She broke down in tears again, holding her head in her hands.
Trent looked briefly around the room, thinking. He glanced at Duncan and Bennett, who were keeping a respectful distance from the conversation. They looked at him before turning away, offering no opinion on the matter.
He walked behind her, placing both his hands on her shoulders. “If you’d only come to me first, Caroline… I would’ve helped you with the money. I’m not a monster.”
“I know,” she sobbed. “I’m so, so sorry…”
He patted her shoulders. “So am I,” he said. “I’m sorry that your son is going to have to fight on through that terrible disease without the support of his mother.”
She looked up and gasped as his words sunk in, but she could do nothing. He gripped the back of her head and her chin in his hands. She struggled, but it was no use. Trent took a deep breath, and twisted her head around, snapping her neck. The crack was deafening in the quiet room. He let go and she slumped lifelessly down against the desk with a thud, her face contorted in shock and agony, and her head practically faced backward from the force of the snap.
Without another thought, Trent walked over to the door.
“Get one of our guys in the PPD to clear this up,” he said to his enforcers, who had moved to follow him out. “And get my ninety grand back.”
They left the office, took the elevator down to the ground floor, and walked back out the main door, standing for a moment on the sidewalk of Grant Street. Bennett took out a cell phone and made a call, arranging for Caroline Dawson’s body to be removed and explained away. The sky was dull with low, menacing cloud, and Trent sensed a storm on the horizon. They all climbed into the car and drove off in silence. Trent looked out the window, his mind clear, watching the world pass by.
7
We left a lasting impression on the residents of Chicago last night, and we left town early this morning, heading back to the I-80 before continuing on our expedition to Pittsburgh. We made good time and by late afternoon, we’d hit the I-76 and entered the state of Pennsylvania. Josh, to his credit, has insisted on doing all the driving, but despite his willingness to do so, I still felt pretty bad about not doing my share.
Josh has a habit of being quite protective of his assets — like his Winnebago, his equipment, his contacts, et cetera. They’re his, and he enjoys being the one you go to for all the answers without ever telling you how he gets them. Being out in the world and pulling the trigger — that’s my thing. The magic behind how I was able to do what I do… that’s his.
We pass a sign that says ‘Welcome To Pennsylvania’. My stomach knots up. This is it. The big one. After eight years and a couple of thousand miles, I’ve finally returned to the East Coast, ready, willing and very able to avenge my family’s death. But this is still one of the most intimidating things I’ve ever attempted.
Wilson Trent is a kingpin — top of the food chain. Even thinking about taking him on will incur the wrath of more people than you can imagine. Politicians, local authorities, gangsters — everyone’s on his payroll, and a threat to him is a threat to them. They’re well paid and well protected by Trent, and I’m about to walk in and change everything.
“We’re about sixty miles out,” Josh says, breaking my concentration. “What you wanna do, Boss?”
“May as well keep going,” I reply. “Once we’re there, we can find a place to stay, start digging around, and find out what Trent’s weaknesses are and how we can exploit them.”
“I’m all over that. Already started asking around, so we’ll see what comes back.”
“Really? How? You’ve been driving for three days…”
He looks at me and winks. “Magic!” he says with a big smile.
I laugh and let the matter drop. I’m content to let him have his moment of mystery. All that matters is the information, not where it comes from.
We fall silent again, both distracted by everything and nothing until we enter Pittsburgh. The day’s light is fading; as we slowly make our way into the city, we come to life with ideas.
Now, if I was a hitman — which I am — and I’d gone to a city to kill someone — which I have — then the obvious thing to do would be to keep a low profile, base myself on the outskirts, and under no circumstances announce my arrival until my target was staring down the barrel of my Beretta.
That’s the obvious thing to do.
And if someone like Wilson Trent were to get wind of my presence in the city, that’s exactly what he’d expect me to do, and that’s exactly what he’d prepare for.
That’s why I’m intending to do the complete opposite.
We take exit twenty-eight to the expressway along the Allegheny River, all the way into the center of the city. Even though I lived in Philadelphia, back in the day, I still know my way around the state well enough. There’s a Hilton hotel in the Business district, right in the middle of the city. We’re going to stay there, in the spotlight. It’s the last place Trent would think to look for me, once he knows I’m back.
And he’ll know soon enough.
Josh navigates the traffic and pulls up at the back of the hotel, in the far corner of the parking lot. We get out and complete our stretching ritual after another prolonged period on the road, then get our bags from the back, and walk toward the hotel entrance.
“It’s about time you started living a little,” says Josh as we approach the revolving door and head into the lobby. “I mean, you’ve got, what, a billion dollars or something stashed away?”
“Not quite,” I say, smiling. In truth, it’s more like thirty million dollars, but I get his point.
“Whatever,” he continues. “You should start enjoying yourself a bit. This whole wandering around on your own, staying in crappy motels, and living to a budget thing you’ve had going for yourself all these years is getting old, man. And no offence, but so are you.”
“Gee, thanks!”
He steps in front of me, stopping as he turns to face me. “My point is, Adrian, you should start appreciating the finer things in life. There are guys in this business that take private jets everywhere, live the five-star lifestyle everywhere they go. It’s one of the perks of making so much money.”
I nod and shrug. I know he has my best interests at heart, and that means a lot to me. “I know, Josh,” I say. “But it’s this job — this… lifestyle that cost my family their lives. I think it’d be in poor taste to take advantage of it and enjoy it, don’t you?”
He sighs. “Honestly? No. I think if you felt that strongly about it, you wouldn’t still be doing it. I understand completely how you feel, Adrian, you know I do. But I think you hold some things accountable for your guilt that really aren’t to blame. You could’ve been a courier, or a pilot, or a goddamn milkman, and tragedy still could’ve befallen your family. Don’t blame yourself or your job — blame Trent. Cut yourself some slack.”
I regard him silently for a moment, and I see in his eyes that he’s worried he’s just overstepped the mark. Not many people can openly voice their opinion about my life without fear of reprimand, but he can and we both know it. He probably knows that the only reason I feel any kind of anger right now is because I know he’s right and I don’t want to admit it. Over the years, I’ve found a certain level of comfort in the way I live my life, and with the reasoning behind it.