predicted, I’ve wound up exactly where I thought I would, in a position to have this very conversation.”
“Get to the point, or I’ll shoot you,” said Duncan.
“My suggestion would be to have you willingly install me as your new employer. Give me control of this business, instantly merging it with my own, giving me power over the entire state. Once Adrian arrives, I’ll convince him to walk away and leave things to me before he starts shooting our people. Given our recent dealings, I believe he will see it as an opportunity having me in charge — an unlikely, yet useful, ally who’s able to do him a bigger favor than originally thought… Once he’s convinced there’s no threat from me, I’ll bury the sonofabitch. I’ve been setting him up from the very beginning, to have my revenge. Everything’s going exactly as I’ve planned.”
“Can you guarantee that you can stop him?” asked Bennett, unable to hide his growing concerns.
Manhattan looked at them both in the eye, then turned to Tarantina and regarded his wounded lieutenant for a moment before answering.
“Yes.”
The bodyguards looked at each other and shrugged.
“What do you need from us, Boss?” asked Duncan.
Manhattan smiled, happy with his own progress. But his small celebration was short-lived, as the sound of a helicopter overhead grew gradually louder.
“Ah, speak of the devil…” he said.
35
As the door swings open, Josh steps inside and expertly checks the angles — his gun aimed forward, the barrel following his line of sight.
“Clear,” he says, after a moment.
Frank follows him, swinging his shotgun around with a technique he’s probably learned more from watching movies than he has from any actual combat experience. I move in last, both Berettas drawn and thirsty for blood.
Immediately inside the door is a metal staircase. I lean over the handrail and look down. It appears to lead to a maintenance area a couple of flights below us. We head down the stairs, but pause after just one flight. We hear a lot of commotion from underneath us.
“The helicopter maybe wasn’t the stealthiest approach,” observes Josh, his trademark sarcasm like a shield on his arm as he enters battle.
“I’m done being discreet,” I reply, matter-of-factly.
Frank turns to me. “When did you start?”
Josh laughs. “Oh, the new boy shoots and he scores! You just got served, Boss!”
“You’re both aware I have currently two guns and a real short temper, right?” I say.
They both fall silent again, re-focusing on infiltrating the top floor. I do enjoy our banter, especially during these types of situations. I’ve always said it’s far easier to get through a tough spot if you act on instinct and relax into the moment.
We reach the bottom of the staircase and approach the fire exit, which must lead us out onto the floor. Once again, Josh takes point and quietly pushes the door open, letting in a crack of light from the corridor beyond it.
“Looks clear,” whispers Josh. “I can see a closed door, unguarded, off to the left. I’ve no idea if it’s Trent’s office, or if that’s at the opposite end.”