Page 35 of A Breath of Life
Not postcards but photographs. The images were a reflection of the ones I took when investigating someone’s private life without them knowing. Clandestine shots, taken from a distant car window or the other end of the street, zoomed in on the party, who were none the wiser.
Tallus was the central focus of each.
As the Consigliere displayed them one by one, he narrated a timeline that must have spanned several hours.
“Taken last night at your apartment. See him in the window? Yes, I know your address and unit number. This one was taken in the parking garage at your building. Yes, I know what you both drive. Here is one of him making a phone call. One of dozens last night, presumably to your phone. He must be worried about you, Mr. Krause. Here he is driving around the city. He stops for gas once and pays with a bank card from an account in overdraft. Yes, I know that too. He drove for many hours. Here he stopped by your office, ran inside, but didn’t linger. Here he went to your gym. Same thing. Here he visited the dog park you frequently visit when out with your mutt.”
And another, and another, and another. By the time the Consigliere ran out of photographs, they decorated the floor in a scattered pile. I stared at them, hollowed out, unable to take a full breath, skin hot and cold at the same time.
My world tilted, and a fear I’d never known tried to drown me. “Tallus,” I whispered, choking on his name.
The Consigliere put his hands in his pockets and rocked on his fancy loafers. “I have eyes on him even now, Mr. Krause.At any point and with a single phone call, my man will take him out, and you will never see him again.”
Trembling, I shifted my attention to the Consigliere. “What do you want?” The words came from around a lump in my throat. I couldn’t swallow it down. It stuck there uncomfortably, stirring nausea.
“Ace wants Clarence dead. Simple as that. You interfered with the plan. Now Clarence is in the wind. He is a risk, and Ace is angry. You either find him for us so the Bishop can finish the job he started, or you pay with the blood of your loved ones.”
A strangled swell of emotions squeezed my heart. I battled to keep my voice calm as I asked, “You want me to kill someone?”
I’d kill for Nana. For Tallus. But the act would destroy me.
“No. You didn’t listen, Mr. Krause. Ace wouldn’t ask that of you. We want you tofindClarence. You’re an investigator. Your record is decent. You have the means and hopefully enough motivation now for you to carry through with our request.”
“I have faith you will succeed,” said the Bishop, speaking for the first time in a while.
The Consigliere sauntered to the side table, where he poured himself a fresh drink. Before returning, he plucked the tablet from a shelf nearby where he must have placed it earlier.
He sipped. He stared. He said nothing.
Assuming he was waiting for me to accept or acknowledge the task, I fumbled to comprehend the full extent of what he asked. “Find Clarence. That’s what you want?”
“Yes. Despite his irritation at the situation, Ace is feeling generous. He’s not an unreasonable man. He’s given you seven days, Mr. Krause. No more. If you try to go to the police or play any sly games to worm your way out of this, we will assume you aren’t serious, and we will retaliate accordingly. Understand?”
To drive his point home, he turned the tablet, presenting the live feed from the nursing home.
My head raced with information as I watched Nana. A nurse made her bed before moving in beside her and gently removing the mangled knitting, setting it aside. He helped her from the rocking chair and steadied her on his arm. Together, they left the frame. She was gone. To breakfast or lunch or who knew where. Gone. I wasn’t ready for her to be gone. Not from the frame or my life. Not like this. Not to these people.
I met the Consigliere’s hard gaze, a slick of oil coating my belly.
“Do we have a deal, Mr. Krause?”
“Yes,” I rasped, barely recognizing my own voice. “I’ll find him.”
“Good. Let’s go over the finer points, shall we?”
“Finer points?”
He handed the tablet to the Bishop and paced with his drink. “We must implement some rules to ensure you don’t try to fuck us over.”
“No police. I get it. I’m not fond of them anyhow.”
“More than that.” He plucked the leather pouch from his front pocket and displayed it. “You will keep this card on you twenty-four hours a day. When you work, when you sleep, when you use the toilet. If I discover you exceed a ten-foot radius of this card atanypoint, she dies.” He motioned to the Bishop and the tablet. Theshewas not in question.
I frowned. “The card’s a tracking device?”
The Consigliere smiled. “Smart man. The card is a symbol, but yes, it will track you, Mr. Krause. Don’t be fooled. We will constantly check in to ensure you aren’t playing games. I have eyes everywhere, so don’t think about stepping out of line. I will know.”
“What else?”
