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“Don't know yet.”

I watch the second-floor window. Nothing moves behind it.

“You're calling me after midnight to tell me you don't know his name and don't know what information he has.”

“Would you prefer I waited until morning?”

“No.”

“Then stop bitching.”

I lean back against the seat. “What do we know?”

“Smoke isn't part of Mercer's organization. From what we can tell, he's not part of any organization.”

“Then how'd he get on Mercer's radar?”

“We're working on that too.”

I exhale slowly.

Bishop ignores it. “What we do know is Mercer wants something Smoke has.”

“Information.”

“That's the working theory.”

“And the client?”

“Still wants Mercer gone before he finds him.”

My eyes narrow. “Why?”

Silence.

“Bishop.”

“The client believes whatever Smoke has will cause problems if Mercer gets it back.”

Back.

I catch the word.

“Gets it back?”

Another click of the lighter.

“You heard me.”

“So the information belonged to Mercer?”

“I didn't say that.”

“You didn't have to.”

Bishop goes quiet. Which means I'm close.

I look at the building again.