The Gray Man (Gray Man, #1)

by Mark Greaney

Maybe I can sweeten the pot.” “The flavor of the stew doesn’t enter into it. It is the stew itself I don’t fancy.”

“What happened to all the good guys?” asked Court rhetorically. “Before 9/11, we were a basket with a few bad apples. After 9/11, we grew into an orchard. Now there are enough bad apples to fill baskets. Same shit, different scale. No surprise.”

Doc says I’ve got six months to live. I tell him, ‘I can’t pay your bill.’ He tells me he’ll give me another six months.”

“What happened to you?” “I got shot in the leg. A couple of days back.” “With a gun?” She looked down at the open three-day-old wound in his thigh, then back up to the bloody hip. She quickly pulled rubber gloves on over her small hands. “Mon Dieu.” “And then my legs and feet got cut with broken glass.” “I see that.” “Then I snapped a rib rolling down a mountain in Switzerland.” “A mountain?” “Yes. Then I fucked up my wrist busting out of some handcuffs.” Justine was silent. Her jaw had dropped open slightly. “And your stomach?” “Knife wound.” “Where?” “Here in Paris. About an hour ago, I guess. And then I fell into the Seine.” She shook her head. “Monsieur, I do not know what you do for a living, and I do not want to know. But whatever it is, I think you should find some other type of job.”

ha ha!