58: Brice
Brice
Porfirio Fay laughed without warmth. His fat shoulders shook, but the g*n he held on Brice remained steady.
“I’m sorry. I must’ve misheard,” he said. “I thought you said you needed my help.”
Brice swallowed. “I do.”
The office was lit only by a desk lamp, but Brice had already sensed the other person in the room, in a corner by the door. It wasn’t either of the guards who had escorted Brice to Fay’s office.
“You request my help on a task I assigned you,” Fay said, drawing each word out like cord around Brice’s neck. “You request my help in the dead of night, daring to disturb me without invitation.”
“Not like you’re in bed,” Brice said, and Fay raised his eyebrows. “This is prime time for you, isn’t it? The kind of deals you make, daylight’s too bright. Better to use
