Hitman vs Hitman - L.A. Witt Page 0,15
on, Mr. Popularity.”
“The governor knew,” Torralba said, forcing the conversation back on track with all the grace of an angry bear. “The mayor knew. Who else?”
“Some business partners of mine, that’s all.”
“Which business partners in particular?”
“That is privileged information!” Aaand there went the indignation again. “Some of these deals are still in the works, my competitors would kill to know these names, and here you are trying to…oh.”
“Little lightbulb moment there, huh?” August didn’t have to look back at Torralba to visualize the expression on his face—a dusting of compassion over a heaping helping of you fucking idiot. “So. Go on.”
“Okay, okay, um…” Baldwin took a shuddering breath. “There’s Greg Vance. He’s the CEO of my hedge fund. Uh, Koffi Djikoute is a friend from the Virgin Islands. He’s got a…thing there, it’s a…”
“It’s a tax shelter, go on.”
“Um…” One by one, the names were pried out of Baldwin, and every one was rich in money, connections, or both. Mostly both. But while August had heard of a few of the people before, he didn’t have any personal connection to them. Maybe an aide had leaked something, maybe someone’s secretary had been bribed to give away confidential information, maybe—
“There’s also that Brazilian, Pedro Silva. He’s just a local business leader with an interest in promoting more investments in South Amer—”
“Stop. Pedro Silva?”
August glanced in the rearview to see Baldwin nodding. “Well, yes. Why?”
Ricardo leaned closer. “You want to tell me why you’ve got people coming to your party who are associated with organized crime?”
“What?” Baldwin demanded. “Pedro has nothing to do with organized crime! He’s a respected businessman! He controls a huge number of warehouses and trucks, and everybody in my circle is working with him.” He paused. “Are you saying that he tried to have me killed? Because that doesn’t make any sense. I’m in a position to make him a huge amount of money.”
“I’m saying you’re a naïve idiot,” Torralba said flatly. “Pedro Silva is the public face of the Cavalcante family of La Cosa Nostra.” He snorted derisively. “He’s as Brazilian as I am.”
“You could pull off Brazilian,” August said. “You have an ass that doesn’t quit and I’m sure, deep down inside, you know how to party.”
Torralba closed his eyes for a second, just to breathe. August felt a little guilty, but a lot satisfied with himself. Torralba continued after a moment. “The point is, Silva is mafia, through and through. I’ll ask you again—why was he coming to your party?”
Baldwin made an unhappy, exasperated, and close to panicked noise. “This is all completely ridiculous. Honestly, rats in my pristine house? The fucking Cosa Nostra? No.” He leveled a flat look at Torralba. “How much is Zuckerberg paying you to punk me like this? Is your gun even real? You can tell him from me after this is all over that I’m going to sue the ever-living shit out of him, and you, and—”
Pop-pop. The suppressor on Torralba’s .45 did little to quiet the sharp gunshots as he fired through the floor of the van, and the noise shut Baldwin up immediately. August kept driving, slowly, letting it play out in the back.
If Torralba lost his cool and killed Baldwin now, they’d be heading into uncharted territory. And he’d have made the kill that August was supposed to, damn it, but that was less important. He was absolutely sure that even if Baldwin died, neither of them were getting the rest of their money. However, August wasn’t going to stop Torralba if he did decide to off the guy. Anyone this rich and this naïve had it coming to him, one way or another.
“I’m not a nice man,” Torralba said after a moment. “Really not nice, at all. I do a lot of ugly things for money and get paid very well for them. My companion, in addition to being a shitty driver, is just as bad as me. But you? You’re a guppy trying to swim with sharks. If you’re too dumb to do your research into guys like Silva, you should expect this to happen again. Only next time, you might not get so lucky. Now. Strip.”
Baldwin, whose jaw had dropped, abruptly found his voice again. “Strip? What? What are you, um, going to… Look. I will give you so much money if you just—”
“Oh my God, we’re not going to fuck you!” August interjected in disgust. “Is that what you’re thinking? What does this look like—one of your goddamn boarding school pornos? Now