Page 33 of A Breath of Life
A curl of humor hooked the side of the Bishop’s mouth. His counterpart didn’t seem to notice.
“Now tell me, Diem Krause. Why are you in possession of Ace’s property?”
I flashed my attention to the card once again. “Give me another shot, and I’ll talk.”
“That wasn’t the deal.”
“I’m in fucking pain.”
The Consigliere considered and granted my request, using a proper tumbler and filling it with at least two fingers of the expensive bourbon. The Bishop poured it cautiously down my throat.
I sighed.
“Now, why are you in possession of Ace’s property?” the man asked again.
“Someone gave it to me.”
The Consigliere stared as though waiting for more.
“I don’t know who he was,” I added.
“He was a dying man behind the Niagara apartments.”
I narrowed my eyes. “If you already knew, why are you asking?”
“The thing is, Mr. Krause. You have interfered in our business, and Ace is displeased.”
“Speak fucking English. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The mantsked and sipped his drink one last time before handing the glass to the Bishop and shooing him away. Crouching so we were eye to eye—yet keeping smartly out of head-butting range—he continued. “What happened to the man in the alley?”
A thousand thoughts raced through my beaten brain, but I didn’t know where he was going with this. “He went to the hospital. He was hurt. I called for help, and an ambulance came. I don’t know anything else.”
The man seemed to consider before tipping his head to the side in question. “Are you saying he was conscious?”
“Yes, at first.”
At this, the Consigliere, or whatever his stupid fucking name was, glanced at the Bishop with utter disdain. “Further failure on your part.”
“I was interrupted. I told you.”
To me, the suave gentleman asked, “And this man spoke to you, Mr. Krause?”
“Yes. He told me to take that card and get rid of it.” I motioned with a tip of my head.
“Get rid of it,” the man repeated, skepticism written all over his face. “What else?”
“What do you mean, what else?”
“What else did he say?”
“Nothing. He could barely talk because someone had crushed his windpipe.” I lanced a hostile glare at the Bishop, who remained unaffected.
“I was following orders, Mr. Krause,” the Bishop said. “I told you. I punish sinners, and Clarence’s had caught up with him. You reap what you sow.”
To Ace’s number one, I said, “Look, I was about to toss the fucking card into a dumpster like the guy wanted, then I got jumped by you freaks. If I’d known who the owner was, I’d have given it back days ago. You have it now. Untie me and go on with your merry fucking lives. I don’t give a shit who you are or what you do. I was never going to keep it. I don’t want it.”
“This isn’t about the card, Mr. Krause,” Pinstripe said.
