"Warn me about what?"
"There are people looking for you. People who know what you are. People who want to use you."
"How do you know?"
"Because I used to be one of them."
The memory of that conversation had been sitting in my chest like a stone.
I'd thought about it for days—turning it over, examining it, trying to decide if Frank was lying or telling the truth or something in between. Matt had noticed me watching him. Had asked,"You okay? You've been staring at Frank for twenty minutes."
"He knows something."
"Everyone knows something. The question is whether it's useful."
"How do I find out?"
"You ask. But you have to be careful. Frank's not stupid. He's been around. He knows how to keep secrets."
"How do you know him?"
"He used to work for a transport company. Mercy Logistics. They moved... things. People. I never asked for details.He never offered. But he stopped drinking here for a while, and when he came back, he was different. Quieter. More careful."
"Mercy Logistics."
The name landed in my chest like a bullet.
"Do you know where they're based?"
"I know where they used to be. An office in the warehouse district. But it's been years. He might not even remember."
"I'll ask him."
"Bunny."
Matt's voice was sharp.
"Be careful. Frank's not a bad man, but he's done bad things. We all have. The difference is whether we're still doing them."
Frank was waiting for me when I came out of the back room.
The bar was closed. The chairs were up. The lights were off except for the one above the register. Frank was sitting in his usual stool, a glass of bourbon in front of him, his eyes watching the door.
"You're still here."
"I'm always here."
"Matt said you used to work for Mercy Logistics."
His expression didn't change.
"Matt talks too much."
"Is it true?"
"What if it is?"
"Then I need to know where to find them."
