He shoots himself in the leg.
Then he places the phone call.
"Not much of an offer if you can't take it, is it?"
He tears away the fabric around the wound in Jean’s leg.
“...fuck, he was right next to you, huh...?”
He presses at the skin around the wound with his fingertips, investigating.
Jean hisses, curses in French between his teeth.
Watching this is the best part of his job.
He prods a little more with his fingertips.
“...yeah, I can work with this.”
There’s a sudden prickling sensation in his leg around the wound, like it had been asleep until now.
Jean winces, but watches the wound with equally keen interest.
"How much time each day do they have you sitting around doing nothing? This is, if you'll pardon the turn of phrase, a criminal waste of your talents."
“I do other stuff. If they need a face and a voice that doesn’t exist, or they need to impersonate somebody, that’s me. And I do organs.”
The wound is knitting slowly back together from the inside out, towards both ends.
Jean is a little extra intrigued, despite himself. "Do you ever get to wear the faces? Do a bit of acting?"
“Oh, yeah. I can’t change other people that well so if it’s a big shift it’s gotta be me.”
This is rapidly developing into the worst case of pins and needles Jean’s ever had.
He would normally care but he's talking about acting.
"I imagine that part must be fun, at least."
“Sometimes, I guess. Clearing out dead people’s bank accounts isn’t that thrilling.”
The skin starts to knit up, and he turns away for a minute to concentrate.
"It doesn't sound like it," Jean agrees. "So, ah, are the benefits just that good? I suppose you've got the health coverage, at least..."
“Nah. If I ever try to leave they’ll get me thrown in the least fun part of jail.”
"That's a worry for a guy who can change his face?"
“It’s a worry because I can change my face, I guess.”
"...I guess if it's bad enough that the cops would use a psion to track you down," Jean allows.
“Jana’s got a phone full of videos I took when I was...what, 15? 16? All different faces, but I hadn’t really figured out ages yet.”
Pins and needles, pins and needles, pins and needles, but the pain of the wound is starting to recede.
“I’m not gonna bet on them believing me.”
Oh that's nice. He really doesn't like pain.
"This phone backed up?"
“...yeah. I tried to steal it back once. Didn’t go so hot for me.”
"Did it not."
“Yeah. I’m, uh, not gonna try that again.”
“...uh. Did you want me to do the scar, too? Doesn’t take long.”
"If it's no trouble." Saves him a second bill getting someone else to fix it, later.
Aww. That was kinda subby.
He starts using his fingers, again, feeling out the harder spots in the flesh. It goes quickly.
"You're very good at what you do."
"Come work for me."
“I did just explain why I can’t do that, right?”