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Jack wisely didn't answer that. The truth was that Cillian had never been particularly bright, having only that feral kind of criminal intelligence they called street smarts.
As for thinking Cillian had fallen so far? No, Jack hadn't realized how far Cillian had fallen from the man he'd been. Not until he saw the proof of it here. If there was one thing Cillian had prided himself on in the old days, it was loyalty. Playing fair. That's where Jack got it from. The one part of his career that came from Cillian. The one truly good part.
Except, when forced to face this possibility earlier, he'd dug deeper into those memories. Dug past the rose-colored tinge of nostalgia to the truth. Which was that, in Cillian, Jack had seen the veneer of honor, of loyalty. A man who'd worn those traits like platform disco shoes, to lift him above the crowd and flash at every opportunity the message, "I'm a fair man. A reasonable man. Not like those dirtbags."
Cillian had wooed Jack with those fancy shoes, the perfect enticement for a bitter young man who felt his only place in the world was at the business end of a gun, but who still held onto something that hoped he could find more in such a future. That he could be, like Cillian, fair and loyal. Then he'd caught Cillian shortchanging him on jobs and lying to him about targets. That's when Jack got out. He'd squared up, thanked Cillian and caught the next boat for America. And this was what Cillian had really taught him--if you're going to don those shoes, own them . . . and maybe tone down the glitter, just a little.
"Come on, Jack," Cillian said. "I know you don't talk much. Better to keep your mouth shut and thought a fool than open it and remove all doubt." He snickered. "But you must have something to say to me now."
"What's the game?"
Cillian blinked, clearly expecting outrage or at least a muttered curse. Then he forced another chuckle. "What? You didn't figure it out? Surprise, surprise."
Actually, Jack had. The main thrust of it, at least. But he said nothing.
Cillian reached over and opened a laptop on the nightstand. On the screen was a grainy surveillance camera video of Quinn, on his feet, clutching something silver as he looked around.
"Huh, sounds like the Boy Scout has heard something. You don't know what that could be, do you, Jack?" Cillian flipped to a still photo time-stamped twenty minutes ago. Nadia creeping down a semi-dark hallway.
"Seems she found him," Cillian said. "Excellent detective work. Excellent timing on my part, too. Having a very expensive pair of eyes in that idiot Contrapasso group helped. It still took some serious coordination, let me tell you. Of course, I had backup plans in case you hadn't found the location or decided not to head there."
"Yeah," Jack said. "You're proud of yourself. I get it. Move on."
Cillian's face mottled. "Do you know how fucking hard this was, staying one step ahead of you when you kept screwing everything up?"
Couldn't be too hard, gi
ven how stupid Jack was. He didn't say that. Wasn't even tempted. He might not be a genius, but he seemed like one compared to Cillian.
"Oh, look," Cillian said. "The Boy Scout is pretending to be asleep. Those footsteps must be getting closer."
Jack pushed back the panic with a reminder that Nadia would be prepared for this. When Cillian gave the signal, his thugs would swoop in to grab Nadia, but she'd be ready. Evelyn would be ready. Hell, with Nadia this close to Quinn, she could get his door open and hand him a gun, and between the three of them, they'd be fine. Not that Jack intended to let that happen. Keep Cillian talking. Get the whole plan. Then sound the alarm, warn Nadia and end this.
"You seem very calm," Cillian said. "Not so worried about your girl after all? Personally, I'd agree. She's a looker, but I'd worry she's a little too interested in freeing that young, burly Boy Scout."
Jack said nothing.
Cillian looked at him and shook his head. "No fool like an old fool. You didn't used to fall for the ladies, Jack."
"You want a job. A big one."
"Is that what you think this is about? A job? You already owe me one. So why the hell would I--?"
"A bigger one. Too big for your chit."
"Nothing should be too big for my chit, Jack," Cillian said, eyes narrowing. "You cannot repay what you owe me. I made you. Everything you are now started with me."
"Nah. You helped. But it started with--"
"They only put your feet on the road. Made you a killer. I made you a hitman. A professional. And how did you repay me? Fucked off to America. I told myself it was temporary. You'd come crawling back. But you didn't. You stayed there and found yourself a new mentor. A woman. Do you have any idea how much shit I had to put up with for that? My prize student dumps me for a skirt?"
"Wasn't like that. Moved on. New country. New contacts."
"You owed me, Jack. Everything you are--"
"I paid you back. Before I left. Even you agreed I had. Walked away with an even score."
"I agreed that we were settled temporarily. And then I spent ten fucking years expecting you to come back. Watching your star rise and telling myself you were just busy, making a name for yourself, and you'd come back and work for me. Repay your debt. But you didn't."
