Page 115 of Hit Man
He grunts his answer.
“My boy is going to be excited to see wild tigers up close,” Señora del Leon squeals. Sounding much like her son did earlier, except instead of tea, it’s tigers.
Wild tigers. A safari?
It won’t be too difficult uncovering her destination. Is she leaving with Mendoza? Fahder? Or is she flying solo, a one-woman act? With a little son sidekick, how deceptively sweet. How unassuming.
Dios, I’ve got to get into her office. If this woman keeps receipts on her son’s toys and her goddamn flower bouquets, chances are strong she’s kept records on who purchased the uranium. And, to soften Hayden up once he learns about my indiscretion with Aubrey, if I’m lucky, I’ll also dig up information on the supplier. Hayden will fucking love that, us knowing exactly the source of black-market distribution.
The other thing working for me is these so-called guests of hers. Come for tea and a bit of illegal dealings, perhaps?
I duck behind a long curtain and peer outside the window, watching the last man standing and her six staff members drag Mendoza’s men into the shed. She certainly prefers a foolproof way of keeping her spies from talking. Which is one reason how she’s been conducting her deals well below our radar.
I need to be patient and wait for everyone to resume their positions after everyone settles down for some tea before searching her office. After her guests arrive and keep everyone’s attention occupied.
Cracking open a window, I climb through. Working my way around to the back of the house and into the wooded area, I circle around to the front and draw close to the empty shed. I’m a few steps from entering it when I pause to witness the limousine’s return. Hastily, I push the door open and step inside.
The stench of death hits me hard.
I glance around me, shaking my head at the carnage around me. I sat across a table from most of these men. This could have been me. In another life, if I really worked for an asshole like Mendoza.
I scowl down at Little-Man. He died as he lived, with his mouth open.
To my surprise, the three guards patrolling the place are there as well. Señora is leaving Hacienda Santo Miguel with a bang, isn’t she?
My nostrils flare at the pungent smell of blood. I ignore it, stepping over the bodies. Too curious as to the identity of the man with the burlap bag covering his head. I pick up a glove from off a shelf and slide my hand inside.
With a firm tug, I rip the burlap free.
“Cabrón.”
Fahder’s lifeless eyes stare at me. My target of nearly a year, a man I’d’ve happily terminated ten times over, is dead.
A lackey. A pawn. A distraction to take the attention off of his former flame.
So much for “Love thy ex.”
I hear the sound of another car pulling into the driveway.More guests for the garden?I morbidly wonder.
Shaking off the glove, I take out my cell phone. Time to call Hayden with the first of hopefully two quick updates.
My boss wanted information. He better be sitting down.
I’m about to dial Hayden when a flash of yellow catches my eye.
A taxi.
A woman exits.
And if there was ever a time in my life when I’ve come close to being scared silent, it’s now.
34
Aubrey
Little Lord Pain in the Ass is the first to greet me, tearing down the front steps of the stunning hacienda and nearly knocking me back inside the airport taxi. “Aubrey, you come,” he screeches.
I sigh. “Came. I came, present tense.”
