The Collected Part 8

At 5:57 and five seconds, the floorboard behind him creaked.

__________.

PULLMAN STOOD NEAR his couch, staring at the wall, a cannon of a gun dangling from his hand. Quinn and Orlando, having already checked the rest of the apartment and confirming there was no one else present, watched him from the shadows across the room.

Finally, Quinn gave Orlando a nod, and he moved forward, making it to within ten feet of the man before the floorboard groaned.

Pullman started to turn, his gun rising. Quinn took two quick steps forward and grabbed the gun. A boom filled the apartment as Pullman pulled the trigger, the bullet flying over Quinn's shoulder and into the ceiling.

Quinn wrenched the gun out of the man's grasp, tossed it behind him, and slammed the b.u.t.t of his SIG into the side of Pullman's head.

Pullman wheeled backward, a shout of surprise and pain escaping his lips. Quinn followed right after him, this time whacking an open hand against the man's ear.

Pullman jerked in response, his hand flying up to protect himself as he cried out again.

Quinn grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him at a stuffed chair next to the couch. When Pullman's legs. .h.i.t the seat, he crumbled backward.

"Please, please," the broker said, his hands raised protectively in front of his face. "This is all a mistake."

"You're d.a.m.n right it is," Quinn said. "I am not a fan of being shot at."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...Look, I didn't realize who he was. Okay?"

Quinn c.o.c.ked his head, his eyes narrowing. "Didn't realize who who was?"

"The senator. Um, uh, Lopez. Right? That's his name, I think...Yeah, yeah. Senator Lopez. I swear. I didn't know."

Senator Lopez? Who the h.e.l.l was this guy talking about?

He glanced at Orlando. She shrugged, as confused as he was.

As he turned back, Pullman started to push himself out of the chair.

"No one said you could get up." Quinn knocked the broker back down. "Tape," he said to Orlando, his eyes never leaving Pullman.

There was a loud rip, and a second later Orlando came around his side, a loose end of duct tape in one hand and the roll in the other.

Pullman pushed back in the chair. "Wait! Wait! I told you I didn't know."

"Arms at your side," Quinn ordered.

"Please!"

Quinn pointed his SIG at the man's shoulder. "Take them down or I will."

Pullman dropped his arms.

"Take off your shirt."

"What?"

"Take it off."

"Okay, okay," the man said. He pulled off his shirt, revealing an abnormally hairy chest.

"Drop it on the floor."

As soon as the man did, Quinn grabbed him by the nape of the neck and pulled him forward several inches so Orlando would have room to work. Orlando stuck the end of the tape to the broker's chest, then wrapped it around the man's body several times, pinning Pullman's arms tightly to his side. Once that was done, Quinn pushed the man back, and Orlando wound more tape around the chair, creating a web that would keep Pullman where he was. She then ripped off a small piece and stuck it over the man's mouth.

Pullman yelled in protest, his voice leaking from the bottom of the strip.

"See, that just p.i.s.ses me off," Orlando said.

She tore off two more pieces. The first she put over the lower half of the man's mouth. The other, longer strip she wrapped under Pullman's jaw and up the side of his face so that it held down the ends of the other two.

"Yell again," she said.

Pullman stared back, silent.

"You heard her," Quinn told him.

Pullman gave a halfhearted yell. This time his voice was sufficiently m.u.f.fled.

"Better," Orlando said.

Quinn leaned forward a few inches. "You brought this on yourself. If you hadn't tried to shoot me, we might have had a nice, pleasant conversation. But you just couldn't help pulling the trigger, could you?"

Pullman mumbled something.

"I'm going to let that pa.s.s, 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 embarra.s.sing if you were the wrong a.s.shole, 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 a.s.sociate 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 pa.s.swords to prove he was legit. And the payments appeared on schedule."

"How was contact handled?"

"Over the phone."

"You never met him in person?"