“I think . . .” he manages as he works his way back into a sitting position, “I think she did it as a small mercy.” She looks back at him. “What?” “Possibly,” he says. “Mercy from what?” He doesn’t say anything for a bit. “Mercy from what?” “I told them to fry him.” “Huh?” “Throw him on the third rail,” he explains. “Fry him. Show the rest of the spooks in this city what happens if they come down to our part of town.” He looks at the blood slowly consuming his coat and the tape she’s wrapped around it. His skin is the blue-white of mackerel. “Jules didn’t like that. She kept saying let him
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