"Wonderful story," Gene said. "Do you have a point?"
"Gene," Paul said with a raised eyebrow, "you're tied to a chair, so hush up a second, and you'll hear the point." Paul groaned slightly as he stood. He paced while he talked. "Where was I? Oh yeah.
"After a point I started to recognize patterns, to see the reasons behind the hits. This guy's cheating on his wife, that guy's a commie spy, this lady slept with the Secretary of State, whatever. Every now and then, not knowing is no big deal.
"When your superiors ordered your unit to fly to God-knows-where on a black op, did you ask questions? Of course not." Paul took a step toward Gene, his eyes wide.
Gene started to think that Paul really wanted to be believed. That's not the same as telling the truth. "Umm. Sure. I'm not saying I agree, but I see where you're coming from."
"Okay, good," Paul said. "So over the past couple years the same guy contacted me for multiple jobs. I don't know who he is, but I'm pretty sure he's a private citizen. But here's the fucked up part. He doesn't have me kill some cheating wife, or a businessman he's in competition with, or a bookie. There wasn't any obvious motive behind the job.
"For one hit, it's no big deal. If I can't figure out why, whatever. It happens sometimes, like I said. So anyway, he calls me up again pretending to be someone else, and offers me another job. And then he does it again." Paul waggled his finger at Gene, hissed in pain, and pulled his arm back. "Now that's fucked up. If someone wants multiple people snuffed and you can't find the pattern, it gets your brain churning, and you can't help but get curious, you know?"
Gene almost suppressed a snort. Pain shot through his broken nose. "I know all about victim patterns not making sense, Mister Renner."
"Touché," Paul said. "So I end up with a series of targets, all from the same guy, in all different parts of the country with no rhyme or reason. To make a long story short, I call this one off. Tell him I'm done, give him his money back. No big deal, I've done it before." He spun around, both fingers pointed like kids' guns at Gene. "And then, you know what?"
Gene didn't reply.
"The next thing I know someone tries to kill me."
Paul knelt inches from Gene's face and pushed his hair back with his palm. A mostly-healed scab adorned his scalp, the scar pink and glossy. All of the enthusiasm leached out of Paul's voice. "He shot me in the head, Gene, but I got him before he could finish the job."
Gene looked at the scar and said nothing.
"Look, I know you cops cut deals with the little guys if it'll help you catch a big guy. All the time. What I want is a deal. You use your resources to help me find the bastard who put the hit out on me, and I give you the information I have on the victims. You bust the real bad guy, the guy who hired out at least seven killings. This fish is bigger than me. Way bigger."
Gene laughed harshly. "You've been messing with the FBI for a decade. Why would I possibly believe you now?"
Paul took a step back, frowning. "I've never lied to you, Agent Palomini. Never once."
Gene raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps not, but you toyed with me. With us."
"That's true," Paul said. "But I've never killed anyone who someone else wasn't going to kill if I didn't. I'm not a random murderer. I'm a weapon. What I'm offering you is the chance to catch the killer."
Gene tugged at the wire on his wrists and ankles. "Mr. Renner, you're crazy if you think I'm going to negotiate while tied to a chair."
With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, Paul moved behind Gene and out of sight. He heard the knife clear the sheath. At the metallic ring of wire being cut, Gene felt immediate relief from the pressure in his feet. A spike of pain followed as blood flowed to the battered bones in his left foot. That's got to be broken.
"You fucked up my chest," Paul said from behind him. More faintly he continued, "I'm going to let you out of the chair now. If you attack me this go around, one of us isn't walking out of this room alive. I can guarantee that that person will be you. Got it?"
"Got it, Mr. Renner."
"Good. And call me Paul."
Another quick snip and the wire pressure relaxed on Gene's wrists. He flexed his hands to restore circulation, staying seated as Paul moved back in front of him. He wasn't sure he could stand yet anyway. Paul grabbed a chair, dragged it across the room one-handed, and set it so the back faced Gene. He let his arms take the brunt of the effort as he lowered himself into a sitting position. "I think you cracked some ribs."
Gene chuckled. "I think you broke my foot, and I know you broke my nose." He continued flexing his hands, wrists, ankles, and toes. The pins and needles were almost unbearable. "Paul, you know I can't trust you."