“I’m a freelancer.”
Leo c****d his head to the side. “And what kind of work do you freelance?”
“Logistics.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“People get themselves into things that need handling,” said Eden. “But you know how it is. Most are terrible at it. Can’t even handle themselves. I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of that.”
“Hm.” He looked back around at where Puck was still panting, and now drooling, around the gun placed in his mouth. His face looked like it was taking on a tinge of purple, squashed sideways into the table. “Yes. I’ve seen it here and there.”
“So I handle things for them. They acquire the goods, I tell them where it goes and how to get more. I keep them coordinated. If they listen, they profit. If they don’t…”
“Is that what happened to DiAngelo?”
A strange question. DiAngelo
