Deadly Intent: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 4) (2 page)

2.

07:49 CDT

In a small town like Devil’s Spring, businesses open up early. I’m running low on a few things for the bar, so I get an early start on my shopping.

I walk out to the street, the early morning sun still pale and harmless. Directly across from me is The Fire Pit, a small, family-owned restaurant, that’s easily the best place I’ve ever eaten. I take Tori there on the odd occasion neither of us has to work. Two brothers from Argentina run it—I can’t pronounce their names, but they’re real friendly, and they always save a table for us by the window whenever we go. They have a large, open fire pit in the center of the restaurant where they cook the food. Their steak is the best around, and the way they marinade their chicken is exceptional. Tori’s a big fan of their wine as well. I see one of the brothers in the window, mopping the floor, and he turns and waves. I wave back as I walk left toward the end of the street.

The crossroads at the main junction isn’t busy at this time, but a few cars and trucks pass by. My first stop is the grocery store, as I need to stock up on snacks for behind the bar. I’ve got a delivery coming in a few days, but the last couple of nights have been extra busy, and I’m running low.

I cross the street and head into the store. It’s the closest thing to a franchise we have in Devil’s Spring. It’s no Wal-Mart, but they have everything you could ask for at a decent price, so that’ll do for me. I pick up a basket and head for the snack aisle. I’m thinking of getting some nuts, and maybe some small bags of chips.

“Hey, Adrian,” says a voice behind me, interrupting my train of thought as I study the shelves.

I turn and see Bob standing before me—a friendly guy who runs an auto shop a few streets over. He’s a big guy, massive beard… always wears dungarees over a different checked shirt. He couldn’t be more Texan if he tried, bless him. He’s a regular in The Ferryman and was actually in last night with a few of his friends.

“Hey Bob,” I say. “How you feelin’ today?”

He sighs heavily. “Man, lemme tell ya, I’m feelin’ a little delicate today, Adrian.”

He chuckles to himself, and I smile along with him.

I say, “Glad I could help.”

He laughs some more. “Yeah, you kept servin’, so I kept drinkin’, God love ya. Listen, I’m glad I bumped into you—me and some of the boys were wonderin’ if you’d reconsider your stance on legal substances in your bar?”

I take a breath and let it out, trying to come across as sympathetic. But I shake my head. “Sorry, Bob, no can do. You know how I feel about it, and I don’t want that going on in my bar.”

“Oh, c’mon, man, get with the times. It’s not like it’s illegal to take a little coke anymore.”

“Honestly, Bob, I don’t care if the president himself walks into my bar and gives me his blessing. I don’t agree with it, and it’s not against the law for the owner of a drinking establishment to reserve his right to prohibit the consumption of narcotics on their premises.”

He’s silent for a moment then simply shrugs. “Hey, no problem, Ady—your house, your rules. Ain’t gonna stop me from drinkin’ in there!”

He pats me on my shoulder and walks off laughing to himself. I watch him go before resuming my shopping.

Okay, so I understand there may still be a few blanks you need me to fill in here…

A couple of years back, not long after I moved down here to Texas, the presidential elections took place, and a new guy was sworn in—Charles Tobias Cunningham the sixth. He’s a real media darling, this one. Ivy League educated, handsome guy—bred for politics and destined for the Oval Office. He got himself elected by the largest majority since FDR.

The weird thing was his campaign. He spoke at a Republican conference one day and addressed the state of the economy, where he basically asked the question why no one has ever thought to legalize drugs and prostitution. Pretty bold, I’m sure you’ll agree. But then he produced the figures... Cocaine was a trillion dollar industry. He said, if we made it legal, imposed tax on it, and then used the revenue to provide better healthcare and education, not only would we climb out of the recession, we’d nearly double the GDP within five years. Suddenly, people weren’t so skeptical. It’s amazing the difference the almighty dollar can make.

He had the same argument for prostitution—another multi-billion dollar industry. He said if we take away the taboo factor, legalize it, unionize it, offer a safe working environment for the people who are in the business, provide good healthcare and so on, but add tax to the charges for companionship—as they now call it—the money the country could make is mind-boggling.

His winning personality and, frankly, brilliant marketing campaign meant that he soon won over his peers and his public. And, surprisingly, he was right. Within his first three months in office, we saw the crime rate drop by sixty percent. We saw unemployment drop by eighty percent. We saw international relations with South America strengthen. We publicly gave all the cartels that monopolized the illegal drug trade a choice—either agree to work alongside the U.S., legitimately, or face a prison sentence longer than Route 66.

I tell you, I’ve never seen such an era of peace and prosperity in this country. In
any
country. Ever. President Cunningham made the world sit up and take notice. But he was smart. At the same time, he said he’s not forcing anyone to participate in any of these now-legal activities. He just wants the people who do, to feel like they’re still contributing to a better America.

That’s why I exercise my right to stop any drug use in my bar. While I appreciate everything the guy’s done for the country, I’m still pretty old school about certain things. Drugs are never going to be good for you, and I don’t care what anyone says… I want no part of them. If you don’t like it, you don’t drink in my bar—simple as that.

And I’m not the only one to think that way. But while people exercised the First Amendment, there was never any trouble. No rioting or protesting. People just discussed it and decided as communities what they wanted to do and believe in, and Cunningham’s White House encouraged it.

The guy is a genius.

And that’s the world we live in now. It’s certainly made it easier for me to start over. Everybody is, to some extent, so it doesn’t feel strange for me to leave my old life in the past and begin a new one.

08:06 CDT

In the time it took me to catch you up, I’ve managed to do my shopping, so I’m walking back down the street toward my bar. A few doors before The Ferryman is a companion club. The place looks amazing, to be fair. The facilities are clean, there’s healthcare advice at the front desk, and a few of the guys and girls who work there often come in for a drink after their shifts are over. They’re nice people. One of the girls, Laura, is a good friend of Tori’s, and always fusses over Styx when she comes in.

One of the things some people
did
struggle with was changing their perception of the people who work as companions. But they soon came round, and now working there is no different from working the pump at a gas station or the checkout of your local supermarket.

Crazy days we’re living in…

I walk back into the bar and see Tori behind the counter, cleaning some glasses from the night before.

“Hey babe,” she says with that earth-shattering smile of hers. “You get everything?”

I look at her admiringly. She’s wearing very short denim shorts and a Metallica T-shirt. Could a woman be any hotter?

I hold up the two bags in my right hand. “Sure did,” I reply. “Should cover us until the delivery at the end of the week.”

“Just put it on the bar. I’ll fill the shelves when I’m done with the glasses.”

I smile and do as she says. “You want some breakfast?” I ask as I walk over to the back. “Bacon and eggs or something?”

“Sounds great,” she replies.

As I look at her, I catch a glimpse out the window at a car parked across the street. It’s an anonymous white rental. It’s facing to the right, and with the window down, I can see who’s sitting in the passenger seat. He’s wearing mirrored sunglasses, and has thick dark hair with a couple of days’ worth of stubble. He’s staring at the bar. Staring straight at me, through the window. Our eyes meet, and he holds my gaze for a few moments before turning to the driver, who I can’t see. They drive off, casually.

“You okay?” asks Tori, who must have seen me looking distracted.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m fine darlin’… Bacon and eggs comin’ right up.” I smile, convince her I’m okay, and then walk into the back.

I have a small kitchen area set up there, more for personal use than anything, as not many of my patrons ask for food. I get some bacon out of the refrigerator and put four slices in the frying pan.

I try to focus on what I'm doing, but my mind's now fixating on that car. It’s been a while since my spider sense tingled, but something definitely wasn’t right. I’ve scoped a place out enough times in my past to be able to spot someone else doing it. I’ve never seen them, or the car, before, and they were definitely checking my bar out… I know everyone in town. I don’t know them, and that worries me…

Ah, I must be going crazy in my old age...

I smile to myself and think how far I’ve come in the last couple of years. So what if I get a little paranoid once in a while? After the life I’ve had, can you blame me?

3.

18:21 CDT

The day passes the way most others do—quickly and stress-free. The sun’s beginning its descent outside, and the bar’s filling up nicely as people’s working days come to an end, and the need for a good beer takes hold.

Beside Tori and me, I employ a couple of other bar staff. Phil’s a great guy, hardworking and usually serves behind the bar. He’s also a doorman over at the companion club down the street. He’s a big fella, well put together and quite tall. He’s always got his black hair styled with all sorts of different products, which I take the piss out of regularly, but he’s a tough guy and can back you up when you need him to.

Nicki’s a nice girl, and a student by day. She takes every spare shift she can while studying at college. Something to do with psychology, I think. She tried to tell me about it once, but I didn’t understand a word of it. I remember laughing, because it reminded me what it used to be like working with Josh. She’s cute, and ridiculously friendly—all the locals love her. Even Styx will make a point of going to her and saying hello when she walks in.

It’s a quiet night so far, compared to the last couple. Most of the tables are full, but no one is standing, and the jukebox is silent. Tori and Nicki are working the floor, collecting empties and delivering new drinks. Standing behind the bar, I listen to the low, idle chatter from people’s tables.

I turn to reach for a clean glass off the shelf as the door swings open behind me. As I look back and put the glass under the pump, ready to pull a beer, I see three guys standing in front of me. The one in the middle I recognize immediately—he’s the guy with the shades from the car this morning.

I should never question my spider sense…

Either side of him is a guy that I take as being the hired muscle to his diplomat. I look at each one of them in turn, briefly, before going back to pulling the beer, doing my best to keep calm and resist any temptation to act before I think, like the old
me
would’ve done.

“What can I get you gentleman?” I ask.

The one in the middle replies, “A few minutes of your time, Adrian Hell.”

Huh... I’ve not been called that in a long time... Looks like the old
me
is in demand all of a sudden. How do they know who I used to be?

My eyes narrow as I focus on his accent, trying to work out where he’s from. He sounds Russian… no, Ukrainian. Definitely Ukrainian. His two friends say nothing, but I study them anyway. Both men look like career muscle. But oddly, neither looks like they’re the same nationality as the guy in the middle. The one on the left looks like he could be Middle Eastern, while the one on the right actually looks American.

There goes my spider sense again…

I stay calm, finishing off the beer and setting it down on the bar.

“Think you’re in the wrong place,” I say. “Nobody by that name here.”

The middle guy’s jacket is open, and he brushes it to the side, revealing a holstered gun. Looks like a Glock.

“I think I’m in the
right
place,” he says, firmer this time. “Don’t make things hard for yourself.”

I smile as I glance over his shoulder, watching Tori talk to a table of locals.

“Only thing ’round here that makes things hard for me is serving a customer behind you. I’ll say again, there ain’t no Adrian Hell here. You’re in the wrong place, and you should leave… now.”

“I was told you might be... reluctant to talk to us. Do I have to convince you?”

I quickly survey the room—twenty-two customers and three staff, plus me and Styx. Three unknown hostiles, one of them definitely armed. There’s a bar between us, and I’m not as young as I used to be, so vaulting over it is out of the question.

Not the best situation I’ve ever been in, but far from the worst.

I glance back over at Tori, who’s looking over at me with a concerned expression. She can read me like a book, and she knows when something’s bothering me. And right now, something’s
really
bothering me. Namely, the safety of everyone in my bar... And not just that. Tori doesn’t know anything about my past. She doesn’t know I used to be married and had a daughter, she doesn’t know I’d been in the military for over half my life, and she doesn’t know I used to be the world’s most elite assassin. All of which is information I’d rather
stay
unknown to her.

I look at the guy again as I tense my jaw muscles, controlling my emotions. I take a deep breath and let it out heavily. I don’t really have much choice.

“Okay, let’s talk,” I say. “Just leave these people alone, yeah?”

“No problem,” he replies with a smile, letting his jacket fall back into place, covering his gun.

“Wanna come into the back?” I ask.

“Sure,” he replies, smiling like he knows he’s already won.

I look over at Tori again, who silently asks me if I’m okay. I nod back and point to the bar, signaling I need her to watch it for a few minutes. She nods and walks over. By the door, Styx is standing, on edge, and silently staring at the three men. I see him and click my fingers, so he turns his attention to me.

“Easy boy... it’s alright.”

He looks at me silently, tilting his head questioningly to one side, like only dogs can do, and then turns away, sitting back down by the door, all the while keeping one eye on the three men, as if to make a point of telling me he doesn’t care if I say it’s alright, his spider sense is tingling, too.

He’s a good dog.

The men walk around the bar and step into the back, and I follow. I stand just inside the doorway, making sure I keep my body between these guys and my customers.

They stand in front of me, in a loose semi-circle, their backs to the door leading up to my apartment. The men on the either side stand like they’re trying to intimidate me—one hand holding the other in front of them, legs shoulder-width apart. The guy in the middle’s more relaxed, with one hand in his pocket, the other loose by his side.

I say, “So talk.”

“My employers have asked me to come and speak with you,” he begins. “They are very interested in offering you a position within our organization. They feel you could be a tremendous asset to us and our cause.”

I shake my head. “No, thanks. I already have a job, which I enjoy. Sorry you boys wasted your trip.”

I step to one side, gesturing to the door to signal the conversation’s over, as far as I’m concerned, and it’s time for them to leave.

He smiles, almost apologetically. “Adrian, my employers are not people you say
no
to. It is a great honor to be chosen to work for them.”

As I feel the tension slowly building, I sigh and briefly massage my forehead with both hands.

“Let me be honest, guys. You blew it the moment you said the words
our
and
cause
. I’m not that guy anymore. And even if I was, I’m not, and never have been, a terrorist, or an extremist, or whatever it is that
you
are. You should be grateful I’m not that guy, because if I was, you’d all be dead by now. I’m telling you, we’re done here. Leave my bar and don’t come back. If your employer has a problem with that, he can come here himself and take it up with me, and I’ll happily tell him the same thing.”

The men on either side of him step forward.

The man in the middle says, “At best, you are a relic of an old world, Adrian. You should get with the times. Big talk means nothing anymore. We feel your experience would be beneficial to us, but make no mistake—you’re not considered a threat in any way. You will come with us, right now, or we’ll shoot you.”

He moves his jacket to reveal his gun again.

Well, this went south pretty quick, didn’t it? I never was much good at talking my way out of a situation. That was always Josh’s forte. I tend to be slightly more aggressive in my approach to delicate situations.

The guy on my right takes another step forward, and I feel my brain revert to survival mode. Without a second thought, I step forward to meet him, swinging my left leg low and kicking the outside of his right knee, hard. He loses his balance and I throw a hard, straight right punch, hitting him across the face and dropping him to the floor. He’s not out, but he’s hurting.

The guy on my left then comes at me, his arms already raised. I react a second too slow, and he grips me with both hands around the throat.

I’m definitely out of practice…

I lean my head back and bring my arms up, slamming them down on his elbows, forcefully bending his arms, which loosens his grip. As he does, I push him away and immediately step toward him, launching a hard kick to his stomach. He doubles over, the wind knocked out of him. I bring my right elbow down hard on the back of his exposed head, and he joins his friend on the floor. Again, not quite unconscious, but he won’t be getting up for a few minutes.

The middle guy has his gun drawn, aimed at me, as I turn to him. I knock his right arm up as he fires, causing the bullet to fire into the ceiling. I hear gasps of shock and concern from the bar, followed by the scrambling of people trying to get outside. I hope Tori’s one of them…

I grab his wrist with my left hand, twisting it away from him. He has no choice but to lean with it, so it doesn’t break, and he drops his gun. I kick it away, then jab him twice in the face. I switch hands and twist his arm back across him with my right, straightening it out and turning it, so his elbow is facing me. Without warning, I smash my left forearm down and dislocate it. He screams in agony as he crumples to the floor, his elbow hanging loose at an unnatural angle.

I quickly move to the two guys already down and drag them both up by the back of their necks, marching them out to the bar. Styx sees me and is up straight away, snarling viciously.

Around me, people are looking on, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, but I ignore them. They knew I didn’t stand for any trouble in my bar, but I’m not sure they thought I could take out three guys at once.

Well, now they know.

I throw them both to the floor, just in front of the saloon doors. Styx circles them, barking wildly. “Keep ’em there, boy. Don’t hurt ’em.”

I walk back around the bar, avoiding the surprised look on Tori’s face. I retrieve the gun and aim it at the middle guy. “Get up,” I say.

He struggles to his feet and stumbles out into the bar, holding his broken arm close to his body. I follow, keeping the gun on him the whole time. The other two haven’t moved—Styx is doing a great job of keeping them in check. I push the middle guy over to them, and he falls.

I release the magazine from the gun, letting it fall to the floor. I eject the round from the chamber, which I catch and drop next to the magazine. Finally, I throw the empty gun over to them, as a message.

“Leave now, while you still got the use of your legs. Tell whoever it is that sent you to forget about me. Forget about Devil’s Spring... Next person that comes here looking for trouble leaves in a body bag.”

I cross my arms and glare at them until they stand. The two bodyguards hold the diplomat up.

“You’re making a big mistake,” says the man with the broken arm.

“Like I haven’t heard
that
before?” I reply. I look at Styx. “Show ’em the door, boy.”

The fur on his back rises, and he bares his teeth, snarling and barking, rounding them up like he’s herding sheep. He chases them out of the bar, returning moments later, much calmer. He pads over to Tori and rubs his head on her leg before walking over to and sitting down next to me.

I glance around the place. Everyone’s staring at me, waiting for an explanation. Tori walks over and throws her arms around me.

“You okay?” she whispers.

“Never better,” I reply, smiling.

I look around again, meeting everyone’s gaze before smiling at the room. “Come on, folks. Show’s over. Next round’s on me.”

Laughter and cheering quickly erupts as people take their seats. I walk over to the bar and get a clean glass down from the shelf, then start to pour the first beer.