A devil can't be good

Francisco sat relaxed in his chair, legs crossed, touching his forehead as if pondering his next move. In front of him knelt a mid-aged man, hands and mouth bound, his eyes pleading and desperate. Max stood beside the man, his hands smeared with blood from the recent beating.

"He sneaked," Max muttered, loading his gun. "Francisco, he’s an informer, I guess."

Francisco's eyes narrowed, a cold glint flashing in them. Max raised his hand to slap the man again, but Francisco intervened.

"Stop!" he commanded, his voice calm but firm.

"Untie his mouth."

Max complied, and the man gasped for air once his gag was removed.

"I didn’t do anything. I just sneaked here out of curiosity," he stammered.

"But, you saw a lot of things," Francisco remarked, his tone casual yet menacing.

"Yes, I agree I did. But I won’t tell anyone about it. I swear," the man pleaded, his voice trembling.

Francisco sighed and rose to his feet.

"Though we didn't find anything from you, I don’t think we need to kill you,"