Page 117 of A Breath of Life
“Ican’t feel my fucking fingers. If you won’t untie me, at least loosen the fucking wire some.”
I’d been left alone with the Bishop for what felt like hours, and the man seemed to have found a sadistic sort of pleasure in sharpening his collection of knives in front of me. If he thought the act was threatening, he was wrong. He was nothing more than a bad-tempered man, playing with his toys because he’d been commanded to watch the prisoner when he clearly had other places he’d rather be.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mr. Krause.”
“Why? Did your god tell you not to?”
“My common sense tells me not to. You’re a big man with an even bigger temper. Over the years, I’ve learned that pain motivates people to be cooperative. Lessening yours could result in complications that would be detrimental to your health.”
I huffed. “Toyourhealth, maybe. You’re afraid I’ll get free.”
“I’m afraid you’ll try, and since you outweigh me by at least eighty pounds, I would be forced to subdue you with these.” He held up a blade, letting the sharpened edge catch the light.
“You think that scares me?”
“Based on the scars you carry, not much does. Hence your tight bindings.”
Bargaining was useless. I stared at my bleeding wrists. The wire slowly embedded itself into my flesh. The lack of sensation was an unnatural discomfort that made staying still impossible. Even without feeling in my fingers, they radiated cold. The freshly raised welt on my left cheek, however, burned and throbbed, but even it didn’t bother me as much as the deadened sensation in my hands.
It wasn’t so much that I cared about the discomfort—pain and I were lifelong companions—but it compromised my dexterity. If there was ever an opportunity to grab the hidden knife still strapped to my leg, I wasn’t sure I would be able to grip the weapon without fumbling it.
I wouldn’t get two chances, so I had to make the first count.
“What time is it?”
The Bishop consulted his watch. “Nearly eight. Have somewhere to be?”
“Fuck you.”
I’d lost more than a few hours. Had they located Tallus? Was he safe? The more I considered his predicament, the faster my heart raced. The task he’d been given was beyond his reach. His PI skills had improved, but he tended toward hotheaded and gung ho. Success would depend on his slowing down and thinking, making smart decisions. Even then, the task might be impossible. Clarence was on the run, and YouTube would only get Tallus so far.
“I’m thirsty. Any chance I could get some of that top-shelf bourbon I had last time? I’m sure your friend won’t mind.”
The Bishop seemed to consider before putting away his toys and wandering to the sideboard where the Consigliere’s array of fancy liquors lined a shelf. He selected a decanter and filled a tumbler with about two fingers of amber liquid before approaching.
He offered it at arm’s length as though wanting to keep a distance. Without backup nearby, the wise man didn’t trust the rabid animal, no matter how tightly bound. Smart, but stupid too.
“How do you expect me to hold it, dumbass? Numb fingers, remember?”
With an irritated twist of his lips, the Bishop stepped forward and pressed the glass to my mouth. I drank it down in one gulp, basking in the glory of the burn as it slid down my throat. Ice on fevered flesh. A balm on an infected wound. Heaven.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, Dr. Peterson whispered,A crutch.
I shoved his admonishments away.
“I could use about ten more of those.” Maybe if everything wasnumb, I wouldn’t care about my hands or my predicament. I could let the river of oblivion take me away, like I had so many times in the past.
“I’m not alleviating your pain, Mr. Krause.”
“I would think incapacitating me with liquor would be more beneficial. Especially if I’m willingly consuming it.”
He seemed to consider the logic.
“Or a smoke. I could do with one of those if you’ve got one?”
“Smoking is bad for your health.”
“You think I give a shit about my fucking health right now? I might be dead in less than twenty-four hours. Consider it a last request. I’m tied to a fucking chair. I can’t feel my hands. You have a guy sitting beside my grandmother’s bed. One phone call could end her life. I’m not exactly a threat to you,Bishop. I’m a pawn in your fucked-up game.”
