“You can’t walk up and stick a bullet in this guy. That’s just-”
Albrecht knows better. “I’m a pretty good shot.”
“Ain’t what I mean,” Mato says. Shakes his head. His face is hard to read in the dimness of this makeshift bar. “That’s not it at all.”
Albrecht sighs, runs a slow hand across her buzzcut hair; she’s got bandages and splints on a couple of her fingers, bruises fading across her knuckles. “Okay,” she says at last. “Let’s have it then. Everything you know.”
Mato gives her nothing.
Albrecht uses her good hand to push a full bottle of bourbon across the table. Backs it up with two packs of cigarettes, still sealed, Prime quality. “Tell me about Topper.”
This story will be a sequel to this one: Broken Rooms: Observe & Report