Page 104 of The Wicked

“I’m not talking about this anymore.”

I chuckled, setting the glass down. “You raised the issue.”

“It was clearly a mistake. You need to work on your conversational skills because, somehow, everything you say has to end in some sexual comment. It’s worrying.”

“Aww, you’re worried about me?”

“No… you make me want to plant a bullet in my skull,” he said, turning his head back to the window, his dull demeanor settling in an instant, like every conversation we just had never happened.

My stomach bottomed out with guilt at his response, and I dropped the topic, sitting up and raising a new one. “So, my captors were asking for information about some gold. Apparently, there’s a lot of gold to be gained by whoever finds the painting…” I said, gauging his expression.

He hesitantly looked away from the window to me, looking indifferent. “Is that so,” he stated.

I sighed. “You knew, didn’t you?”

He didn’t respond.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I had no reason to.”

“Seriously? I almost got shot because of a fake painting. That’s enough fucking reason to.”

“How do you know it’s a fake?”

“Street did some research, and they discovered all about the quest shit, the gold, and Arturo’s little chihuahua.”

“Congratulations,” he said.

“You’re so nonchalant about this. It’s infuriating.”

“Okay,” he mumbled, looking out the window again. He looked like he was physically here, but his mind was elsewhere.

“Can I have the ID card? The one you took from the buzzcut guy?” I asked.

Without looking at me, he lifted himself a little, searching his pocket for the ID card and dropping it on the table.

I cleared my throat. “Thanks. I still don’t think there’s any need to hunt down the rest of his family.”

“Hm,” he responded.

Deciding to use Spanish, I asked,“Where’s your mind?”

He turned his head towards me, staring for a few seconds before he answered,“Everywhere.”

I sat up, knowing I was not good at this, but I still had to let him know, one way or another, why I was mad.“Listen, I appreciate that you killed that guy. He would have killed me if you hadn’t done it. But the boy—he was still young, and I know your logic is to kill them so they wouldn’t have to go through grief, but… you’re not only stopping them from grieving… you’re stopping them from a future they could have had. A life. Maybe even better than the one we have.”

When he didn’t reply, I continued,“I know this business comes with a lot of blood on your hands, but sometimes, it’s better to have a limit so you don’t completely lose yourself. Draw the limit at hurting children, or hell—any innocent person. You can kill a father, but you don’t have to kill the child. Grief is normal. It hurts, but it’s normal. You can’t stop people from feeling it by killing them. You’re only causing more damage to yourself.”

“Thank you,” he said, shocking me.

“Are you just saying that so I’ll stop talking?”

He shook his head. “I understand where you’re coming from. You’ve opened my eyes to many things today.”

I blinked blankly at him before frowning. “Right, glad you… yeah. Good talk.”

He nodded, looking out the window, locking up his posture in a way that told me he didn’t want to talk anymore.