They weren't particular in the sorts of cases they took, in other words. "So you were asked to follow us? Then what?"
"Nothing. I swear, we were just asked to follow you and report back."
"To whom?"
"He gave us a phone number. That's all I know, honestly."
I believed him. The stink of his fear rode the air, and there was too much horror in his eyes for there to be any room for lies.
"So how were you supposed to be paid?"
"He's already deposited the money into our account."
"What phone number did he give you?"
"I don't know it by heart," he said, seemingly unaware of the irony, "but grab my phone out of my right pocket. It's there."
I shifted my leg slightly and then, with my free hand, dragged his phone out of his pocket. I opened it up, brought up the contacts list, and glanced at him. "Which one?"
"It's under Jones Job."
I snorted softly. How original. I scrolled down, found the contact and the number, then closed his phone and shoved it into my pocket.
"Hey, that's—"
"Mine," I finished for him. "The price you pay for following the wrong people. Is the number they gave you to contact the same number the caller used?"
His lips twisted. "No. It came up as unlisted, but we ran a cracker program and got it, just in case."