"Of course I have a plan," he said. He turned over a piece of concrete, frowning at a can of olives that had been busted out and now contained nothing but a rat skeleton. He tipped it over with his finger, then looked up. "I'm gonna beat the shit out of you." He kept his tone light, like he was telling Marina that he planned for them to take a walk over to the other side of town in search of other supplies, or that the weather was going to be chilly and she should wear another jacket. Not that he would ever verbally express that much care or concern.
When it came to care, Sparrow was an interestingly bizarre person. He certainly had the propensity; he had the ability to identify what a person needed and then to remember that that person and that thing went together. For instance: he knew Marina got cold often, and dressed appropriately. So staying warm and Marina were tied in his mind. And Mexican food and North, tied. So he could create the associations and act on them. But he also categorically did not care. If something happened to Marina tomorrow morning, it would be an inconvenience. He might avenge the death. But he would find a replacement quickly.
Who needed attachments and loyalty when you had an unending stream of similarly fucked up people to exploit?
He jerked his head up to look at Marina. "Once I get you fucked up, you'll go wait for the Hellhounds to come through, and then you'll worm your way in. You'll stay until I don't need a spy there anymore."