Page 136 of Taste of Blood
The door to the office opens again and the man who spoke to us before steps out and looks around.
“Members of the Crimson Guild,” he says in that accented voice. “You will return to your usual duties. You will not, under any circumstances, continue investigating the Python.”
“Who will, then?” Zeke speaks up. “Because this threat is not going away.” I always knew the man had brass balls.
“It will be handled. That is all you need to know. You’re free to go now.”
Dante catches my eye. “Tell no one,” he mouths.
Since I’m not sure where to start, I head to the only place I know Thalium would frequent–his Park Avenue apartment. I doubt he’ll be up and about this time of night, but I need to find a place to observe without the Black Guild spotting me.
Turns out, the concierge at the building across the street isn’t as conscientious as he should be. After parking down the street, I make my way up the block and observe him nodding off behind his desk. His lack of focus is all I need to steal inside the lobby and make my way to the elevators, where I ride up as far as they will go. Hopefully there’s roof access from the stairwell. From there it’s just a matter of watching and waiting.
I know he lives in the penthouse, and lucky me all the windows are bare. The apartment is dark right now, but I can make out his bedroom in the corner of the building. It’s just after four a.m. and since I have no idea what time he gets up, it’s probably going to be a long, boring night.
I pass the time going over every scrap of information I know about the Python. Dante wants me to observe, to get evidence that Thalium is guilty, though I’m not sure what he hopes to gain from that. The Black Guild have taken over the investigation. I wonder if that means they’ll simply confront him, relying on their identity to coerce him into admitting his guilt.
From what I saw of Thalium, I can’t imagine that working. He seemed pretty confident. Cocky, actually. Like he knew everything about us but didn’t care what we knew about him. The only reason he’d feel that way is if he believed we couldn’t touch him.
The sole thing tying him to the Python is O’Hara’s, and even that’s circumstantial. He could just say he had no idea a rogueoutfit was using his bar for an uprising. Looking at it that way, our case seems flimsy at best.
But I know he’s guilty. I can feel it in my bones. And the way he taunted us at the benefit gives me all the proof I need.
Of course, convincing the Black Guild of that is another matter. Do they even consider gut feelings? Are they actually soldiers or just admin types? I don’t know anything about what they do or how they do it and the only person I can ask is being watched by them.
Even so, I’m not sure Dante knows more himself. He seemed pretty surprised by their appearance, though there was that moment, when they first showed up, when his eyes registered recognition. He was scared. He buried it quickly, but not quick enough to hide it from me. I’m sure he knows what they’re capable of.
I wish I’d had more time to talk to him about this, especially since I’m risking my life by being here. If they catch me, after warning us all to stay away from this, I could face certain punishment, and I don’t even know what that entails. Would they send me away? Imprison me? End me?
I want to stop Thalium, but not at the risk of my own life. Maybe I should have listened to Asher when he suggested leaving the Crimson Guild. I–we?–could leave the city. Go somewhere far away. Start over.
Would he actually leave his business behind? He said he was thinking about it. Could I stop doing what I do? The truth is, I like it, and I don’t know how to do anything else. I’ve always been a fighter. Someone one who runs toward conflict. It’s who I am.
I suppose I could learn to change. It’s not like I don’t have time.
At six-fifteen, a light comes on in Thalium’s bedroom. I can see him sit up in bed and grab his phone like someone calledhim. He talks for a few minutes, then puts down the phone and stands up, walking across the room to what looks like the bathroom. He disappears inside, but doesn’t close the door.
He’s in there for close to fifteen minutes. Showering? Shaving? Whatever. He comes out in a robe and makes his way to the closet. I watch him get dressed. Casual; slacks and a sweater. He moves from room to room, going to the kitchen. Pouring himself what looks like a cup of coffee. He sits at the counter in the kitchen and opens a laptop.
Whatever he’s looking at keeps him engaged as close to thirty minutes goes by. My mind is about to wander from the sheer mundaneness of his routine when he stands up and turns toward the front of the apartment. I can’t see what he’s looking at, but he seems to be talking to someone. Then another figure appears in the room.
This one is dressed in standard street clothes. Jeans and a jacket. I can’t get a good look at his face, but something about him seems familiar. Maybe I’m just projecting, looking for meaning where there is none.
The visitor pulls out a folded piece of paper and hands it to Thalium. He looks it over and nods, then the two of them talk for several minutes. I still can’t get a good look at the visitor’s face. Thalium walks him back the way he came in, then he returns alone and comes over to stand in front of the window.
I duck down. If he looks this way, he’ll spot me. I wish I could get a look at whatever was on that paper the visitor gave him. Something tells me it was important. That the visitor is important. Not a businessman in a suit, but an everyman. A soldier? I can’t be sure of that, but my gut is telling me I’m right.
I move over behind a blower unit for cover and look down at the street, watching for the visitor. He appears after a minute and makes his way down the block in the same direction wheremy car is parked. Who is he and why does he seem familiar to me?
Is it someone in Dante’s organization? Someone I’ve met before? It’s bugging me that I can’t remember.
I watch Thalium for the better part of the day, but he doesn’t go anywhere or do anything more than work on something on his laptop. No more visitors or phone calls. I’m starting to wonder how someone so boring could be the head of a rogue organization. Does he know he’s being watched? And if so, how?
At seven Dante calls me. “Can you talk?” he asks.
“Yes. Can you?”
“I’m at my apartment. Where are you?”
