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“Yeah!” His chin brushes against the rope while nodding. “Yeah! That’s me!”
“You left your cigarette butt at the scene which makes you too sloppy to be an actual button man or too stupid to stay in that position for much longer.”
“What the fuck is a button man!?”
His lack of knowledge regarding a basic term has me lifting a displeased eyebrow. “You fuckin’ with me?”
“No!”
“Yousoundlike you’re fuckin’ with me.”
“No!”
“Mmm, itfeelslike you’re fuckin’ with me.”
“No! No! I’m not-” The sound of my engine roars for a second time during the process of my tailgate creeping closer. “Fuck!Fuck!Fuck! I don’t know what a button man is! I swear to God! Pleasedontkillme!”
Seeing his body uncontrollably shaking has me putting my foot back on the brake. “Don’t swear to God.Swear to me.”
“Iswearto you – whoever you are – I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
That’s good.
Him not being a low level hired gun for a mob family means I’m most likelynotabout to have to single handedly take down an entire crime organization.
And thank fuck for that.
Unlike parasailing with Arley in Boracay, that shit’s not on my bucket list.
“Who sent you to kill Arlette Carmichael last night?”
“I don’t know.”
My foot immediately lets up so that the vehicle can inch closer. “What did I say about lyin’ to me, Messina?”
“I’m not lying!”
“What do you think, Reynolds? Is he lyin’?”
“Feels like he’s lying, Wahl.”
“Thought so.”
Tapping the accelerator not only escalates the distance closing but the rate at which words fall from his lips. “I wasn’t sent to kill her!”
His statement has me momentarily stopping my truck.
“I-I-I-I was just supposed to rough her up!” His Adam’s apple bobs uncontrollably. “Scare her! Tell her to stop digging!”
“Stop diggin’?” My glare narrows at his reflection in the mirror. “Stop diggin’ for what?”
“I don’t know.” Pressure relieves itself from the brake yet again causing him to shriek at the top of his lungs. “Ireallydontknow!”
“He’s uh…” Reynolds gives the side of his face an uncomfortable scratch. “He’s pissing himself, Wahl.” The fellow Haworth agent leans over to meet my gaze. “I don’t think he’s lying this time.”
After putting my foot back on the brake, I ask, “Who sent you?”
“I swear to G-” his voice cuts off and quickly corrects, “to youthat I don’t know who sent me. It was a double-blind blackboard assignment.”
