Brett Battles - The Collected

Pullman mumbled something.

“I’m going to let that pass, but from now on this is how it’s going to work. Your mouth stays shut unless I give you permission to speak. Understood?”

Pullman nodded.

“I’m going to ask you a few yes-or-no questions. A nod for yes, a shake for no. Easy, right?”

Another nod.

“Excellent. All right, something simple first. You are Timothy Pullman, correct?”

Pullman stared at him for a moment, his eyes widening ever so slightly.

“Before you answer,” Quinn said, “some of these questions we already know the answer to, so we’ll know right away if you lie to us, and that won’t make us very happy.” He raised his gun a few inches to ensure the message wasn’t too subtle for the man.

Pullman looked away.

“So, Pullman, right?”

A nod.

“Good. Then we’re in the right place. It would have been pretty embarrassing if you were the wrong asshole, don’t you think?”

The broker looked like he wasn’t sure if he should nod or shake or what.

Quinn raised his hand, his palm out. “Rhetorical.” He smiled. “Yes or no. You put together an op that supposedly finished two days ago.”

A nod.

“Did this Senator Lopez have something to do with the job?”

Yes.

“The victim?” Quinn guessed.

Pullman hesitated.

“Remember. Only the truth.”

Pullman’s head moved up and down.

“So you think we’re here about him? Maybe we’re not too happy that he’s dead?”

Pullman nodded.

“And that’s where you’re wrong,” Quinn said. “Partially, anyway. We are here about the project, but we couldn’t care less about Senator Lopez.”

Pullman looked confused.

“You’ve been straight with us so far. I can see it in your eyes, so don’t screw it up now.”

The man immediately shook his head.

“Good. The person we’re interested in is one of the people you hired. The cleaner. Quinn, right?”

A quick, decisive nod.

“See, here again is an example of something that could have made things a lot easier. When my associate called you last night, you could have told us the truth then. If you had, we wouldn’t have had to come all the way out here to see you.” Quinn paused. “Please tell me you regret not being a little nicer.”

Pullman nodded with enthusiasm.

Quinn clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth several times, then said, “All right. I’m going to take the tape off your mouth now, but your lips stay sealed unless you’re answering a question from either me or my friend. Got it?”

Yes.

Quinn smiled, and ripped off the long piece that went under Pullman’s jaw. The broker’s eyes widened as he let out a grunt.

“Sorry about that,” Quinn said. He removed the two pieces from over the man’s mouth. “There. Better?”

Pullman started to speak, then thought better of it, and nodded.

“Another easy one. The Lopez job, is it over? Or did it get extended?”

“Over,” Pullman croaked.

“When?”

“Like you said-almost two days.”

“So, on schedule.”

A nod, tentative.

“Then where is Quinn?”

“I don’t know. The job went…bad.”

“Explain bad to me.”

“The police found the body before it could be disposed of.”

Quinn hid his surprise. “They caught your cleaner?”

Pullman hesitated.

“Answer the question.”

“I don’t know the answer. I’m not sure if they arrested him or not. I tried to find out, but it’s like he disappeared.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There was some kind of manhunt in the news after they found the body, but I’m not sure if they caught anyone.”

A manhunt ? That did not sound good. Quinn didn’t want to ask the next question but he knew he had to. “What about other bodies? Any found around the same time but not officially connected together?”

“No. Nothing reported.”

Despite the fact it didn’t mean much, Quinn was relieved by the answer. “All right. Let’s start at the beginning. Who was your client?”

“The man I talked to went by the name of Mr. Brown.”

“Did this Mr. Brown belong to a particular organization?”

“He never said. But he used the right passwords to prove he was legit. And the payments appeared on schedule.”

“How was contact handled?”

“Over the phone.”

“You never met him in person?”

“No.”

Playing something he knew was more than just a hunch, Quinn retrieved his phone and accessed the photo Daeng had sent him. He showed it to Pullman. “Do you recognize this man?”

At first Pullman shook his head, then he stopped and squinted. “I’m not sure. He looks kind of familiar.”

“Familiar how? You’ve met with him? You’ve talked to him?”

“I don’t know,” Pullman said defensively. “It ain’t a great picture. Could be hundreds of people who look like that.”

True enough, but the fact that Pullman hesitated in saying no outright made Quinn more convinced that what happened to Daeng was connected. He put the phone away.

“Your client. I assume you have a number for him.”

“Yes, but…” He paused. “It’s disconnected now.”

“You’ve called it?”

“A few dozen times since yesterday.”

“Give me the number.”

Pullman’s gaze flicked past Quinn, across the room. “It’s in my phone over by my computer.”

“I’ll get it,” Orlando said.

While she did that, Quinn said, “Where did the job take place?”

“Monterrey, Mexico.”

“This Senator Lopez-is he really a senator, or is that just a nickname?”

“Really a senator.”

“In Mexico?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about the job and what happened.”

In fits and starts, Pullman began telling what he knew.

“Wait,” Quinn said before he got too far. “Quinn’s assistant. What was his name?”

“Uh, Burke.”

Quinn had never heard of the guy. “Do you know how he got the job?”

“I…recommended him.”

“ You ?”

“Well, actually, the client did. I just passed the name along.”

That was also disturbing. “All right. Let’s go back to the job.”

Pullman told them the rest, finishing up with learning that the Mexican authorities had discovered the body, and that he could no longer reach his client.

“What’s your password?” Orlando asked.

“My what?”

“Password. For your computer.”

“Why?”

Quinn raised the gun.

“Uh, uh, it’s Jessica36b.”

“God, that better not mean-” Orlando stopped herself with a disgusted groan. “Never mind.”

Quinn could hear her disconnecting the man’s laptop and shoving it into her bag.

“What are you doing?” Pullman said. “That’s mine. I need that.”

“It was yours,” she said.

“But my work. Everything’s on there!”

“I’m sure you have a backup somewhere,” Quinn said. He stood up. “A little advice. You might want to lie low for a while.”

“Hold on. Are you going to leave me like this?”

“Thanks for reminding me.”

Instead of unwrapping the tape, Quinn pulled out the cylindrical container, unscrewed one end, and slipped the syringe into his hand.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Pullman protested.

Quinn stuck the needle into the broker’s arm.

“Hey! What the hell?”

“You’re going to have a nice headache when you wake up,” Quinn said. “You’ll want to take some aspirin and drink plenty of water. But the good news is, you won’t have to worry about that for another twenty-four hours, at least.”

“What did you…give…me?” The man’s voice was already losing strength.