“Get in,” he says again.
He opens the door and gestures to the seat in front of him. I wait a moment, taking a quick look around before climbing inside.
The interior is very nice — smooth leather with a dark walnut trim all around. The windows are tinted, so there’s total privacy inside as well.
I sit down in the seat opposite Manhattan. I don’t like the fact I’ve got my back to the driver, but I figure if anything’s going to happen to me, it’ll be Manhattan who attempts it.
“I think we have some things to discuss, don’t you?” he says as the car pulls away and we drive off.
He produces the gun from inside his jacket and aims it at me. I say nothing. I just stare at him, smiling.
“Under the circumstances, I don’t see how you have much to be happy about,” he says.
Let me tell you why I’m smiling. Yes, it’s partly to wind him up — because that’s just what I do before any kind of fight… and yes, I’m working on the assumption that sometime soon, they’ll be a fight, during which I intend to break Manhattan’s neck.
But the main reason I’m smiling is because for the first time in three days, I actually have an advantage in terms of knowing something that nobody else does. Before I got in the car, I had a look around and happened to see a black, leather-clad figure on a blue and white motorcycle parked across the street. I couldn’t tell for sure that they were looking at me, because of the helmet, but I’d recognize Natalia Salikov anywhere.
I tend to remember the people who try to kill me.
I also heard her bike start up as we set off. I subtly glance over Manhattan’s shoulder out the rear window and see a single headlight behind us. I know she’s not exactly on my side, but it’s going to be very interesting when she catches up with us.
Still, let’s keep that a surprise for now.
“Jimmy,” I say, my smile fading. “I told you to leave this alone. In fact, I explicitly told you I’d kill you if I ever saw you again.”
He says nothing, but reaches into the other side of his jacket and produces some papers, which I recognize instantly as the deeds to the land from my motel room.
“Let’s start with you explaining why you lied to me,” he says, nodding to the papers.
I stare at them for a moment, not saying anything. I can’t find any words, because I’m too busy processing the fact it was clearly Pellaggio’s men who'd raided my room and shot Clara. I need a minute to let my anger subside. If I weren’t in a moving vehicle, Manhattan would already be dead. As it is, right now isn’t the time or the place to rip his throat out.
“Like I told you and your boss last night,” I reply, as calmly as possible. “You’re in way over your head here. The best thing you can do is walk away. Whatever money you believe you’ve lost as a result of all this, you can easily recoup elsewhere.”
He says nothing.
“Now let me ask you a question,” I continue. “Was it you personally who broke into my room?”
Manhattan smiles. “You’re wondering if I pulled the trigger and shot your little girlfriend?” he says. It’s more of a statement than a question. “How touching.”
“You’re on thin fucking ice, Jimmy. I suggest you tread carefully.”
“We don’t intimidate easily, Mr. Hell, as I’m sure you can understand. Besides, you’re hardly in a position to be making threats, are you?”
I look behind him again. The single headlight is still there and gaining slowly.
“How do you figure that?” I ask.
“I have the deeds to the land for Mr. Pellaggio, which I managed to get without having to pay you a cent. Your girlfriend's been shot and is currently lying in a hospital bed somewhere. After seeing what was left of that bar earlier, I can only assume you’ve managed to get on the bad side of a few other people along the way…” He pauses, seemingly for effect. “Stop me if I’ve missed anything…”
“Actually, yeah, you’ve missed one very important fact.”
“Which is?”
“Those other people I’ve pissed off? Right now, they’re more pissed at you than me.”
His eyes narrow slightly with a mixture of concern and doubt. I continue.
“And I’m the only one who can tell you why. Do you wanna know?”
“Enlighten me,” he says.
I figure now is as good a time as any to introduce him to the rest of the players on the field.
“You ever heard of Dark Rain?” I ask.
“Should I have?” he replies.
I shrug. “I guess not. They’re an independent military outfit based somewhere in Heaven’s Valley and, as far as I can tell, they have designs on committing an act of terrorism on U.S. soil. Ted Jackson’s company is funding them — some kind of off-the-books deal. Originally, he was going to sell that land to you on the side to make some money for himself. But then, by pure chance, GlobaTech Industries ordered him to broker a deal and sell the land to Dark Rain. That’s why he screwed you over.”
“I don’t care about any militia outfit. Roberto Pellaggio runs this entire city, and owns half of it. They’re of no concern to us.”
“Yet again, you underestimate the game you’re playing, Jimmy.”
Before Manhattan can speak, Stan's voice sounds out over the intercom to announce we’ve arrived at our destination. Moments later, the limo slows to a stop. I hear Stan get out and then he opens the door for us.
“Get out, nice and slow,” says Manhattan.
I step out and stand up, stretching slowly to my full height, being careful not to show my ribs are sore. As I do, Stan hits me flush on the side of the head with a big straight left. It takes me by surprise and, given the beating I’ve taken over the last twenty-four hours, it’s enough to drop me to one knee. He reaches behind me, taking my guns away. Then he picks up my shoulder bag and drags me to my feet by the scruff of my neck.
I look around but don’t recognize where I am. I figure we’re close to the city limits, as there are no buildings anywhere — just desert and the vague silhouette of the mountains in the distance. In front of us are the beginnings of a construction site. There’s a digger parked over to the left, and straight ahead are a couple of those portable cabins that people use as offices. Far back on the right is a large billboard with floodlights along the top edge, illuminating it in the night, despite it not having a poster on it yet.
I look back the way we came but see no signs of the motorcycle that’s been following us. I’m certain it was Natalia, and I must admit it’s concerning that she’s disappeared.
Manhattan gets out after me, making a point of showing me the gun in his right hand.
“Here we are,” he says, standing next to me. “This is what you’ve been so desperate to keep from us.”
He waves the deeds at me and walks on ahead. Stan still has his hand wrapped around my neck, and he pushes me forward, following Manhattan as we head over to one of the cabins.
My headache’s back with reinforcements thanks to that punch, but I’m still able to think clearly enough to figure out where we are.
I’m walking on a goddamn Uranium mine.
We enter the cabin and they sit me down in front of the desk at the far end, opposite the door. Manhattan sits on the edge facing me as Stan ties my hands behind me and, for good measure, hits me across the face again.
This is nowhere near as much fun when you’re the one sitting in the chair…
The cabin’s practically empty, save for the desk and a notice board on the left hand wall. There’s a small window in the wall opposite with vertical blinds pulled together.