Page 22 of Hit Man
I should know; I read that note when I turned over her bungalow earlier while she was eating breakfast in the dining room after “mistakenly” barging in on the private meeting in progress between Mendoza’s inner circle of men. It amuses the sadistic bastard to round up his bleary-eyed yes men at the crack of dawn knowing most of them partied late into the evening. As for me, the newest member to be invited to such a meeting and with today’s being my hard-earned first, I’ve been trained to deal with sleep deprivation.
Let’s just say my best work is often done at night.
Clearly surprised by the note, Aubrey kicks another pebble and her lips move. Chances are good she’s cursing her friend who’s left her behind and has taken off for a few days with that shit-for-brains yes-man, Renaldo.
A romantic trip to the beach, her friend had scribbled.
A lie. Or code?
Just as this morning’s meeting was being rudely interrupted, Renaldo and her friend were leaving the estate, headed to Acapulco to assist Fahder’s guards in securing the warehouse of stored weapons. It’s unclear if they’ll be moving them to Casa Bella’s secret cave or shipping them off to another location. But I’m waiting things out. My Latino intuition telling me Fahder is going to show, then all our questions will be answered.
About time, cabrón.
I wouldn’t take a woman—anyone, for that matter—to Acapulco even on its best day. Which was sometime back in the 1950s, before the drug cartels overran the place. Now, the beachside resort is littered with bodies, its warm waters red with blood.
I study Aubrey’s expression, her friend’s departure clearly pissing her off. What are you up to,chava? You and your friend working for Fahder? Spying on his bastard son, who, according to our intelligence, Daddy believes never gets anything right? There’s a major pissing contest going on within this family’s dynamics. A power play already in motion prior to my assignment. Mendoza is nothing but a whiny pompous businessman with deep pockets, an uncontrollable temper, and a devious heart, who is also an absolute whore for the limelight. He gets off on being a famous, which I’m betting drives Daddy nuts. Fame, fortune, and discreet black-market sales of weapons don’t make for good bed partners. I’ve done my best to manipulate the situation and force the two men together. What better way to find out why they’re trading weapons than to set Mendoza off after his homeless father arrives at his estate? And I’ll be in the right place at the right time to overhear exactly what they’re up to.
As for clever, clever Aubrey . . .
I nearly broke my goddamn neck after tripping over that suitcase she intentionally set just inside the door. A sly move and a silent fuck-you to uninvited visitors. And that red dress she’d left hanging on the painting . . . as if she knows a camera is hidden inside that goddamn cow painting . . .
Though hiding her wallet beneath the mattress is an amateur mistake that leaves me extremely curious about why she’s here.Hiding a wallet thick with pesos in such an obvious place beneath the mattress . . . not so smart.
It doesn’t matter who she’s working for. I can’t have people interrupting meetings, ones in which Mendoza decides to trust me. When I’m just on the brink of connecting with the asshole.
I’ve worked too damn hard to get to this point to have it all go up into smoke by one smoking hot woman.
She’s an unanticipated nuisance. A distraction, drawing Mendoza in like a wasp to her flame. Giving the playboy dumb ideas . . . like tonight’s goddamn party. This one, smaller and more intimate in nature.
Less men. Moreputas. . . whores . . . Mendoza’s words, not mine. Thanks to Aubrey and her “I want a private word with you.”
Privacy only exists at Casa Bella if you know the angles. Camera angles, that is. How to manage each one, where the shadows fall or out-of-range spots are located, how many feet you have before another one picks you up.
Or you just cover one over. Kick dirt onto the lens “by accident.” Snap the tree branch it’s hanging from. The red-dress toss, a classic move, if I say so myself. Matter of fact, the reason I broke into the surveillance room is to view what was recorded, though I spent a few selfish seconds appreciating the sweet curve of Aubrey’s ass before fast-forwarding through the footage, with a press of a button deleting anything that might even remotely incriminate me.
The camera-happy Mendoza has one camera inside each bungalow and aimed at the beds.
Perfect for parties like tonight’s where Big Brother is watching everyone and everything, and probably jerking off as he does so. Nothing like a distrustful pervert to spice up an assignment.
“Que chingada.”I shake my head, returning my thoughts back to the note.
Judging by the condition of your bed, you took to heart my “broaden your horizons” speech. I want all the juicy details when I return,it’d read. The big question is why, in the next line, had her friend lied to her? To keep Aubrey here? Or is she setting her up?
I believe that man having survived that fall is a positive sign things will finally go your way. You’re detail oriented and clearly, so is Juan Carlos—so maybe you’ll have other things in common and you’ll hit it off! Go get ’em, tiger. See you in a day or two.
Try three or four.
And, as for the fool who danced his way onto the jagged, cliffside rocks below, let’s just say he won’t be giving any encores.
At least the situation worked out to my advantage. This morning’s meeting had been about dealing with the police. How much money would it take to grease their palms and to turn a blind eye.
I, of course, offered up a corrupt contact within Mexico City law enforcement, who for the right price, would quickly and quietly help Mendoza out of this situation. My contact would deal with the body and keep everything on the low. Can’t have Daddy or, worse, the press upset with the fame whore, now can we? It was the perfect opportunity to solidify my street credibility with Mendoza.
Up until that point, I was under the impression the man falling to his death had been an accident, until I saw Mendoza’s face as I pitched my solution.
It was no accident. He had the man killed.Dios, Mendoza has a huge pair ofcajones, committing murder while hosting a party for his financial contacts, men I suspect are naive to his true nature. They’re here to enjoy his hospitality, fame, and infamous parties in exchange for being fleeced of their money “for a good cause.” He was in the process of confirming my suspicions and rather animatedly describing the consequences of what happens to those with loose lips when Aubrey interrupted us.
My eyebrows rise as she hurls the crumpled paper into the bushes.
