“I’m not sure. Can you repeat the question?”
She jams the prod back into my gut and leaves it there longer this time. I’m a little out of breath when she takes it away.
“I think I got it that time,” I tell her.
“Good. What’s in the briefcase?”
I look down and see it sitting by her feet.
I shrug.
“It’s financial papers. That’s all I know. They don’t tell me much.”
“What do you do for Eva?”
“Lots. I move things around. I talk to people. I take care of problems.”
She leans in a little closer. I could probably snap her neck from here.
“A fixer,” she says. “That’s my job, too. You ever kill anybody for Eva?”
“No. That’s where I draw the line.”
When she shocks me this time, it’s on the inside of my thigh, close enough to my balls to make them consider finding work elsewhere.
“Okay. Yes. A couple of times.”
“Who were they?”
“Just some punks. One was selling company information out the back door. The other was a dog who needed to be put down.”
“A liability.”
I take a breath. “A big-mouth drunk and meth head. He was heading for trouble and taking the company down with him.”
“What company is that?”
“Southern California International Trade Association.”
Another shock, this time back in the gut.
“What company?”
“Wormwood Investments.”
“Good,” she says. “You might wonder why I’m asking you these particular questions.”
“Actually, I was wondering when the sushi class started. I forgot my knife, but there’s tuna in the briefcase.”
Another shock.
I say, “Yeah. I was curious about the questions.”
She gets closer, staring down at me like a buzzard sizing me up for lunch.
“I’m just trying to establish a basis for trust. If you’re going to live, we have to trust each other.”
“I’m all for that.”