Page 123 of Hit Man
As I hurry into the courtyard, all I can think about are three words.
Holy shit.
Diego.
37
Diego
I’m on my feet.
Praying Aubrey isn’t still standing on the stairs. She had plenty of time to reach the courtyard.
If she listened.
BOOM.
Boom. Boom.With a few less drastic booms that follow.
The front of the house, the foyer, the rose-colored room, the dining room beyond . . . but especially the porch . . . go up in smoke.
Time to be quick, the servants will be on their way. I find Mendoza crouched over Señora on what remains of the porch, his phone in his hand.
“Hand it to me,” I calmly tell him.
“You fucking, lying . . .” He doesn’t finish because I put a bullet in his head.
Señora stares at me with lifeless eyes.
A few minutes ago and after Mendoza stepped out of that car, I’d placed my second call to Hayden. Sent pictures of the paperwork and filled him in on everything, especially how Señora has already wrapped up her deal and is meticulously killing off anyone who knows too much. I braced myself for his next orders, that I head to Kenya. I should have been more excited about this turn in events as my sister has accepted a Peace Corps job in Malawi. Instead, Hayden has decided to get his hands dirty. My orders were to terminate both targets and to cover my tracks. My timing was impeccable with the little boy safely out of danger.
As for Aubrey . . . I glance toward the direction she’d headed in. But all I can see are crumpled walls and smoke.
I pocket Mendoza’s phone. Hayden plans on calling Señora’s contact for an update on Sunday’s shipment to Cork. Keeping the game in play, one that will soon be shipping McDuff to the green fields of his homeland.
I straighten and turn to address the servants standing around us. Paid killers, just on the wrong side of the tracks.
No one challenges me. I could kill them and guarantee their silence. But a threat will do the trick.
“Say a word about what happened here and Los Lobos will have a bone to pick,” I warn them, pinning the blame for what they’ve witnessed on the cartel. “Leave. Before the rest of the hacienda goes bye-bye.”
Their eyes widen and they’re off and running, out of the house and down the driveway.
I head in the other direction, sprinting around broken tile and crumbled walls, and colored shards of glass scattered about from the former window in the parlor. The staircase is intact; I couldn’t risk blowing it up with Aubrey standing there.
Aubrey.
I skim my eyes across the rubble in the hallway.
Dios. Please tell me she followed directions. Like she . . .neverdoes.
“Aubrey,” I shout, jumping over debris as I race down the hallway. An unfamiliar panic rises up inside me. I’m known to be heavy-handed. Using too much TNT, causing too much of a blast. I’m the big-boom guy. Always have been. Case in point is the plaster on the walls on either side of me, which have crumbled and cracked straight down to the frame.
“Fuck, Aubrey,” I holler louder, but keep moving forward.
The door leading out to the courtyard is off its hinges yet I give it no mind as I rush through it.
I see her facedown on the stone pavers, her arms cradling her head.
