Page 43 of Hannah and the Hitman

“At a ball game? While the men’s bathrooms aren’t anywhere near as crowded as the women’s, have you ever gone into one at a sporting event and been alone while taking a piss? I wonder what the average beer consumption is at a baseball game.”

He was not helping, only shooting down any option that didn’t involve Hannah.

“We’ve gone over the options. Nitro shared his schedule and since you saved it to the last minute, this is all you’ve got.”

Meaning I didn’t take care of this before now when I had better opportunities because I had my head up my ass over Hannah. And my fingers in her pussy.

“I’ll run him off the road.”

He shook his head. “Not guaranteed we can make it happen or that he’ll actually die.”

“I–”

He held up his hand to stop me. “We’ve been through it. It has to be at the restaurant.”

I looked up at the ceiling, knowing he was right. If I wanted Sal to stop putting trackers on my car and butting in where his nose didn’t belong, I had to get Turkleman dead, and the only place was at the restaurant. “Fuck!”

26

JACK

As promised, I texted Hannah during the day with my address. I didn’t take any of Jimmy Almost-Nine Fingers suggestions and did my own thing. Fortunately, it worked because she’d unblocked me and written back, telling me Mrs. Metcalf had volunteered to close the library for her, so she was able to arrive earlier than I anticipated.

This was a good thing because I was fucking eager to see my girl. It was a bad thing because it meant showing up at the restaurant earlier than I expected. More time where Hannah and an arms dealer were in the same establishment.

Per Nitro, Turkleman spent his day in his hotel suite working. He had guards at the door and probably more inside we couldn’t see from tapping into the security cameras. It seemed illegal weapons traders had conference calls like every other businessman and they kept him busyuntil dinner. He had reservations at a popular Denver restaurant at five-fifteen to make it to the ballgame when it started at seven.

That meant my window to finish the job was about an hour.

And as I opened the door to the restaurant for her, that clock started.

“Um, am I dressed right for this place?” she whispered, leaning close. Her soft scent made my dick stir, which was a problem.

“You’re perfect,” I whispered in her ear, then kissed her temple.

I’d met Hannah in the garage of my building, the doorman having notified me that she was here. Instead of taking her upstairs to strip her out of her pretty blue dress and find out what kind of sexy panties she had on–which was what I wanted to do instead of going out to dinner and killing Turkleman–I had her leave her overnight bag in her car, led her to mine and drove to the restaurant.

I shared the fake last name I used for the reservation. I hadn’t told my real one to Hannah and with a large group coming in the doors behind us, I doubted that she heard.

“My friend Dax recommended this place, although, he probably knows which fork to use better than me.”

The place was high end, most likely with tiny, rabbit sized portions, lots of sauces and a wine and liquor menu longer than Cheesecake Factory’s. Knowing her favorite restaurant was a hole in the wall pizza joint, I could see why Hannah felt out of place. No one but a snooty grandmother or a pompous arms dealer would find this place charming or relaxed.

As we followed the hostess to our table, my hand at the small of Hannah’s back, I caught sight of Turkleman. His table was against the back wall, and he had two other men with him. Based on their size and similar suit choices as Joey Brains and Eyebrows, I took them for his guards.

I settled Hannah in the seat that gave Turkleman her back and when I sat across from her, I had a clear view of him eating oysters on the half shell. From Nitro’s report and photos, he was sixty-one, bald, and had virile Mediterranean ancestors. If Telly Savalas and someone’s Italiannonnigot together, they’d have made this guy.

I barely glanced at the menu before I set it down. These kinds of restaurants always had steak.

I studied Hannah as she looked over the menu. Her hair was pulled up into a loose bun, with tendrils framing her face. Her dark eyes were enhanced with makeup and her lips were glossy and shiny in the soft light. She was so fucking pretty that it hurt. Why was she sitting with me? How had I even caught her interest? Sure, I’d gotten her off with my fingers, but I liked to think I was more of a catch than only sex-skilled.

A basket of homemade focaccia and a ramekin of butter were set between us.

Hannah set her menu down and looked my way.

“Tell me about Dax,” she said, taking a slice of the salt topped bread, she used her knife to smear a healthy coating of butter onto it. She picked off a piece and put it in her mouth.

I watched as she licked a spot of butter off her thumb.