Page 44 of Hit Man

A bigger, beefier man is slamming back pints like he’s on an Irish pub crawl.

Little-Man scowling fiercely at me.

I nod at him, hiding my rising fear. The way he’s been watching me all night, like he’s waiting for me to mess up, waiting for me to whip my raincoat out and confess that I’m the snoop, rattles me more now than ever.

The accountant and insurance man begin a debate over the cumulative interest rate being charged by the World Bank. Based on the earlier conversation I overheard, they are just as suspicious of him as I am. There’s a weird vibe in the air. Like everyone’s on edge.

“If the roads are closed due to flooding, what do you think everyone seems to be waiting for?” I interrupt them.

“A tax write-off?”

“Investment sense?”

Both men burst into laughter. Clueless to the evilness that seems to have settled into place within the room.

“Since your return, you’ve been holding out on me,” I hear Diana say. “Will you be giving me some of this tonight?” she begs, loudly, drawing several knowing glances.

Some of this. I’m pretty sure her hands are still on exactly the same place as before.

Ignoring her, I reach for the vegetable prongs and help myself to some celery sticks, which I place on the empty plate before me. With a spoon, I drizzle dip on top of them.

Focus. On. The. Celery.

Not . . . him.

I raise a lathered stick, and my eyes lift as well.

To find Diego staring at me, hard. A fierce scowl on his face. Displeased? Disliking my sitting here?

Join the club, you ass.

Holding his gaze, I snap the celery stick in two with my teeth.Hope your cock shrivels to the size of a rolled-up washcloth.

His lips twitch, slightly.

But before I can take another bite, someone pounds on the door, knocking loudly three times.

Then four men hurry inside.

“Boss, we found it.”

They’re carrying something in a dark plastic bag. Whatever it was Juan Carlos was expecting.

Everyone seems to come to their feet in unison, trying to catch a glimpse of what’s inside the bag.

It’s not dessert.

Too small to be a body.I shudder, knowing the thought isn’t totally irrational. The tension in the room is thick enough to slice a cake knife through it.

“What is it?” asks the accountant.

“Don’t know,” replies the insurance man.

“Bring it over here,” snaps Juan Carlos. But instead of looking at his men as he speaks, his eyes are shooting daggers at . . . me. With a look that saysyou’re gonna get it nowthat sends chills up my spine.

Whatever semblance of calm prior to their arrival vanishes. Replaced by tangible tension that settles over everyone.

Even my two dinner mates grow quiet, both men fidgeting nervously beside me.