Page 59 of Business vs. Pleasure

And his texts were going unanswered.

He risked a glance at his phone, then swore as the car beside him came within inches of hitting his front left bumper. “Watch it, asshole!” he shouted.

The man riding in the passenger seat, wearing a faded black T-shirt and a shit-eating grin, shouted back, “Presta atención, ¿estás ahuevado?”

Wait, that was… was he calling August dumb?

The exact epithet mattered less as the car darted in again, swerving close before pulling away and then doing it all over again. Oh, fabulous. These punks were toying with him.

Worse than that, they were keeping him locked in this roundabout. August wasn’t delusional enough to think that there was any hope of him being able to find either of his targets at this point, but at the very least he didn’t want to be stuck here until traffic thinned out. Shit, traffic probably never thinned out in Panama City, given that it was the capital.

August gritted his teeth and gunned it for the edge of the circle. If being aggressive was the key, then he was about to have his way come hell or high water.

Hell, in the form of that fucking car, immediately reached out and nudged the back of his car hard enough to make the wheels spin out. He was barely able to wrench it straight and get out of the roundabout down a side street.

And those assholes followed him.

The hell with this. He pulled onto the side of the road, nosed in between a battered white Toyota Hilux and small, silver Hyundai Accent with a woman pulling a baby out of the backseat of it. Hurry up, lady.

August waited a moment to see if the Roundabout Boys went on by, but—nope, they were pulling over too, throwing doors open and very clearly prepared to have some more fun at his expense.

No. There would be no fun. August might never be able to come back to Panama after this, but he was putting an end to this now.

“Hey, fren!” one of them called as he swaggered out in front, arms spread. “American, yeah? You⁠—”

August pulled the little Sig P365 Ricardo had bought him for when a situation called for comprehensive concealment of his gun and raised it point straight at the man’s face. “Go on,” he said, practically spitting the words. “Go on, fren. Go for it.”

Both men put their hands up and began to back away. “You crazy?” the chatty one demanded as he got back in his car. He went off in Spanish, and August could only identify one word in ten at best, but it was enough to let him know that none of the words were complimentary.

Well, fuck it, because he wasn’t feeling complimentary toward them either. He exhaled a slow breath, then tucked his gun back in its holster, feeling a little ridiculous and a lot anxious.

Where the fuck was Ricardo?

Had he finished the job?

Had NightPigeon found him?

How was August going to find him when he couldn’t even drive himself more than a mile down these streets without getting into a car accident?

His phone went off, and he blessed the distraction even as he ignored the people on the sidewalk who were staring at him and checked the message.

Ricardo

I’m in San Miguelito. Sending my location, but I’m going to move on foot. I think I lost NightRaven for now. Mark is dead. Where are you?

Oh, thank God. The barbs in his chest loosened their grip around his heart. Ricardo was all right, the job was completed, and NightPigeon was in the wind. Better that than him hunting Ricardo down.

Where am I? He had no clue, but there had to be a remedy for that. Rain had soaked his jacket through completely, and his hair was sticking to his forehead. First things first—hat, then conversation. He turned to the sidewalk and plastered on his most charming and innocent smile as he approached the closest store, with hats and sunglasses under an awning outside of it.

“The guy in there doesn’t speak English.”

August paused, then turned toward a young woman in a football jersey with the name Baloy on it. “I see.”

She shrugged. “Just saying. He can’t give you directions.” She was eyeing his jacket with interest. “Do all Americans carry guns around?”

“Not all of them.” Just the ones with a job to do. Actually… “Can you drive?”

She laughed out loud, teeth bright against the warm brown of her skin. “Better than you!”