Hitman vs Hitman - L.A. Witt Page 0,36
that was covered in gaming pieces. The back of his head was a wreck—at least one bullet, probably two had gone straight through the parietal bone. The wall across from him was as messy as the table—he’d been sitting upright, not forced face-down. Probably taken by surprise, then. His computer was nowhere to be seen, and a brief frisk didn’t turn up a phone.
What a fucking waste. Of life, of time, of quality collectible gaming miniatures…
August turned to Ricardo, who was eying the scene impassively. “Well,” August said with manic cheer, “let’s hope your liaison has had better luck than mine.”
Chapter 9
It was hard to say who was more keyed up over the discovery of the liaison’s corpse—Ricardo or August.
August didn’t seem particularly sad about the loss, which wasn’t surprising. No one with half a brain cell—which Ricardo supposed included August—got attached to anyone in this business, largely because staying detached made it a whole lot easier to blow someone’s head off when they inevitably turned on you. It also kept hitmen from letting their guard down and spilling too many personal details to people who might be bribed or tortured into passing on those details to people who shouldn’t have them.
And hell, this was a bloody industry. Everyone who made their living looking through a set of crosshairs knew that being on the wrong end of someone else’s crosshairs was an occupational hazard. Cutting down on attachments meant cutting down on how many funerals a person had to attend. Which was good. Ricardo hated funerals.
But the death of a contact was unnerving to say the least, even without the circumstances Ricardo and August had found their asses in. Had the contact crossed someone? Had they been shaken down for information about someone else? Who killed them, why, and how would the ripple off that death affect those with any ties to the decedent?
That was what had Ricardo spun the hell up as he drove in circles to make sure no one was tailing them. His paranoia had been at a twelve since yesterday—had this really only started yesterday?—but now it was off the charts. Someone had found and offed August’s contact. Had they gotten to Ricardo’s liaison? Was there even any point in trying to get to her before their mystery asshole did? Or should he just assume she was dead, stay the hell away, and… And figure out some other way to track down who that mystery asshole was?
All the while, as Ricardo’s heart pounded and his palms made the wheel slick with sweat, August was still and calm in the passenger seat. He was thumbing through something on one of the burner phones they’d brought with them, and he didn’t seem nearly as tense or twitchy as he should have, given the state of his contact.
Tapping his nails on the wheel, Ricardo asked, “Find anything?”
“Not really.” August sounded bored. “The Rate Your Hit forums don’t have any unusual activity.” He tsked. “This would be a lot easier if people weren’t smart enough to use coded phrases to exchange actual information.”
“Of course. Because discussing that shit out in the open is a great way to stay alive.”
“I didn’t say it would keep them alive,” August muttered. “Just that it would be a lot more convenient for me.”
Ricardo chuckled quietly despite how freaked out he was.
August turned to him. “Did… Did you just laugh?”
“What?” Ricardo cleared his throat. “No.”
“You did too. I heard you.” The idiot grinned so big Ricardo could feel it without even looking. “Aww, you do think I’m funny, Ricky. I’m touched.”
Ricardo groaned. “What did I say about calling me Ricky?”
“Nothing I cared enough to commit to memory.”
Regretting that momentary show of amusement, Ricardo glared at the road ahead. “Would you just keep looking for anything unusual?” He paused, then added a sarcastic, “Auggie?”
The tiny hitch of August’s breath was a lot more satisfying than Ricardo had anticipated. So was the indignant tone as he growled, “The fuck did you just call me?”
Ricardo stole a narrow-eyed glance at him. “You going to keep calling me Ricky?”
August huffed as if Ricardo had just insulted his ancestors (and Ricardo genuinely hoped he had). “Just… Shut up and drive.”
Ricardo let go of a snicker.
While August continued perusing Rate Your Hit in search of some sign of trouble, Ricardo kept an eye out for tails and headed toward the outskirts of town. Like his annoying passenger, Ricardo knew exactly who his liaison was, where she lived, and where she worked.