Page 55 of A Breath of Life (Shadowy Solutions #4)

“I wasn’t there often enough to be sure. He had me following this one.” He motioned to me. “I had no reason to stick around after he left.”

I finished my smoke as I openly eavesdropped.

The gunman didn’t seem pleased at having the conversation observed and was about to back out of the room when the Bishop asked, “Why?”

Again, the gunman hesitated, dashing a glance in my direction.

“Why?” the Bishop asked more pointedly .

The gunman’s rank must have landed below the Bishop’s. He pressed his lips together before responding. “Old woman showed up with rags and pails. She went inside for an hour or so and left with the dog.”

My spine stiffened. Echo. The office. My office . Ace had eyes on the office. Of course he fucking did. Thank god Tallus had known better than to go back there, but we didn’t have a cleaning lady. Who the hell took my dog?

“It seems self-explanatory,” the Bishop said. “Most businesses hire cleaning staff to come in after hours. The woman probably wondered why the dog was there alone, attempted to make a phone call, and took it home when no one answered. Did they follow her?”

“Ace said not to. It was more important to keep eyes on the building.”

An old woman? Who did Tallus have on his side?

It dawned on me, and I lowered my head to hide a smile as I dropped the cigarette butt on the ground and snuffed it out under my running shoe.

An old woman. Tallus had only one reliable contact, who was female.

The seemingly innocent Kitty Lavender. Smart , Tallus. That’s using your fucking head.

With Kitty on his side, he might succeed in finding Clarence. It didn’t guarantee my freedom or Nana’s safety, but it was a start.

The gunman left, and the Bishop returned to his monotonous task, ignoring me once again. I wanted to press him with the name Michael, but the initial shock had worn off, and he would be ready for the inquisition.

Michael. St Michael. Could the Bishop be Michael? Why not? He’d elevated himself to one position in the clergy. Why not canonize himself and become the first living saint? Was this some sort of religious cult? None of it made sense.

“How about another drink?” I asked.

“You’ve had enough. Sit quietly.”

I did for a time, puzzling options and working through scenarios. While the Bishop occupied himself, I feigned scratching my ankle while meticulously tugging my pant leg loose from the rope bindings so I could access my sheathed weapon in a pinch.

If left alone for five minutes, I could cut myself free of the ropes around my legs.

The knife wouldn’t help with the stainless steel around my wrists, but I wouldn’t be stuck in the chair.

The wire from earlier had been abandoned on the sideboard.

It wouldn’t take much to bend it into a useful tool and pick the lock on the cuffs.

With luck, I could regain control of my limbs in under five minutes.

From there, it was a crapshoot. I didn’t know where I was or who was in the building. Brute strength was no match for guns.

Unfortunately, the Bishop must have been given explicit instructions not to leave the room, so my freedom was dependent on Tallus finding Clarence and Ace being in a good mood. Not betting odds.

Option two was eliminating my watchdog and confiscating his weapons.

That plan was skewed by a moral dilemma.

Sure, I could lure the Bishop close enough to make use of the knife—another cigarette, an irritating itch I couldn’t scratch, or maybe a desperate plea to use the bathroom—but injuring him wasn’t enough.

It could make my situation worse if I didn’t render him unconscious.

I would need to kill him. Preferably silently, so no one came running to his aid.

It meant slitting his throat.

It meant becoming the monster I’d spent years trying not to be .

The consequences would haunt me for the rest of my life. I would never be able to look at myself in a mirror again. Tallus would leave. My fragile mental health would crumble, and there would be no coming back.

Also, killing the Bishop did not guarantee I would get out of this alive. Too many unknowns lived beyond the door.

And Nana. I couldn’t risk Nana.

So, I sat quietly, rolling plan after plan through my head, dismissing them all. Even with a weapon strapped to my calf, I was fucking useless. I was the boy in the corner. Defenseless. Alone.

Melancholy didn’t look good on me, so I shed those thoughts and focused on the insufferable itch that bloomed under my skin. I wanted another drink. Another smoke. I wanted the numbness I’d felt in my fingers to blanket my body and snuff out the world.

An indeterminant amount of time passed before I became aware of something going on upstairs. It started with what seemed to be a few tinkling notes before shifting into the soft impression of music. It drifted as a tinny echo down a nearby vent.

The Bishop must have heard it too. He stopped arranging his toys and briefly glanced at the ceiling before referencing his watch.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Eleven.”

Footsteps sounded on the floor above. The din of muffled voices rose and fell. The faint hint of sweet cigar smoke tainted the air.

The buzz of a gathering. A crowd. How many? I couldn’t say. Were they Ace’s men? Were they converging and preparing for something worse?

For a time, I strained, listening, but I couldn’t pick out words.

Every so often, men’s laughter overrode the murmurs of conversation.

Someone must have turned up the music. I picked out jazzy instrumental, a hint of ragtime.

Piano. Saxophone. A trumpet. Scratchy, old-time songs from a different era.

Not a gathering for a nefarious purpose. The vibe was off.

The Bishop closed his briefcase and lounged in his seat, feet kicked out, arms crossed. Relaxed, he watched me with an element of boredom that had grown more prevalent over the past few hours. The man was growing restless. He didn’t want to be here any more than me.

I met his gaze and refused to look away. Intimidation was the only weapon I wasn’t afraid to use. In everyday life, especially considering my size, it worked wonders. The Bishop was a worthy opponent and matched my scowl for a time. Eventually, he cut his attention to the bottles of liquor.

“I wouldn’t say no.”

The Bishop studied me a second before rising and approaching the sideboard. He poured two generous glasses.

He brought me one, and since my hands worked, he let me hold it that time.

I glanced at the ceiling for a moment before meeting his gaze. “What are we celebrating… Michael ?” I dared him to react.

Not a flinch or a flutter of eyelashes. Not a single twitch of nerves. A quirk appeared at the corner of his mouth. “That’s not my name.”

“It’s someone’s.”

“No one I know.”

“Bullshit. I saw the look on your face earlier. A year ago, Clarence paid someone named St. Michael ten thousand dollars. Within days of that transaction, his wife was killed in a B&E. On the anniversary of her death, Clarence is tagged with the ace of spades and meets the sharp end of a knife in an alley.” I glanced at the Bishop’s case of knives and other implements.

“I know that was your handiwork. You’ve said as much. How much did he still owe Ace? ”

The Bishop smirked and sipped his drink. “Got it all figured out, don’t you?”

“Do I?” I waited patiently for him to elaborate. Most criminals liked to boast and brag when given an opportunity. They took pride in their work. They liked recognition and attention.

This man was no different, and I’d given him plenty of opportunities to talk. It was a matter of time before he caved.

Another sip. Another assessing once-over, then he spoke. “I believe he owes upward of one point two million… for the assassination. It’s accrued interest.”

“Of course it has.”

“Clarence was warned.”

“So you people claim.”

“You’re not as smart as you think you are, Mr. Krause.”

“What was your cut?” I asked, ignoring his comment.

The Bishop didn’t answer and instead offered me another cigarette.

The lure of yet another unshaken habit was too strong to resist. I had been battling with addiction my whole life.

Alcohol, cigarettes, and drugs at one time.

My willpower was weak on a good day. Unless everything was perfectly in line and stable, I was doomed to succumb to weakness.

It was coded into my DNA. I knew I should say no, but I didn’t.

“Ace is a generous man,” the Bishop said in response to my question, “but I won’t talk finances with you, Mr. Krause. Unless you can afford my services, there is nothing to be gained.”

He lounged in his chair again, removed his phone from a pocket, and spent a minute scrolling through something before discarding the device on a nearby table. Above us, the hum of the gathering continued .

The Bishop and I shared three more drinks, each with generous pours, so they equated to roughly six each. Years of alcohol abuse combined with my larger size gave me a high tolerance, but the Bishop was a wiry man, and the Consigliere’s top-shelf bourbon packed a punch.

Before long, a glassy sheen coated his eyes, and his reservations diminished.

With a loosened tongue, he shared about some of the jobs he’d done for Ace, still cognizant enough to hold back details so that I couldn’t use them against him.

Most of my questions went unanswered, no matter how carefully I worded them, so I didn’t gain any worthwhile information.

At one point, when I asked how his position as an assassin might conflict with his faith, the Bishop touched the Roman collar with a smirk.

“Most people trust a man of god without question. Others in my line of work choose to move in the shadows, but with this disguise, I can walk in the bright light of day and go unseen.”

“So it’s a costume. Nothing more.”

The Bishop hummed and sipped his drink. “I’m never suspected, Mr. Krause.

In fact, I’ve been caught at my own crime scene with blood on my hands and gave the police a detailed report of the man who got away.

I was stained because I’d attempted to save the deceased’s life.

No one questioned my story. They took everything at face value.

I was even permitted to kneel and pray for the soul of the slain man.

People see what they want to see, and a man of god is beyond reproach. ”

“You’re a sick fuck.”

He shrugged, unaffected by my assessment. “I’m resourceful. You have to be in this business. ”

As we talked, the music, the hum of muffled conversations, and the thickening cloud of sweet cigar smoke leaked down the vent into the dungeon. The first ten times I asked what was going on, I got no reply.

Well into his cups, I tried again.

The Bishop glanced at the ceiling before getting up to refill our drinks. As he poured from the decanter, he muttered, “Ace runs an exclusive gentleman’s club at this location. They gather in the evenings for drinks, gambling, and to enjoy other pleasures of the flesh.”

“Exclusive?”

“Invitation only.”

“How does one get an invitation?”

“You don’t qualify.”

“Why not?”

He chuckled. “You ask too many questions, Mr. Krause.”

“I’m a curious man.”

“A curious man who talks too much. Your chattery mouth will get you in trouble one of these days.”

My next sip of bourbon went down the wrong way, and I choked, sputtered, and laughed. “Chattery mouth? Do me a favor. When this is over, tell my boyfriend I was so chatty it annoyed you. He’ll never believe it.”

The Bishop leaned against the sideboard with his freshly poured drink, a coy expression painting his face. He was ahead of me now, downing shots faster as I purposefully slowed down. “Do you gamble?” he asked.

“Never been rich enough to throw money away like that. I have other addictions.” I tipped my still-full glass in salute. “Why?”

“I could fetch some cards, and we could enjoy a game of—”

The distinct sound of shattering glass drew our attention to the ceiling.

Alarmed shouts followed. Then, a clatter like the toppling of furniture.

The music cut out.

Someone yelled what might have been a warning.

The lights flickered.

“Shit.” The Bishop set his drink down and raced to his trove of treasures. He lifted a panel and withdrew a pistol from a hidden compartment before taking off.

The door slammed in his wake, and I was suddenly and unexpectedly alone.

The commotion above swelled.

I listened, unsure what the fuck was going on.

At the single shot of a gun, I knew it was time I got the fuck out of there, or I was going to die.