[ WP ] A billionaire hires two contract-killers to murder each other for sadistic entertainment . Describe how the hit-men discover the ploy , team up , and kill their employer .

Mr. Smith had a strong aversion to many things, but lateness was a pet peeve that rubbed him raw. His watch, a prized possession purchased from services rendered in a particularly gruesome assassination in Bulgaria, ticked incessantly as he once again rubbed his finger against the barrel of the Berreta. A nervous habit, but one that calmed him down instantly. He flicked his eyes down to the face of the watch, checking the time. One minute past the scheduled time, Mr. Smith's cheek twitched. A minor tell. 
 
 As he once again shifted in his uncomfortable position, lying flat on a suspiciously rotted plank of wood, he let out a deep breath and surveyed the scene in the hole before him. Any moment now, the door below would swing open. 
 
 Mr. Jones opened the door and strode into the room below with an arrogance that belied his size. Mr. Smith let out a short `` fuck'' at his unpreparedness, then brought the gun down to fire the same time Jones swung his own pistol upwards. The two men froze. 
 
 `` You're taking the piss,'' Jones snarled out of the side of his mouth, `` Do you mean to keep following me for sloppy seconds for the rest of our lives?'' 
 
 `` I'll be fucked,'' Smith breathed at Jones' arrogance, `` If I do n't pop you in that monumental gob of yours, you two bit cunt hack.'' 
 
 Jones smirked and side stepped, never taking his arm down or his eyes off Smith. 
 
 ``... a two bit cunt hack who is still breathing. Bet you're comfy up there on your perch, you old vulture. Fly down here and face-'' 
 
 Smith fired. 
 
 Jones threw himself behind a concrete wall, crouching down as another bullet almost clipped his ear. He batted away the pain and cocked his weapon again. 
 
 `` Always with that god forsaken mouth!'' Smith yelled down, slamming in another magazine, `` Yapping during a job. Yapping during prep. Bitching bout cleanup. If I could count the times I almost put one in the back of your head meself I'd be richer than the good Mr. Turner.'' 
 
 `` Hold a tic,'' he heard Jones yell below, `` You're still with Mr. Turner?'' 
 
 Smith rolled his eyes, `` Of bloody course, you do n't turn away proper steady employment during these times. I do n't know what you did to piss him off this time, but he's snap happy to see you strung up, my boy.'' 
 
 `` Mate, I'm still with Turner.'' 
 
 Smith stopped. `` You messing with me?'' 
 
 `` No, mate. He told me to come here today and put two in the back of your head.'' 
 
 Hrm. 
 
 `` He told me to do the same.'' 
 
 Jones tutted below. 
 
 `` Smithy, I reckon we've got ourselves a situation. I'm of an opinion that we've been set up to pop each other.'' 
 
 Smith gritted his teeth. Visions of the last job swam through his memory....the clean up had n't been exact and Mr. Turner had n't been particularly full of praise, but the job had been completed after all had been said and done... 
 
 `` That megalomaniac piece of shit!'' 
 
 `` Smithy, I've got a 250,000 reward for your head once I bring back a photo of you swimming in a pool of your own blood. I reckon you might have the same offer I had?'' 
 
 `` Actually it's 400,000 for yours. But yeah. The same.'' 
 
 `` I'd feel honored if I was n't so fucking incensed. Might I make a suggestion, Smithy? 
 
 `` I'm all ears, Jonesy.'' 
 
 Mr. Jones stepped out from behind the concrete wall, his gun raised. Smith kept his own weapon trained on him, but the desire to shoot was considerably lessened. 
 
 `` A meeting ai n't impossible to setup. Let's make that twat chew on his own intestines.'' 
 
 Smith chewed on his lip. `` Force him to transfer funds, split 50/50?'' 
 
 `` Yes. And then he chews his intestines.'' 
 
 `` Christ Almighty!'' 
 
 `` You'll forgive me if I'm not the forgiving sort... mercy ai n't exactly a strong suit in our trade.'' 
 
 Smith and Jones lowered their weapons. Smith hemmed, then clipped his weapon to his belt, grabbed a steady beam, and swung down to the floor below. 
 
 `` Let's carve the motherfucker up. But for the love of the Mother Mary, let me do the talking.''
