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My groin clenches involuntarily. “I understand.”
“You work for Daniel Quinn,” she repeats. “I believe a Quinn killed my brother. I want you to find out which Quinn it was.”
“I don’t know,” I say, desperately. “I make tacos, lady. Daniel passes his shit through my freezer, and I look the other way. I don’t get involved. If I knew anything, I’d tell you.”
She nods at the man next to me and I feel the edge of his pistol press into my neck.
“Okay — okay.” I present my begging hands. “Daniel might have mentioned your brother. But he said he didn’t kill him. He doesn’t want a mob war.”
“My brother didn’t either,” she says. “He wanted peace and cooperation between our families and he was killed for it.”
“That’s probably true, but—”
“Mr. Murray, did you ever sneak a bite of dessert before dinner even after mother said no?” she asks over me.
I squint. “I don’t know. Yeah, maybe.”
“Have you ever committed a crime you knew in advance to be illegal?”
“Sure,” I answer. “Who hasn’t?”
“So, then, do you agree that an insubordinate Quinn might have killed my brother against Daniel’s wishes?”
“Yeah, but—”
“You will find out which Quinn killed my brother,” she says again, her voice harder, “or…”
I wait. “Or…?”
“Or I will hang you up by your—”
“My fucking balls,” I say, nodding. “I got it.”
She gestures to the driver, and he comes to a quick stop by the curb. “You have two days, Mr. Murray.”
I wince. “I kinda got a lot on my plate right now. I can probably fit it in next—”
The man beside me pulls back the hammer on his pistol.
“Two days,” I say with a big nod. “Sounds reasonable. No problem. I’ll get right on it.”
Morgan smiles, though I really wish she wouldn’t. I almost feel like she’s about to detach her jaw and swallow me whole. “Have a good night, Mr. Murray.”
“Oh, you, too,” I mutter as the brute shoves me back outside.
I plunk down into a deep puddle. The water splashes up my ankles and I curse to myself as Morgan rolls her window down again.
“And Mr. Murray…”
I groan. “What?”
“If you tell anyone about this, I will—”
“Something about my balls?” I ask as I scrape my foot against the curb.
She smiles again. The window slides back up as her cliché ride rolls off down the street.
I step up onto the sidewalk and reach for my phone in my pocket to distract myself from the hell I just encountered. It still has a little bit of juice left, but it’ll die any minute now. I tap over to my messages.
