He wiggles and pulls, but she’s got him tight.
“Don’t hurt me,” he says.
I hold up the knife.
“It’ll only hurt if you move.”
Digging the knife into a seam, I slit the sleeve of his jacket and shirt all the way up to his shoulder. Up near his armpit is a brand in the shape of the ECG logo.
“What does the brand mean?” I say.
“That’s confidential.”
“You’re talking to a bored man with a knife. What will I cut next?”
Moore looks from me to Candy. She shrugs.
“Don’t look at me. There’s no reasoning when he gets this way.”
I say, “Let me get things rolling. I bet you have a blue-yonder contract. Is that what the tattoo means?”
He nods.
“Why mark people?” says Candy. “Is it to scare off other agencies?”
“Partly,” Moore says. “But it’s to let paramedics and morticians know, anyone who might work with dead bodies, about the contract.”
“A blue yonder is about the spirit,” I say. “Why does the body matter?”
“Each brand is a little different.”
“Like a serial number,” says Candy.
“Yeah. They use it to confirm you’re dead so the necromancers can collect your soul.”
I tap his leg with the knife, thinking.
“How long does a contract last?”
“Indefinitely,” he says.
“So, basically ECG owns you forever. Who told you to come to me?”
“No one. I’m a salesman. Getting you to sign would have been a big deal for my career.”
I look at his eyes, trying to read him, but he’s too scared for me to get anything useful.
“You know you’re talking to someone with a history of erratic behavior, right? And I’m holding a knife.”
He looks at the ceiling for a minute. Candy lets go of his arm and he snatches it back.
“It was my boss,” he says.
“Who’s your boss?”
“Mr. Burgess.”
“And who told him?”