Stan steps to one side, letting Manhattan look at me. He’s sitting on the edge with his hands clasped on his lap. He’s holding the gun loosely still — not aiming it at me, just making sure I know it’s there. The deeds are next to him on the desk.
“I’m almost offended that you’ve only brought Donkey Kong over here with you for backup,” I say to him, gesturing toward Stan with my head. “Especially given I’ve already handed his ass to him once this week.”
I turn to Stan and smile.
He unleashed another big right hand that catches me square on my left cheek.
Oh man, that hurts…
My head’s spinning and my brain’s shouting at me to stop getting hit, but I ignore it and laugh at him.
“Come on, asshole,” I say, taunting him. “This isn’t a tickling competition. Give me a shot that doesn’t feel like it came from a girl scout.”
He winds up his right hand again, and in all honesty, I reckon he would've taken my head off if he’d thrown it. Thankfully, he didn’t get chance.
“Enough,” Manhattan says. “We want him alive long enough to get what we need. Then he’s all yours.”
Stan smiles at me. I throw him a dismissive look with my eyebrows to show my complete lack of concern before turning back to Manhattan.
“So, what now? You gonna threaten me some more?”
“Not at all,” he says.
He reaches behind him and opens the top drawer of the desk. He pulls out what looks like a medical kit. It’s a small, green box with a zipper going all the way round. He places it next to him on the desk in front of me and opens it up so I can see. Inside is an array of stainless steel surgical equipment — all of which looks very sharp.
“I’m going to ask you, very nicely, to explain to me everything that’s happened since we first spoke a couple of days ago,” he begins. “You’re going to leave nothing out, and you’re going to take particular care when telling me why you kept the deeds to this land for yourself.”
I look at the surgical blades on the table. I can't see any way that the next five minutes won’t end up sucking massively. I mean, there’s no way Jimmy Manhattan is a qualified surgeon, which means he won’t have the dexterity to handle those blades with care and precision. It’s going to be ugly, and it’s going to hurt… A lot.
But it’s okay — I can take it. I reckon I’ve been through worse in my time. Which speaks volumes about the kind of life I’ve had, I guess.
“Jimmy,” I say. “With all the love and respect in the world… you’re a dick. You have absolutely no idea how much trouble you’re in. And that’s in addition to how pissed off I am at you. If you go down this road, you will cross people who can turn your entire organization to ashes in minutes.”
With a speed not becoming of someone his age, Manhattan reaches over, grabs one of the steel blades, and lashes it out toward me. The blade stops about a quarter-inch below my left eye. The tip is touching my skin. Not enough pressure to draw blood, but enough that you know it’s there.
I don’t flinch, and I’m staying calm and still, despite my shock at how quickly it happened.
“I could turn you into a memory with a flick of my wrist,” says Manhattan. “So keep your advice and your idle threats to yourself.”
I look down at the blade, then back at Manhattan. His old eyes are cold and his gaze steady. I’ve pushed him as far as he’s willing to let me. But there’s no way I’m telling the mafia that we’re sitting on top of the only natural Uranium deposit in North America… I need to think of something to stall him.
“As I’ve said,” I begin. “Dark Rain has a working relationship with GlobaTech Industries. Ted Jackson was in town selling this land to them because of that relationship. I fully appreciate your view on things, but I’m the only one who does. Dark Rain doesn’t care about you, or Pellaggio. They just want their land back. They feel they have just as valid a claim on it as you do.”
Without a word, Manhattan presses the blade harder, piercing the skin. I feel a warm trickle of blood run down my face as the cold steel slices through my skin. My flesh splits apart like a ripe melon, opening up a cut on my face running from my eye down to my jaw.
I try to suppress a scream of agony, but don’t quite manage it, letting out a guttural growl through gritted teeth. The pain is white hot, and cold air stings my exposed flesh.
“Answer my goddamn question!” he yells. “What is it about this land that everyone’s so interested in? What are they planning?”
He places the blade against me once again, but this time it’s against my throat. He isn’t quite piercing my skin, but he’s as close as he can be without drawing more blood. Instinctively, I tilt my head back and take shallow breaths, trying to reduce the pressure of the blade against my trachea.
I can’t tell him the real reason, but right now, I just can’t think of a good enough lie…
I close my eyes. I don’t honestly know if I’m trying to think clearer for a lie to give him, or whether I’m just accepting my fate and simply don’t want to see the final flick of his wrist.
Seconds tick by in agonizing silence. Then I hear it. The sound of tires on the gravel outside. Lots of them. Manhattan stands and moves over to the window, peering through the blinds. I turn and look. There seems to be quite a few headlights parked up out there…
“Who the fuck are these guys?” he says to me. “Friends of yours?”
I smile. “I don’t have many friends, Jimmy,” I say. “But let me guess… Black Humvees?”
“Four of them,” he replies, nodding.
I laugh out loud, prompting both Manhattan and Stan to look at each other in confusion.
Showtime.
17
I look at Stan, who has both of my Berettas in his hands, preparing for a fight. I’m not going to tell him that they’re empty or that the spare clips are in my bag…
“Hey, use your own guns,” I say to him.
He ignores me, seemingly too bothered by how concerned his boss is getting, which I personally find very amusing.
“Jimmy, meet Dark Rain,” I say. “You remember what these guys did to the bar I was in when they came after me the first time, right?”
He looks at me, the concern giving way to something more potent.
Fear.
“Imagine what they’re going to do to you…” I continue. “All the crime families in the world can’t protect you now. But I can.”
“How?” he asks, his jaw muscles clenching with frustration and panic.
“Untie me and give me my guns. You guys don’t even register on their radar. All they’re concerned about is this land. And killing me, seeing as I made Clara betray them.”
We hear car doors opening and the crunching of boot on gravel, followed by the unmistakable sound of automatic weapons being cocked.
I turn to Stan. “Untie me now, or we’re all going to die,” I say, with more urgency.
Stan looks at Manhattan, who nods. He bends down and unties me. I stand, rubbing each of my wrists in turn to get some feeling back in them.
“Now give me my guns,” I say.
He hesitates, but one look from Manhattan and he hands them over. I holster one of them and hold the second in my right hand. Without any warning, I smash the butt of it into Stan’s nose. He stumbles backward, holding his face, and falls to the floor. I quickly turn and aim at Manhattan. He says nothing.
“Put your gun down,” I say to him. “On the ground, now.”
Reluctantly, he does.
“Kick it over to me.”
Again, he does, albeit with an impatient and heavy sigh.
“Now what?” he asks.
“Now you keep quiet and let me handle this. They’re after me, not you.”