While Trey put a better gag in the assassin's mouth and beat him black and blue in the bathroom, Tristan went to the living room to check out the phone found in the man's things.
It was a model with buttons and minimum of functions, so Tristan wasn't hoping for much. However, it was still locked with a password, so there had to be something.
Being an expert hacker thanks to his system, Tristan knew from a single glance how to bypass the password.
He just looked up the master-code for that model of phones, and in ten minutes, scrolled through the history of the assassin's calls.
All of his contacts were named something like "Useful guy" or "always asks for money". There weren't many contacts in the first place, and no text messages in the archive. The history showed a few recent calls, but none that happened while Tristan was in the Urban Mirage Club.
This was obviously a burner phone.
Disappointed, Tristan kept it in his pocket in case someone called, and returned to his prisoner.
Trey did a splendid job. The prisoner's face barely had any traces, but by the way he held himself and breathed carefully, Trey must've left nasty bruises all over his torso.
Just when Tristan entered, Trey was delivering a heavy kick to the man's ankle.
There was a crunch of something, and the assassin shrieked and sobbed into the gag, ignoring even Tristan's appearance. Trey chuckled at the sight and raised his arm for another blow.
"Enough for now," Tristan said to Trey.
The thug paused, then lowered his fist.
"Sure, boss."
Tristan strolled up to the prisoner, who looked up at him with a silent plea in hopeful and fearful eyes.
He looked utterly pathetic and pitiful at the moment. Perhaps if there was someone else in Tristan's place, someone with less confidence, he'd feel doubt. He'd wonder if he really caught a wrong person...
But Tristan knew he wasn't wrong.
Even if he was... he couldn't let himself think this way until he went through the entire interrogation.
"Are you ready to talk truthfully now?"
The prisoner nodded rapidly.
"Then let's try again."
Tristan removed the gag—a rag for wiping tables, from the look of it—and threw it into the sink. The prisoner coughed, wincing at every breath.
"What's your name?"
"It's..." he coughed more. "Le... jo... son..."
"Tsk. I'm going to talk with you about how you missed your prisoner cutting ropes while you beat him up later, Trey."
Trey paled and nodded anxiously, moving back to the wall. Now he was watching the prisoner like a hawk.
Tristan turned back to the prisoner, and when he felt the man going limp in his hold, he let him go and looked into his eyes.
Now... Now the terror in them was 100% genuine.
Tristan didn't just break the assassin's arm, he broke his last hope.
[Ding!]
[You have utterly terrified and brought to despair a person of high skill. Reward: your PP increased by 2000!]
A grin appeared on Tristan's face.
"Last try, dipshit. Do it well, and I will consider letting you live after this. What's your name?"
"Le... Lewis Johnson. R-really, sir!"
"Who sent you to kill me?"
"I... I don't know. Some rich guy! I met him online. I only meet clients online."
"Really? Why?"
The man's eyes suddenly flashed with admiration.
"That's what No Hope does. Or, well, No Hopes. I'm one of them!"
"Huh. Who's No Hope?"
The next several minutes were spent on a lecture about incredible feats of a legendary assassin, whom Lewis was clearly a fanboy of. Or, more like a club member, because—
"I don't think THE No Hope actually exists. I think they are just an urban legend bunch of pros made—but I liked to be one of them. And it got people to pay me more."
Tristan tsked.
"An anonymous club of assassins... The world is truly a strange place. How did you know I will be in the Urban Mirage?"
"One of the guys I pay for info found you on the guest list, sir." .net
Tristan narrowed his eyes.
"Do you know why I was in the club?"