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No Man is an Island (of Hate)

Business concluded, the stranger bowed his thanks, took the case and left. Bree waited until the door slid shut before rounding on her partner. “I thought you hated outlanders.”

Leon was still hunched over, punching costs into the computer. “Mm-hmm.”

She wiped her hands on her apron, leaving dark grease trails, and crossed her arms. “Then why did you help that one?”

Leon leaned back and ticked points off on thick fingers as he made them. “First off, a man’s gotta get paid, and it don’t pay to be picky. Secondly, this guy has thumbed his nose at the Citi-gov and though it has knocked his life down a notch or two, he aims to continue. That means he’s got a kind of integrity I can dig.”

Bree snorted. “I thought it might be desperation.”

“That don’t hurt either. Desperate men are a little more dangerous, but they’ll remember the people that helped ‘em just as they’ll remember those that turned ‘em away. You’re always either with ’em or against ’em.”

She put a hand on his forearm. “I was talking about you.”

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