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The man made a few odd noises that seemed little mor
e than expressions of pain. Damon eased up on his grip a little, meaning the wire wasn’t so tight.
“What?” he said.
“I don’t know nothing!” the man said, the words so rushed they practically ran together. “He just phones me, gives me the job, and I do it.”
“Who phones you?”
“I don’t know his real name.”
“What do you call him, then?”
“Sir!”
Damon pushed him out over the railing again. “Really?”
“Really. For fuck’s sake, I’ve no reason to lie!”
“Then how are you paid?”
“Something called Frederick Enterprises pays it directly into my account.”
Damon glanced at me. “What do you think?”
“He’s not lying.” He was too scared to lie.
So was I. My heart seemed to be pounding somewhere in my throat and my fingers were twitchy. Although in my case, it wasn’t so much fear of the man but fear of what he might do.
Damon raised an eyebrow, but pulled the man back from the edge again. “What clique do you come from?”
“Jamieson. Jesus, man, I was just hired for the hit, you know?” Blood was staining the collar of his pale shirt.
Then his answer sank in and my stomach lurched. These men were from my clique? I’d never seen them before, but I guess that didn’t mean anything. Not only did Jamieson have a huge population of draman, but many of them left well before adulthood, either to escape the abuse or to find something better. And this man looked several years older than me, so he would have been in a different crèche.
“So you’ve worked for these people before?” Damon asked.
“Shit, yeah. Been getting work off and on for two months now.”
Two months. The first cleansing had happened about two months ago. Coincidence? I suspected not.
“Doing what?”
The man shrugged, then winced as the movement forced the wire deeper into his already bleeding neck. “Whatever they wanted. Shooting, burning, whatever.”
I closed my eyes. So he was involved.
And the truth was, he probably did deserve whatever Damon decided to dish out to him. And yet I knew if he decided to drop the man into the ocean, I’d try to rescue him. Not because he deserved to be saved, but simply because, if he was offering no threat, killing him was nothing more than murder. And that still wasn’t something I wanted on my conscience, no matter how right the reason.
Did that make me weak in Damon’s eyes? More than likely.
“How do you make contact once the job is done?” Damon asked.
“There’s a card in my wallet. Take it.”
With his free hand, Damon pulled the wallet out of the man’s back pocket and tossed it to me. I caught then opened it. There were tons of business cards inside. This guy obviously had a moneymaking business. “Which one?”
“Black one. Red writing. Jesus, ease up on the wire! I’m being honest here.”
