When a Hitman Gets Haunted by a Ghost
Chapter 69: Blame it on the Quiet Guy

Chapter 69: Blame it on the Quiet Guy

Hunter’s phone chimed with a soft ding—the first notification in a few weeks. Kant watched him read the message with a confused scowl.

"What, a new year discount spam?"

"You guessed it." Hunter slid the phone across the table for Kant to see.

(New Year, New Goods! Special sales at Jolly Wings, available until the end of January!) 2:55 PM

Kant furrowed his brow. "New goods?"

"Mhm," Hunter hummed sarcastically, then abruptly got up. "That better not be what I think it is."

"You think he caught the barman on his own?" Kant asked, following with a slight limp.

"Wouldn’t be surprised if he did," Hunter threw Kant’s jacket to him. "But I’m not sitting by to see where this goes."

Kant scoffed. "Didn’t expect you to."

As Hunter’s car pulled up to the building of the chicken shop, the driveway was uncleaned, fresh snow taking up all the parking space.

"Wonder what he’s been so busy with that he didn’t have the time to shovel snow," Hunter grumbled, forced to park on the side of the road.

Jones was leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his fingers and a knowing smirk on his lips. He waved, the smirk widening.

"I have a feeling we walked into a trap," Kant remarked, unbuckling reluctantly.

"Trap my ass, I got nothing to be sorry for." Hunter got out of the car, the door slamming behind his back.

"Long time no see, friends!" Jones greeted cheerfully. Kant’s limp didn’t escape his attention. "And cripples."

Hunter went straight for the bull’s horns. "What’s up with the text? Got somethin’ you wanna tell me?"

Jones laughed, dropping the cigarette butt and crushing it underfoot. "They say time apart breeds space for secrets." His smirk turned chilling. "I’ll give you two a chance to ’fess up before we reach for the big guns."

Kant’s eye twitched. How did he end up in confrontations with Jones every time they saw each other lately? He was too old for this type of stress.

"We tried to get to the barman, but it wasn’t successful," Kant offered half of the truth.

"Oho, ’we’?" Jones pulled out a new smoke. He flicked his lighter, the flame licking the end of his cigarette. "I don’t recall this task being a team-building activity."

"And I don’t remember agreeing to work for a drug joint," Hunter fired back. "You cut me out of the loop, the hell did you expect?"

Jones inhaled the smoke deeply, and exhaled slowly, turning to Hunter with a snake-like stare. "Since when do you care about tasks that don’t concern your responsibilities?"

"Since they started to involve unwanted changes in my workplace," Hunter replied, his tone sharp.

Kant sighed, running a hand down his face. There they went again. He leaned most of his weight on his healthy leg, preparing to stand there for a while.

"Sorry, are you doing business here? I’ve never even seen you helping around in the kitchen," Jones pointed out. "How are you any different from a frequent customer?"

"I’m not your damn busboy. Let’s not pretend we don’t know what exactly this shop’s primary function is," Hunter argued. "And last time I checked, my ass wasn’t the one pushing dope onto minors."

Jones tilted his head, breaking out in a grin. "Just who are these minors you’re talking about? I have legal customers lining up, but no product."

Hunter laughed loudly. "Legality’s not in your vocabulary. Don’t think I forgot your history of selling weed to high schoolers. It’s only thanks to my interference you’ve not landed in jail yet."

"Your interference, huh? If you’re talking about interference, all credit’s due here," Jones pointed at Kant. "Nobody gets what they want, all thanks to someone’s vengeful impulses."

Having found a scapegoat in the midst of sorting out their relationship, they turned to the third guy.

Kant’s expression flattened. What could he say? He had given in to vengeful impulses back at the Red Tail hotel.

Hunter scoffed, looking back to Jones. "Yeah, real clever. Blame it all on the quiet guy."

Jones smirked and raised his hands in a shrug. "I have ambitions you don’t like—sure. But you two? Keep crossing the line and see what happens."

He leaned closer, eyes twinkling menacingly. "Hunter, you’ve always been vocal about it, so I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that Everett’s territory is off limits. Or will you argue that too?"

Hunter’s expression went about as flat as Kant’s, unable to offer any objections on that bit. The two guilty men exchanged uncomfortable glances, then looked away.

"Peachy! Now that you’ve admitted your mistakes," Jones bit the cigarette and turned to grab two shovels, "here come the big guns."

Hunter stared at the shovel handed to him like it was the ugliest thing he’d seen. He opened his mouth to complain, but Kant elbowed him in the ribs.

Jones dusted off his hands and leaned back against the wall. "Shovel up and I’ll forget you tried to cross me."

After some bitter consideration, Hunter huffed and stomped to clean the driveway. "Am I some errand boy?"

"Light punishment, if you ask me," Kant muttered, using the shovel as a cane to get to the other half of the driveway.

Hunter raised a hand to shove him on the way, but didn’t go through with it. "You should be shoveling the whole driveway for the shit you pulled. I didn’t even get to do anything."

"If you hadn’t run to kill the barman the moment I told you about Jones’ plan, we wouldn’t be here in the first place," Kant retorted.

Hunter narrowed his eyes at him. "You blamin’ me?"

"I’m saying it wasn’t my fault alone."

Jones laughed from afar, having brought out a stool to watch them work. "It’s like listening to an old married couple argue."

They paused mid-motion to look up, grimacing and scowling.

"Don’t ever say that again," Hunter warned, shaking off the goosebumps before going back to shoveling snow. "Bloody disgusting."

Kant furrowed his brow at the strong reaction. "Two men getting married?"

Hunter turned his head, squinting. "Who?"

"You think two men being married is disgusting?"

"Being married to you sure as hell is." Hunter dumped snow on Kant’s side, clearly looking for a fight. "The thought of it makes me wanna hurl."

Kant limped over to kick the snow back onto his side. "As if you’re some damn catch. If I went fishing and you were the only thing in the net, I’d throw you back."

Jones whistled. "Bonus points to Kant for creativity!"

Kant turned away and smirked. He might have summoned his inner Gabriel for that.

Hunter dropped the shovel and jabbed a finger at him. "You don’t even know how to fish!"

"Exactly," came a deadpan reply.

"You—"

Jones chuckled, clapping over the sound of Hunter’s cursing. "Less arguing and more moving! If any of the shovels gets snapped in half, I’m sending you both to buy a new one together."

Hunter grabbed his shovel from the ground and went back to his side. "I’ve had enough of togetherness this month."

"You can say that again." Kant adjusted the grip on his shovel, scooping up another shovelful of snow, trying not to mind his thigh aching.

This was not the activity, nor the type of togetherness he wanted. He missed... No, no—better not go there. He narrowed his eyes, focusing on his balance.

...Oh, who was he kidding?

Kant missed Gabriel—his excitement, the way his plans were always full of energy, the genuine smiles, the hope, and the innocence.

He exhaled, mist curling around him. Either way, Kant wasn’t going to reach out while in this pathetic state. There was no use thinking about it.

All he could do was hope Gabriel was doing better than him. It had been exactly three weeks. The guy wasn’t moping around, was he?