His eyes never leave mine, and they’re burning bright with rage. I know what story my eyes are telling. After years and years of fighting and killing, I know what my Inner Satan looks like. It sometimes even frightens me, so God knows what this guy’s thinking right now.
He snaps a jab forward, falling short of the mark, then follows it with a huge straight right. Knowing the jab wouldn’t come near me, I position myself for the obvious follow-up.
I side step to the left and bring my right arm up, bending it to guard the right side of my head and creating a lethal point with my elbow. I time it perfectly, and his punch connects with my bent elbow at full speed. Even as the rain battered the glass all around us, and the thunder and lightning assault the skyline, I hear the crunch as the bones in his hand shatter under the impact. He screams, dropping his guard to hold his injured hand and taking a step back.
“You bastard!” he yells.
Ignoring him, I swing a loose, half-powered left hook that catches him on the unguarded right-hand side of his face. Instinctively, he raises his left arm up in a weak attempt at blocking, but in doing so, he exposes his ribs on the left. I drop my right shoulder, duck low, and unleash a right hook in his side, just below his armpit. The ribs there are like matchsticks, and it only takes one decent punch to shatter them.
Again, the sound of splintering bones echoes around the room, which has quickly fallen silent in shock. Duncan crashes to the floor, and I simply stand, breathing heavily but otherwise completely unaffected by their joint effort to kill me. I turn to look at Manhattan, whose arrogant smile has faded, replaced by an all-too-familiar look of resentment and frustration. I say nothing. I simply stare at him — my face devoid of all emotion.
Manhattan takes Bennett’s gun from his desk and aims it at me. “You think that means anything?” he asks. “You think you still stand any chance of making it out of here alive? You’re surrounded by nineteen guns. Even the mighty Adrian Hell can’t survive this!”
I smile, slowly. His face turns from anger to uncertainty almost instantly. “You don’t get it, do you?” I say, rhetorically. “Even though I agreed to work for you, and took the opportunity to have you owe me one, it’s not completely unexpected that you’d stab me in the back the first chance you got, given our history. End of the day, I only came to this city to kill Trent, and I did. I came here afterward to burn his legacy to the ground, for no other reason than I was angry and it was something to do to let off some steam. I’ve been building up to this day for almost a decade, and now I’ve done what I set out to do, I honestly don’t care if I get out of here in one piece or not. I’m done. I’m tired. I want to stop. People like me don’t retire with their pensions, Jimmy. People like me kill for a living and when we go, we go out in a blaze of glory. But let me tell you this: if tonight is my last night, I’m making damn sure there’s nothing left of Wilson Trent. And that includes what remains of his business. You’ve taken over? Fine — just means you get to die before I do.”
He lowers his gun, regarding me for a moment as silence descends. All around, the armed men look uneasy. Far below us, I figure the corrupt cops are standing by, waiting for their orders. Next to me, Josh has taken a seat on the sofa opposite Manhattan’s injured man. He looks at me and smiles weakly. He would’ve heard my speech, but knowing we’re still surrounded, he’ll know there’s nothing to argue about or discuss.
“I say again,” I continue. “If tonight’s my night, I promise you that you’re dying first.”
Manhattan glances around the room and the clacking noise of eighteen guns being aimed directly at me fills my ears. He raises his again, his finger squeezing lightly against the trigger.
“For a year and a half, you’ve been a pain in my ass, Adrian,” he says. “I had to play nice with you to get this far, and it’s made me sick, but it was the only way. When the opportunity arose, I knew I had to play it just right to gradually involve you and set you up for this very moment. And it worked perfectly. Apart from Paulie over there getting shot, it couldn’t have gone any better. Now… goodbye, Adrian.”
I watch as his finger tightens even more on the trigger. I look over at Josh quickly, exchanging a moment in which I silently apologize and he silently tells me to forget about it. Then, I simply close my eyes and wait to hear the brief sound of bullets before an eternal darkness washes over me…
36
Huh… still no gunfire.
What’s going on? It’s been at least twenty seconds… what are they waiting for?
Wait… what’s that? It sounds like… is that a helicopter?
I open my eyes and see Jimmy Manhattan standing in front of me, still pointing his gun at me but looking distracted, like he’s listening for something.
That’s definitely a helicopter. Even over this storm, I hear the blades whirring away, getting closer with each second that ticks by.
I look around at Josh, who’s clearly heard it too — he’s moved to the edge of his seat and is straining to listen over the noise of the rain barraging against the glass and the thunder and lightning rampaging across the sky outside.
I glance at the eighteen men who are surrounding me. They’ve not moved an inch, but they’re all exchanging uncertain glances with each other as they presumably wait for Manhattan to give the order to open fire.
As I turn back around, to look at Manhattan, a UH-60A Black Hawk helicopter banks to its right and swings into view outside, almost level with where I’m standing. Manhattan turns to see it. The men surrounding me do the same.
I see a bright flash and instinctively drop to the ground as gunfire suddenly erupts, shattering the glass and cutting through the group of men like a hot knife through butter. I’m lying face down with my arms covering my head. I glance behind me to make sure Josh has found some cover too. I can’t see him, so I’m guessing he has.
I roll away to my left, past the desk, and toward the empty space in the office. I look up at the helicopter hovering outside with murderous intent. A flash of lightning illuminates the night sky, and I glimpse Frank Stanton hanging out of the side of the chopper holding an assault rifle.
I laugh out loud. Sonofabitch!
Josh appears next to me, sliding to a stop and planting himself flat against the floor.
“What the hell’s going on?” he yells.
“It’s Frank!” I reply over the noise. “That crazy bastard’s leaning out the back of Oscar’s helicopter with an M-16!”
I roll over on my back and lift my head to look toward the door. Out of the eighteen men Manhattan had protecting him, I count fourteen of them down and out already. There’s an insane amount of blood covering the walls, like someone has dipped a huge brush in red paint and flicked the bristles all around. The four who remain alive are trying to find some cover and return fire.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Manhattan’s man, Paulie, hit the floor in between the sofas, but I can’t tell if he’s seeking cover or has taken another bullet.
“Get out of here,” I shout to Josh. “Pick your spot and run for the door. Get Trent’s money altogether in one of our accounts and lie low. I’ll contact you when this is over.”
He shakes his head. “No way, Boss!” he yells back. “We leave here together, or not at all!”
We’re lying to the side of the desk, which is still the only effective cover in the room, despite having splintered beyond recognition from the onslaught of bullets. Manhattan’s on the floor, on the other side, frantically scrambling across the room, off to the right and away from the gunfire.