In a Heartbeat - Elizabeth Adler [106]
For a moment, they stared at each other, acknowledging that they knew one another.
Then, “Have another drink, Gus, why don’t ya,” Mario said.
Gus just kept on staring at him. He knew this was the end and that he was powerless to do anything about it. He thought of how many men he had faced, exactly like this, only then he had been the one in the power position. Now he knew how it felt to look down the barrel of a gun, at the end of the world.
The Kahr followed Gus’s movements as he picked up the vodka bottle, took another long swig. He offered it to Mario. “Care to try some? It’s the best.”
Mario shook his head. “I’m an Absolut man, myself.”
Gus nodded. He took another slug.
“Might as well die happy,” Mario said with a tight smile.
Gus felt the heft of the half-empty bottle in his hand. There was just one chance . . . one last chance.
Mario saw it coming. As the bottle arced through the air, he stepped nimbly out of the way, or as nimbly as a man of his bulk could. The vodka splashed on his pants and his narrow eyes tightened into angry slits.
“It’s always been my theory that hit men were stupid,” he said. “Why else would they risk their lives doing other people’s dirty work. Surely the rewards are not enough to compensate for the risk.”
Gus felt the comforting bulk of the Sigma in the belly band under his shirt. It was a Hawaiian shirt, bought on some carefree island vacation with Lila, and was worn untucked, and therefore gave him quick access. Mario was the stupid one, getting his jollies by talking to him, making him squirm before he killed him. It was giving him time to think, to regroup. He could still win.
Mario had his own schedule, though. “Get up.” He indicated with the gun where Gus should stand. “Hands over your head,” he commanded.
Gus obeyed. A cheap metal chair stood between them. They were of equal height, and he was fitter than Mario. With a sudden movement, he thrust the chair at Mario and reached for the Sigma.
But Mario was quicker. He pressed the Kahr to Gus’s head, forced him to the ground. He had him where he wanted him now.
Gus was on the floor, staring up at him. Mario wasted no more time. He slammed the gun down and Gus’s head snapped back.
Mario knelt beside the unconscious hit man. He hated getting his pants dirty on the filthy boat, but he had no choice. He had put on plastic surgical gloves, and now he took Gus’s Sigma out of the belly band and placed it in the unconscious man’s hand. He held that hand up to the temple and pressed Gus’s finger on the trigger.
The bullet left a ragged hole in Gus’s head and powder burns on Gus’s hand. This time it was Gus’s glazed eyes staring into nothingness, and Gus’s brains leaking messily onto the floor.
Mario waited a moment, listening. Of course, the Sigma was fitted with a silencer, there had been only the merest pop, a sound too muffled to travel, even across water. Outside, the wind rattled the rigging against the masts again, shifting the boat slightly.
He got to his feet and walked back to the steps. He turned and took one last look at the man who had fucked up his life. Then he was out of there.
The rain was just starting, that strange LA rain that showed up suddenly and came down in solid sheets that sent you running to find the Ark and Noah. He remembered this was Hollywood: it was possible you might find Noah, or some other nut, ready to save you from the end of the world. But not Gus Aramanov. He was a goner.
There was no one to see Mario slipping through the shadows and the rain. No one to notice, in the torrential downpour, as he ran to the parking lot and drove back to the hotel.
A short while later, he was standing under a hot shower, soaping away the grime of Gus Aramanov’s boat. He stayed in there a long time, then he got out, wrapped a towel