Hitman vs Hitman - L.A. Witt Page 0,13

for a set of keys, pulled them out, and threw them at August’s head. August caught them with a smile. “Great, thanks!” He crawled forward into the front of the van and let the seat back a little, then started up the engine. It whined like a hamster on a wheel. “Yeah, great,” he said to himself, then slowly pulled out of their parking spot and toward the road. He passed the catering van coming in and gave a friendly wave. “We’ve got, what, less than a minute before we hit the security gate?” he called back to Torralba. Baldwin seemed mostly awake now, if the increasing volume of his swearing was anything to go by. “You might want to get him to call ahead and have them let us through.”

“You might want to slow the hell down, then.”

“You…ow, fuck…you hit me!” Ah, Baldwin really was back up to snuff if he was remembering what had happened a few minutes ago.

“Not me,” Torralba said, efficient with his words as ever. “But you’re going to get hit again if you don’t call your security and have them open the gate.”

“Do you see my phone anywhere?” Baldwin asked acidly. “It’s not like I have the number memorized. That’s what phones are for, dumbass.”

“Oh yeah?” There was the sound of a pistol’s slide snapping into place, no doubt chambering a round. “Are you sure you don’t remember that number? Because if you don’t, you’re useless to me.”

There was a second of absolute silence, then—“If I leave with you, I’m dead.” Baldwin sounded very sure, and very depressed about it.

“On the contrary,” August said, the security gate entering his field of view. “If you don’t leave with us, then yes, you’re absolutely dead in under a minute. If you leave with us, though, I can personally guarantee that you’ll live for at least twice that long. Hell, we could be talking hours, days even! But you’ve got to make the call now.” Twenty-seven…twenty-six…twenty-five… He couldn’t slow down any more without looking suspicious.

“Give me the phone,” Baldwin said sullenly. There were some muted beeps, then, “Mr. Hanover, this is Lance. Yes, I’m—no, there’s no trouble with that, everything is fine. Just, the exterminator is headed out in a hurry—he’s got to get more…”

“Traps,” Torralba suggested.

“Poison!” August added his two cents.

“Stuff to take care of the rats.” Baldwin sounded a little sick. “Just open the gate up and let him through.”

They were within the ten-second mark now, and the gate was still closed. If security got a good look at August, or if they got any kind of look at all in the back, August and Ricardo were in for a shit storm. Eight…seven…six…

Ah, there it went! August did a tiny, congratulatory fist pump down low, where the guards couldn’t see it, and he pulled through the gate as soon as it was wide enough.

“Thanks, Mr. Hanover,” Baldwin said quietly, then ended the call.

“Now they’re going to know for sure something is wrong,” Torralba commented from the back. “This asshole would never say ‘thank you’ to a peon.”

“Oh, I know the type.” August pulled out onto the road at the end of Baldwin’s private drive and let out a little sigh of relief.

“You are the type.”

Funny, how Torralba could be so snipey even when he didn’t have a rifle in his hand. “Are you kidding me? After everything that my family went through with us kids, we learned the value of taking care of your staff. Generosity engenders loyalty, after all.” He glanced back at Baldwin, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor and staring suspiciously at Torralba. To be fair, the hitman was still holding a gun on their target, rock-steady in his calloused hand. “So,” August said with a friendly smile. “Who wants you dead?”

Baldwin’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me with this bullshit? Who would—nobody wants me dead, are you crazy? Why would anyone want me dead?”

Oh, let me think. “Um, you support totalitarian policies under the guise of libertarianism and hide your wealth in so many offshore accounts that even if America did get its act together and tax the rich, you’d still be a billionaire? Oh yeah, I saw the piece about you in Forbes, you dick shit, and I can read between the lines,” August added. “‘Privatization of public amenities for the greater good’ my ass.”

“Hey, supporting the free market economy is part of what makes America the leader of the free—”

Torralba hit him. August couldn’t blame him—for all that