Page 56 of Savage Reckoning

The next few minutes are spent examining the injured limb. I can’t be certain it’s not fractured without an x-ray, and I’d need to move him to my clinic for that. For now, I settle for strapping it up tight. “Is that more comfortable?” I ask once I’ve finished.

“Yes. Thank you.” He appears slightly less pallid, I think.

I suppose I could leave now, my duty done, but I don’t. And neither Tony nor Gabe seems to want me to go, so I remain where I am, seated next to Frankie.

“Who do you work for?” Gabriel starts.

“Myself.”

“Bullshit. Who paid for all that fancy tech you have? The clothes? The shoes?” He kicks the discarded Jimmy Choo trainer. “You’d have no change from a grand for these.”

“I bought them,” Frankie protests. “With my own money.”

“What are you? A rich kid with a trust fund?”

He shakes his head. “I earned it.”

“How? A drugs line?” What other way would a kid of sixteen lay his hands on that sort of money?

“I wouldn’t touch that stuff. Does your head in.”

“Very wise. So, what then?”

“I do… jobs. Projects. People pay me for information.”

“What sort of information?”

“Anything? Anything they want to know.”

“Like?”

“Like… business stuff. Who’s bidding for what, and what they’re offering. Like, at blind auctions.”

Gabe regards him sceptically. “What sort of auctions?”

“Property usually. Companies sometimes. Corporate takeovers.”

Gabe expression alters. Is that growing respect I see there?

“You hack into the auction systems?”

Frankie nods. “I can tell my client what the highest bid is to make sure they beat it. But not by too much. No one likes to waste money.”

“Your client? Who would that be, Frankie?”

“I… I can’t tell you that.”

“Wrong answer, you little shit.” He grabs Frankie by the collar of his designer polo shirt.

The lad lets out a terrified shriek. “No, please. I can’t. Really. I don’t know who they are. It’s all done online. The dark web… I’d tell you if I knew.”

Gabriel releases him, much to my relief. My instincts tell me the boy isn’t lying

“So, how does it work, Frankie?” I ask him, more gently. “How do they get in touch with you?”

“There’s a… a n-network…” he stammers. “It’s hard to explain. I could show you if I had my stuff.”

“Tell us,” Gabriel insists.

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