Hitman vs Hitman - L.A. Witt Page 0,16

shut your fucking mouth and strip or I will come back there myself and beat you bloody, you twat-waffling moron.”

“I’d do what he says,” Torralba said mildly.

“I…but I…fine.” Baldwin didn’t even bother to unbutton his shirt, just pulled it off over his head before starting in on his jeans. It took a minute, but then he was nude, his clothes pulled protectively against his groin.

“Stop the van,” Torralba ordered, and grabbed Baldwin’s clothes.

“Sir, yes sir,” August snarked, but he pulled over on the side of the road and stopped the van right next to an overflowing trash can. There was probably glass on the ground. One can hope.

“Take off the magnet while I deal with him,” Torralba told August. While August leaned out the window and removed the Pest Assassins—God, really?—magnet, Torralba kept the gun steady even as he moved to the rear of the van and put one hand on the door handle. “Your gardener lives in this neighborhood. So do two members of your security team. If you knew them a little better, you might be able to go to their homes and ask for help. As it is?” He opened the door. “Have fun trying your luck with random houses looking like a frat boy coming down from a bender. Now get out.”

“I…” Baldwin looked completely lost. “I…really? You’re letting me go?”

“For another five seconds I am. Then I might change my mind.”

Baldwin hustled out the back of the van, wincing as his bare feet hit the dirty pavement. It was the middle of the afternoon, and there were a few people out on the cracked sidewalk, and more sitting in front of their homes, reacting with laughter and disgust to the sudden appearance of a naked white man.

“Have fun mingling with the proletariat!” August called out as he began to pull away. He could hear the shrill echo of sirens growing louder—it was time to find a new car. “Hmm…I’m in the mood for a Camry, how about you, Ricky?” he asked as Torralba joined him in the front. “Does a Camry sound good?”

“You think I’m joking about shooting you in the face?”

August pouted. “How about Ricardo, then? Just Ricardo!” A few seconds of silence was as good as a yes to him. “Great, Ricardo, a Camry it is. Then we can chat about why Pedro Silva wants to get us killed.”

Ricardo snorted. “That’s obvious.”

“Not at our level,” August argued. “We’re not ‘I know a guy who knows a guy’ kind of people. We were approached professionally, the client was vetted, and if getting us killed in the process of taking out Lance Baldwin was the plan, it was obviously far from foolproof. Something strange is going on here.” He waggled an eyebrow at the other man. “Want to Scooby up and find out what?”

The scowl was adorable. “Scooby…up? What’s that supposed to mean?”

August rolled his eyes. “It’s not an obscure reference! Are you even trying anymore? Oh, look!” There it was, the mid-nineties, hail-damaged Camry of his dreams. “Let’s steal a safer car and chat!” He pulled in behind it, turned off the engine and got into the back seat. “I need to grab my wine, though. And do you have anything to start a fire with back here?”

The huff of irritation that followed was like music to his ears.

Chapter 5

“I’m driving.”

August turned a petulant look on Ricardo. “I beg your pardon? I found the car and hotwired it. I’m driving.”

Ricardo glared at him.

August held his gaze, then huffed and wriggled his way into the passenger seat, muttering “son of a bitch” as he moved. Ricardo ignored his protests—he was too on-edge right now to even bother enjoying his rival’s unhappiness—and slid into the driver seat.

As Ricardo drove, August wisely put on his seat belt. Drumming his fingers on the door, he looked at Ricardo. “Okay, so, we know who’s probably behind this, but we need to figure out what their game plan was for tonight.”

“We?” Ricardo shook his head. “No. Fuck no.”

August pushed out an impatient breath. “Listen, numb nuts, I know you’re not my biggest fan, but we’re in this together, so let’s—”

“No, we’re not.” Ricardo glared straight ahead. “Whatever the plan was for us tonight, someone wanted us in the same place at the same time. If either of us is going to survive long enough to figure out what’s going on, we should be as far apart as possible.”

“You don’t think two heads are better than one?”

“Not when there’s a bull’s