Hitman vs Hitman - L.A. Witt Page 0,64
bathtub from Italy that seated seven, and now it’s all trash.”
“It seems like a bit of an overreaction on your part,” Silva said.
August let his jaw drop. “What…are you kidding me?”
“I mean, to want a man dead just for blowing out a few windows—very expensive windows, I’m sure, but still—it just seems too risky. This sounds to me like the sort of thing that could come back to haunt a man, if he wasn’t very careful.”
“That’s why I’m talking to—”
“Lower your voice,” Silva snapped.
“That’s why I’m talking to you!” August hissed. He looked side to side, then muttered, “Fine. Fuck, fine, whatever, if you must know—my fucking parents stopped paying me.”
“Your parents pay you? For what, existing?”
“Something like that, it doesn’t matter, just—they’ve stopped.” August leaned back in his chair, curling his lip in annoyance and dejection. “They said they weren’t going to pour more good money after bad to fix my house just so I could keep using it for—look, never mind. Basically, what it comes down to is I’m going to have to move in with my parents again for a while, okay? At twenty-seven. Twenty-seven. This guy,” August stabbed his index finger down against the tabletop, “this fucking guy managed to ruin my life in a single night. Now I want to make him pay for that.”
“Huh.” Silva was looking at August with a mixture of awe and disgust, like he was an exotic, kind of gross animal behind glass in a zoo. Yes, yes, eat the rich, I know. Now work with me, Pedro. “Okay, given your…situation, I guess it makes more sense. What’s the guy’s name?”
August made a face. “Why does that matter?”
Silva shrugged. “It probably doesn’t, but if you think I’m gonna give you the name of a professional without making sure you’re on the level and not involving me in making trouble for, I don’t know, your ex-boyfriend or something, then you’re out of luck.”
August rolled his eyes. “God, fine. Ricky Garcia, but I’m sure it’s a fake.” This was the name that Silva had known Ricardo by—or, more precisely, the alias he’d known him by. Silva had always known it wasn’t Ricardo’s real name, but he’d never gotten his real one out of him, according to Ricardo. And August had been assured that he would definitely remember it.
If the way Silva’s entire face had suddenly gone stony, he did.
“Ricky Garcia?” He leaned in slightly. “What’s he look like?”
“Um…why?”
“Just tell me what he looks like.”
August pouted. “There’s no need to be rude. Um. A little shorter than me, I guess? Dark, wavy hair, kind of a big nose but it fits his face, you know? Broad shoulders, slim waist—classic triangular physique. Honestly if he wasn’t such a horribly angry person, he’s definitely the kind of guy I’d have welcomed into the bathtub he wrecked—and, um, a bit of an accent? I couldn’t really place it.” August waited to see how his description was received.
Silva smiled darkly.
Got you now, baby. Hook, line, and sinker.
“This guy fucked over your house, really?”
“Yes. Do you need me to draw you a picture?”
“But you’ve still got enough money in your coffers to cover something like what you’re asking?”
“I mean…” August flailed his hands out to the side. “I assume so? I don’t have enough money on hand to fix my goddamn house now that my parents have turned into hardasses, but I’ve got a few million stashed away. Is that…enough?”
“Probably, yeah. The guy who worked you over is a pro, but for that kind of money you can get another pro to teach him a lesson.”
August sighed. “God, I hope so. I’m so embarrassed by this, you have no idea.” He pursed his lips. “Do you actually know this guy? He doesn’t work in your…organization, does he?”
Silva shook his head. “Nothing like that.”
“What, then? What did he do to you to make you dislike him?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
Damn. Ricardo hadn’t told him either. He’d been hoping Silva would have looser lips. “Fine, whatever. How do I contact your professional guy…lady? Person? Is it sexist of me to assume that someone who does this kind of work is a guy? Probably, right? My sister would kill me if she knew I was—”
“I need a number to contact you at,” Silva broke in, patience clearly gone.
“Ooh, I’ve got that part covered!” August reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a slim black flip phone. “Burner phone!”
“Say it a little louder, why don’t you?” Silva groused.
“Sorry.” August