“Is that what people call him?” I ask.
“Apparently.”
“Do I want to know why?”
“Probably not,” he chuckles.
“Fair enough. The meeting went fine, despite finding out that Manhattan’s hired goons were the assholes that started a fight with me last night.”
“You’re shitting me?” says Josh, laughing in disbelief.
“I shit you not, my friend.”
“I bet that went down well?”
“It was fine — he seemed to find it quite amusing, to his credit.”
“Only you, Boss… So are you happy with the contract?”
“Yeah, it should be straightforward enough. It’s a property deal gone bad. He wants me to take out the target to send a message, and then recover the deeds to some land they were intending to buy from him before he screwed them over. It shouldn’t take me more than a couple of days. Will be glad to get out of this place and go somewhere slightly colder — this heat is unbearable.”
“Surely the ice in your veins cools you down?” he responds in jest. “You need anything from me?”
“Not right now, but I know where you are if I need you. I’ll be in touch.”
Just as I’m about to hang up, I remember one last thing I want to mention. “What do you think of ‘Mr. Hell’ as my business name?” I ask.
Josh laughs, loudly, for a good two minutes. I hold the phone away from my ear until he’s finished.
“Seriously?” he asks.
“Yeah, it’s how Manhattan addressed me when we were exchanging pleasantries. Kinda liked it.”
“Adrian, you know I love you, right?”
I pause. “Yeah…?”
“It makes you sound like a professional wrestler. Who’s gay.”
I remain silent for a few moments, trying to make him feel uneasy. Although I know that probably won’t work. “Josh, you know I love you, right?”
He laughs. “Yeah…?”
“You’re a dick.”
I hang up and walk on, navigating the increasingly busy streets.
I think I’ll do a little recon work for the job, get to know the city a little better. According to the information Jimmy Manhattan gave me, Jackson is attending a meeting this morning, which is due to finish any time in the next half-hour. I’ll find where he is and tail him on foot when he leaves for as long as I can. I’ll be able to get a look at his car, any colleagues or security he might have — basically just try to get a feel for his behaviors and routines. I’ve also got his itinerary for the next twenty-four hours, courtesy of Manhattan’s research, so all being well I’ll make the approach when he finishes work for the day, to minimize the risk of exposure and attention.
I walk on through the city, taking in the sights around me. The working day is in full swing, with everyone around me dressed for the office and rushing in all directions. People are carrying bags, or papers, or their morning coffee, weaving in and out of the crowds on either side of the street.
The traffic’s just as busy. It’s mostly taxis — nose to tail, fighting to get through the next set of lights before they change again.
I come to a large junction, where Main Street meets 9th Avenue. I cross over and turn right, which according to the information I have will lead me to Cannon Plaza, where Jackson is currently in his meeting.
After a few minutes, I come upon the plaza. It has a large fountain in the center and lots of people walking across it in every direction. Jackson’s in the building at the far end, which is a tall, unmarked, dark glass structure, easily twenty floors high, overlooking the plaza below. I fight my way through the bustle of people and sit on the edge of the fountain facing east, so that the entrance to the building is on my left, about fifty feet away.
After a few moments, a young woman with a newborn child in a stroller sits next to me, smiling politely as she does. I smile back and briefly look at the baby as she rummages in her bag for something. I’ve never been a particularly broody guy, and children haven’t been on my radar at all since I lost my daughter. But I have to admit, it’s one cute little kid. It couldn’t be more than eight months old. It’s got a bubble of spit on its lips, and these big, wide brown eyes looking around in awe at everything. It’s nice to see that true innocence still exists in this world.
I turn my attention back to the building, looking out for Jackson. I don’t have to wait long. After maybe five minutes of sitting there, I see him walk out of the building. Just like in the photograph, he looks ever the businessmen. He’s in his late forties and wearing an expensive-looking gray suit. He’s talking on his cell phone as he walks purposefully across the plaza. Handcuffed to his left wrist is a brown, leather briefcase. That’s very curious… You don’t normally see that kind of security measure on everyday people. Not unless he’s carrying a large amount of money or top secret documents or something? But why would he be?
I’m a details guy and I question everything. Sometimes the smallest detail can have the largest impact. I make a mental note of the observation and move on. I’ll mention it to Josh later, see what he thinks.
Jackson’s walking fast, like he’s running late for something. It looks like he’s alone, so I stand and set off following him, keeping a casual distance between us. I stop after a couple of steps when something catches my eye just behind him. I slow down and watch, double-checking to make sure I’m not mistaken. At first, you probably wouldn’t associate one thing with the other, but with my professional eye, I realize that, in fact, he’s not alone. Walking a couple of paces behind, at roughly the same speed, is a bodyguard.
And she’s beautiful.
4
She’s wearing fitted pants and a low-cut vest top — both are black. She’s also wearing a short, tight leather jacket that finishes just above her waist, dark sunglasses and the brightest red lipstick I’ve ever seen. Her dyed-blonde hair is resting on her shoulders, bouncing as she walks purposefully, never taking her eyes off Jackson. She’s got an amazing body…. Because her clothes are so tight, you can see the definition on her arms and long legs. She’s in very good shape.
I have absolutely no idea how she’s managing to walk around in this heat dressed like an extra from The Matrix—I can barely function wearing a t-shirt!
I get over the initial shock of seeing someone who could quite easily be a model guarding the guy I’ve just been hired to kill and quickly take my phone out. I take a couple of pictures and send them to Josh, then put my Bluetooth earpiece in and ring him as I set off walking after Jackson and the mystery woman.
“Josh, it’s me. Have you got the pictures I just sent you?” I ask as I negotiate my way through the crowds, trying to keep sight of my target.
“I sure have,” he replies, laughing to himself. “Who’s the expensive-looking prostitute?”
“That’s what I want you to find out. She’s Jackson’s bodyguard. And as much as I’m sure you’d love to find out she actually is a prostitute, my gut instinct is that she’s definitely in the business. Find out all you can about her, as well as Jackson and why he’s hired her for protection. Also, while you’re at it, dig up what you can on Pellaggio, would you? The game’s just got interesting, and I want to know about all the players on the field.”
“Leave it with me, Bossman,” he says before hanging up.
I keep a reasonable distance behind them, following them round the corner at the far end of the Plaza. As I turn, I see Jackson and his bodyguard approaching a parked limousine. The car’s beautiful and very high-end. It’s a black stretch, with a personalized license plate. I look at it approvingly with a well-trained eye, memorizing every detail. I’m familiar with this particular model. It’s armored, with bulletproof, tinted windows and run-flat tires. It’s a serious vehicle… Maybe taking this guy out isn’t gonna be as easy as I first thought.