And I was thinking it was more a case of "the less he knew, the less he could blab." "Is Bottchelli his real name?"
"Yeah." He hesitated. "As far as I know."
"How do I find him?"
He moved again, and the quick desire to lash out ran through his thoughts. He dismissed it, but not easily. I squeezed his hand harder, making him concentrate on me and the pain rather than the escape he was contemplating.
"I've only got a cell number. He contacts me with the job, and I contact him when the job is done."
Meaning whoever the boss was, he was extremely cautious. Which sounded very much like Blake.
"When did he contact you about this job?"
"Yesterday morning."
"How did you find me in Melton?"
"Cell phone scanner. Heard them call you to the murder, so I just waited out of sight."
Meaning I'd have to change my number, pronto. "Give me the number you use to contact your boss."
Again he hesitated. And this time, the need to retaliate surged into action and he lashed out with a booted foot. I jumped away from the blow, but the tip of his steel-capped boots skimmed my shin with enough force behind it to make pain shimmer up my leg. But I didn't let go of him and my sudden movement unbalanced him, pulling him away from the car. His free arm flailed as he tried to regain his balance, but I released his other hand and gave him an additional shove.
He landed heavily on his hands and knees. I planted a heel on his back and forced him into the dirt.
"Now, shall we try that again?" I said, voice cold. "Or shall I drive this stiletto right through your spine?"
"Bitch," he muttered - though his thoughts were a whole lot more colorful and creative.
"Phone number," I said, barely resisting the impulse to smile. Only to have the impulse die almost as suddenly as it had risen.
What had happened to the reluctance to do this job? What had happened to the fear that I could one day take it too far?
But I didn't ease the pressure of my heel on his back. I might fear what I was becoming, but I feared whatever Blake had planned more.
He gave me the phone number. I shoved it into my memory banks, then said, "And your name?"
"Rudy White."
His thoughts said he was telling the truth. They also told me where he lived, so I could find him again if I needed to.
"Well, Rudy, I suggest very strongly that you give up trailing, because you're not very good at it." I stepped away and he scrambled to his feet with surprising dexterity for such a big man. "And if I spot you following me again, I'll throw your ass in jail and throw away the key."
"You can't do that - "
"I can do anything I want with scum like you. Remember that the next time you take on a job that involves Directorate personnel."
He scowled but didn't say anything.
"Now get into the car and drive away," I added.
He obeyed. I waited until he'd left the parking lot, then pressed the com-link button and said, "You heard all that?"
"Yep," Sal said, "Jack's already applied for a new cell number for you. We should have it within an hour or so. The phone number White gave us is listed as belonging to a Frank Wise. Who, according to our records, was beheaded several months ago in a robbery gone wrong."
Interesting. "What about Bottchelli?"
"He's another man with no official records of any kind."