“Why? Where did you find it?”
“It was on a secure military database on one of the servers housed in the Pentagon. I was very lucky to come across it.”
“You hacked the Pentagon?” I ask in disbelief.
“Focus on what's important, Adrian,” he says, dismissively. “The picture was in a folder that relates to an ongoing investigation into something called Dark Rain. Does that name mean anything to you?”
I think for a moment. “Not to me, no. Keep digging though, Josh. That’s great work.”
“Will keep you updated,” he says before hanging up.
“Is everything alright?” asks Manhattan as I put my phone back in my pocket.
I’m not sure how much information I should give him at this stage. I always try to keep my cards close to my chest, but under the circumstances, I don’t have much more information than they do. But I still have too many questions to mess around being discreet. I decide to tell him what I’ve found out.
“Depends on your point of view,” I say. “I’m starting to think you’ve stumbled across something bigger than just the land you wanted to buy.”
“What do you mean?” he asks, sounding for the first time like he wasn’t in complete control of something, which he clearly doesn’t like.
“Jackson’s unknown bodyguard appears to have been under surveillance by the U.S. government in the last six months.”
“So what does that have to do with Mr. Pellaggio?”
“It means Jackson's being protected by another party that isn’t his employer. I don’t know why, but this is further evidence that this whole thing is bigger than just Jackson screwing you over. I would suggest approaching this with more caution than simply sending me in to kill him.”
It doesn’t take long for Manhattan to see I’m making sense. He glances over his shoulder to his hired muscle and mutters something to him I can’t quite hear. The big guy nods once intently, then walks off and disappears behind the red curtain in the corner.
He turns his attention back to me.
“Adrian, it would seem we have underestimated Ted Jackson and his resources. It also appears we have underestimated you. I want to thank you for your vigilance and commitment to this situation, and to your job. In light of this development, I would like to extend your contract with us beyond simply disposing of Ted Jackson. I want you to work with us to see this situation through to its conclusion.”
I’m a freelance contract killer. I don’t work exclusively with anyone, not even on a temporary basis. I know some people that do and they prefer it that way — it does provide a steady income and a certain amount of security. It’s also good if you’re just starting out, as it helps establish a reputation for yourself. But it won’t benefit me in any way whatsoever, and I have no desire to associate myself with the mafia any longer than necessary.
“I’m flattered, but I have no interest in doing any more of your dirty work than I already am. I’ll kill Ted Jackson for you and retrieve whatever money or paperwork or whatever he has on his person at the time. But once that’s done, I’m gone.”
Manhattan nods in a way that suggests he heard what I'd said, but doesn’t accept it. “Fine. I’ll get a couple of guys on this and leave you to take out Jackson. We’ll be in touch.”
With that, he turns and walks away, disappearing behind the red curtain and leaving me alone in the empty nightclub.
“I’ll see myself out then?” I say to nobody but myself.
As I open the front door and step back out to the street, I squint while my eyes adjust from dark nightclub to bright sunshine. I look up and down the street absently, but a motorcycle parked across from me, facing the club's entrance, draws my gaze. It looks like the driver is staring in my direction, but it’s hard to tell when the visor is down on their helmet. The motorcycle is lightning blue with a white trim… a really sweet-looking ride. The driver’s wearing black leathers from head to toe. I hold their gaze for a moment. They rev their engine loudly and speed off out of sight.
How odd…
6
After meeting with Jimmy Manhattan, I’d headed back to my motel room to change my clothes before heading out for a nice walk around the city to clear my head and assess the current, and increasingly complex, situation. I’m convinced there’s more at stake than just Pellaggio’s potential earnings. After more deliberation than I usually afford my jobs, I think the best thing I can do is kill Ted Jackson and leave town as soon as possible. I have to kill him, because I don’t want word to get around that I’ve gone back on one of my contracts. That would be bad for business. But I also know what I’m like and how easily I’ll get myself involved further in whatever’s going down, because I hate not knowing what’s happening… I know Jackson is working out of his hotel room for the rest of the afternoon, as it’s on the itinerary that Manhattan gave me yesterday, so I’ve decided to bring my plans forward and take him out right away.
I’m walking down Main Street, heading to the Four Seasons. It’s a lavish, impressive building and covers almost the entire block. Josh, being the hero that he is, has rung ahead posing as my personal assistant — which you could argue doesn’t require much pretending, but don’t tell him I said that. Anyway, he’d told them I need a room on short notice and that I’m meeting one of their guests, a Mr. Jackson, for an evening meal to discuss some business. He explained I’m running late, and to speed things along it’d be a big help if I could have Mr. Jackson’s room number, so I can ring him from my room and let him know when I arrive. That was no problem for the very helpful member of staff who wanted to make a good impression on two of their richest guests.
I walk through the large, revolving doors and into the lobby of the hotel. It’s enormous. The floor is polished marble tile with various patterns on it. On the left is the front desk, where three people are busily talking into their respective telephones. There’s a woman on the right with cropped blonde hair who looks in her mid-forties. In the middle is a slightly younger guy with glasses on, and next to him on the left is a young-looking girl with long dark hair and too much make-up. To the right is a large dining area, which I’m guessing is their own, very fancy, in-house restaurant. There’s a waiter wearing a tuxedo standing by a podium that has the reservations book and menu on it. In front of me is a row of three elevators, and either side of them is a large staircase disappearing up, out of sight.
I walk over to the front desk and wait for one of the clerks to finish their conversation. The young girl with dark hair who hangs up first. She looks at me and smiles.
“Good afternoon, sir,” she says. “Welcome to the Four Seasons. How may I help you today?”
“Good afternoon,” I reply, in my best businessman voice, with my best boardroom smile. “I have a reservation with you. The name is Marvin Aday.”
You didn’t honestly think I’d use my real name, did you?
Josh tends to create my personas for such occasions, keeping it entertaining for us both by using legends of the rock industry as inspiration for the names.
“Thank you, Mr. Aday. Just give me a moment to bring up your room information.”
She taps away on her keyboard and programs the keycard for my room. I look around with a practiced nonchalance as I wait. I’ve changed into a smart casual outfit consisting of a shirt and tie with jeans and shoes. I have a briefcase with me and to the casual observer, I’m just another businessman.
“Here you are, Mr. Aday,” says the girl as she hands me my room key. “You’re on the fifteenth floor, room fifteen twenty-three.”