Jimmy Manhattan had spent the past week recovering in San Francisco General Hospital, after Adrian Hell had thwarted the attempt on his life. Despite his wounds, and his advancing years, he was making an impressive recovery, and he hoped to be discharged in the next couple of days. The surgery to remove the two bullets had been successful, and any internal damage had been minimal.
He’d seen on the news that the FBI had averted Danny Pellaggio’s attempted attack, although he knew, in truth, it would’ve been due to Adrian Hell’s intervention. He thought about everything that had happened leading up to the events surrounding Pellaggio’s demise.
Manhattan had struggled to deal with his deception and, understandably, with being shot. He had spent the last year of his life working with him, funding him, training him, putting him in touch with the right people to make his plan happen… He felt used and betrayed, although he knew it was probably never his original intention for things to end the way they did. Pellaggio had been weak, and lacked vision. It would’ve only been due to Adrian Hell’s intervention that made him decide to sever his ties with Manhattan. His mental illness was his downfall, often clouding his better judgment; he’d known that Adrian would’ve been able to exploit that in order to stop him.
That was no way to do business.
He thought about Adrian Hell, too. That man was capable of immense things, and now the opportunity had presented itself to wipe the slate clean and start afresh, he was smart enough to know that, despite his instinct to seek revenge, it’d be far more beneficial not to have someone like him as an enemy. Some things were simply best forgotten about, even if they were never forgiven.
Outside, the sun was high and warm, and the sky was clear. The light was beaming in through the slits in the blinds. He sat in bed reading the morning’s newspaper. There were still articles detailing the attempted attack on the S.S. Jeremiah O’Brien.
He realized he was also a little disappointed. He’d expected great things from his partnership with Roberto’s son, but sadly it wasn’t meant to be. Still, he had plenty of money saved and invested, as well as his own reputation to work with. He’d be back on his feet in no time.
There was a knock on his door, disturbing him from his thoughts. It opened, and a nurse walked in. She was a large, dark-skinned woman in her forties, with long, braided dark hair tied in a large ponytail.
“Hey sugar,” she said. “How you feelin’ today?”
“Very well, thank you,” he replied.
She moved to the end of his bed and flipped through his chart, intermittently nodding at the information.
“You doin’ alright,” she reported. “You in any pain, sugar?”
He shook his head. “There’s a dull ache in my shoulder, but nothing of any concern. I feel fine, honestly.”
“Good. In that case, I think we can get you out of here. How does right now suit you?”
She gave him a big, friendly smile, which he reciprocated as much as he could.
“That’s excellent news, thank you.”
The nurse replaced his chart and left to make the preparations.
In no particular hurry, he returned to his newspaper, to finish reading a particularly interesting article in the business section. But he found his mind wandering to thoughts of what would happen once he left the hospital…
Manhattan stood in front of the mirror in his room, fastening his tie. His bloodstained suit and shirt had holes in them where he’d been shot. He looked at the poor condition of his clothes with frustration as he straightened his tie and stepped into his shoes.
He regarded his reflection for a moment. He was fifty-four, and the years had been less than kind to him. He conceded that it was mainly self-inflicted due to the life he’d chosen to lead from a young age, and he had no issue with his looks. He was old enough to not care about such trivialities. He used his hands to smooth down his thinning, gray hair. His dark, deep-set eyes looked back at him impassively.
He had a second chance now. Any ties he once had to the Pellaggio name were dead and buried, simply because every member of that family was now dead. What was left of the organization was in limbo, and the opportunity to seize control was his for the taking. He had people who were loyal to him, and it wouldn’t take him long to establish himself as the next man in charge. He could run the business single-handedly, having had previous exposure to most areas of it while working for Roberto.
He turned and walked out of the room, heading to the front desk, where he was given all the obligatory paperwork to complete, prior to discharge. It was the same nurse from before, and she seemed genuinely happy to see him up and about.
“That’s everythin’, sugar,” she said, taking the last of the completed forms off him and shuffling them on the desk to make a neat pile. “You need anything else before you go?”
“Actually, it’d be a big help if I could borrow your telephone to make a call before I leave,” he replied.
“No problem, honey — it’s just over there.” She pointed to the far side of the semi-circular reception desk, where a phone was standing on its own at the end.
“Thank you,” he said.
He walked over and dialed a number from memory. It picked up after a couple of rings, and he said, “It’s me.”
“Mr. Manhattan?” The somewhat surprised voice belonged to his trusted associate, Paulie Tarantina, who had assisted Manhattan for many years during their mutual service to the Pellaggio’s. “Sir, we heard what had happened to you, but had no idea how to come and get you without drawing more attention to ourselves. Under the circumstances, we—”
“Paulie, it’s fine — there’s no need for apologies. What’s done is done, and we can all chalk the last twelve months up to experience and move on. Now listen to me very carefully. Danny’s dead. He went behind our backs, and it blew up in his face. I want to head home, regroup and look to rebuild the family.”
“Just tell me what you need, Mr. Manhattan.”
“I’m just about to leave the hospital in San Francisco. But I think it’s time to re-locate the business to somewhere new, so it can flourish without any ties to the past. I need you to arrange a flight and connecting travel for me. There’s an old business over on the East Coast that Roberto kept legitimate. I’ll head there, and once I’m settled, I’ll call you with farther instructions.”
“No problem,” said Tarantina. “So, where exactly are you goin’ to, Boss?”
Manhattan paused for a moment before answering, thinking things over one last time before committing to the path he was about to go down.
“Allentown, Pennsylvania.”
6
Wilson Trent rode in the back of his car with Bennett next to him. Duncan was riding shotgun as the driver navigated the busy streets. The previous day, he’d instructed his two enforcers to look into Tommy Blunt’s life — search his home, look through the financial records, everything — to find out where the fifteen grand a month had been disappearing to.
He knew he could rely on his men to resolve the issue. They had always proven themselves his most capable, and most loyal, employees. That was why they’d been by his side as his personal protection detail for so long. And while it was a trivial amount of money in comparison to what he had and what he earned, that wasn’t the point — you didn’t steal from Wilson Trent and get away with it.
And sure enough, after a few hours of investigation, they came up with the answer. It turned out, Blunt had been stealing the money, but not for himself. Duncan had found bank statements in the apartment documenting the fifteen grand going in on the same day each month. But, strangely, it was transferred back out a day later. He’d spoken to Bennett, who was searching the premises where Blunt worked at the time, and they began trying to figure out why Blunt would’ve been stealing money off Trent for someone else.