Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
The car factory had been closed down years ago. Whoever had to deal with its sorry remnants either didn't have the money or was not willing to pay for proper security. One of the perks of Detroit - plenty of empty, deserted place where business could be conducted in private.
Junior looked at the dead thug slowly cooling off on the factory floor in the middle of a huge puddle of blood and sighed. This would so totally ruin Monday Night Football. Guerrero was always so finicky when it came to getting rid of stiffs.
"So you got the hint, huh?"
Guerrero rolled his eyes at Joubert's pet project. "Him telling me you insisted on a gallon of elderberry wine, one teaspoon full of arsenic, half a teaspoon full of strychnine, and then just a pinch of cyanide for the job? Dude..."
"Any idea who sent the spy?" Junior turned the dead man's head with the tip of his shoe. Nope, he had never seen him.
"We'll figure it out." Guerrero nodded for Junior to help him with the legs. For a while they worked in silence. All they needed to do was get the body out of plain sight. With a little luck it would disappear forever if they stuffed it into a ventilation shaft and the building got torn down.
Junior was used to Guerrero being not exactly talkative, so he didn't ponder the issue and kept his focus on the burning question who'd win tonight's playoffs, the Detroit Lions or the Chicago Bears?
Guerrero, however, was tacid for a reason this time around. "How did you know I'd get the hint?", he finally asked Junior.
"Many people like classic movies."
"Yeah, but Arsenic and Old Lace?"
It struck Junior that Guerrero was genuinely curious. He had never shown that much interest in him before - no matter how hard Junior had tried, he had never gotten more out of Joubert's best man than a scoff or a scowl. And now, because of Arsenic and Old Lace he suddenly had his attention?
"It's your humor", he explained. "Figured with your kind of humor Arsenic and Old Lace is a blast."
When Guerrero didn't reply, Junior looked up - and almost dropped his part of the spy. Guerrero's eyes were trained on him, bore into him. Cold as ice.
Ugh. He had somehow pissed him off. Not good. Not good at all.
Junior wondered if he should get his gun.
Guerrero, however, made some sort of grunting noise. "Dude should have infiltrated Weight Watchers... hurry up and we make it to the sportsbar in Foxtown just in time for kickoff."
Junior wouldn't have been blown more off his feet, had Guerrero used a crowbar. Guerrero wanted to hang out with him? Instinct told him not to say anything, just roll with it.
Guerrero, however, was still lost in thought. No one ever had commented on his sense of humor before.