In the Wind: Out of the Box, Book 2 by Robert J. Crane

some small amusement, consolation for the nap he has undoubtedly lost with all this hubbub.
    “Are you … well?” Lorenzo asks, keeping his eyes anchored upon Anselmo’s.
    “Quite well,” Anselmo says with a sly smile. “You, on the other hand, my young friend, do not look nearly so well.”
    “The attempt on Reed Treston, it did not … go well,” Lorenzo falters. “The woman with the bow and arrow, she interfered again.”
    Anselmo can feel his brow pucker at this news. The smell in the room is decidedly unpleasant, he realizes now that fresh air is coming in from the hallway, and it stews in his nostrils. “Was anyone injured?”
    Lorenzo shakes his head. “No. Fintan and I both made it out alive, but only barely.”
    Anselmo presses his lips together at this, shaking his head. He is not accustomed to his orders failing to be carried out. “I have clearly sent a boy to do a man’s job.”
    Lorenzo goes scarlet at the goad, as Anselmo knew he would. “I can do it, but I need—”
    “What?” Anselmo asks, feeling an unreasonable rush of good humor, possibly driven by his recent release. “A rocket launcher? You have been thwarted twice by a woman with a bow and arrow. Apparently you are incapable of carrying out this modest task appointed you.” Anselmo shrugs his shoulders. “We do what we can, but you—you are showing me very clearly what you cannot do.”
    “I can do it,” Lorenzo protests. “I can handle him. I have proven I can handle him—”
    “You have proven nothing,” Anselmo says with a sigh. His afternoon is in tatters, but the fog of release is still mellowing him somewhat. “You have wasted days now upon this, and have nothing to show for it. I think it is time that I take a hand and show you how business is conducted.” He rolls his shoulders around once, limbering up, shaking off the torpor. “You have exposed our colleague, Mr. O’Niall, who was to remain in secret where he was, to this boy you have yet to kill. This is unacceptable, especially with the plan so very close to fruition.” Anselmo feels his face darken. “You have identified this Treston as a threat, yet have failed to kill him. Now, whether he was actually a threat or not, he has become one. I need days. Days to complete this business, to conquer and unify—” Anselmo feels the goodwill burning off, feels the rage rising. “No. We conclude this now. We take the train back to Rome, find this prick and end him.”
    Lorenzo’s face is still slightly red. “And the woman? The archer?”
    Anselmo waves at him, then turns, exposing his backside to his employee. “I have dealt with her before. Perhaps we will even kill her first. Nothing is allowed to stand in the way of what I have in mind.” He ignores the sounds from the bathroom and makes his way to his closet. Lorenzo does not dare to enter, as well he should not. “I will teach you, boy, how to handle a woman who gets in your way.”
    He pulls a suit off the rack and begins to dress. He ignores the mess that coats his lower body, and steps into his five-thousand-euro suit. After all, the blood that currently coats his skin will be nothing compared to what he’ll have upon him once done with this business.
    He ponders—just for a moment—wearing his cheapest suit instead. Then he remembers what will happen in only a few days, and decides that five thousand euros to prove a point is an inconsequential amount, and he continues to dress without giving it another thought.

20.
    Reed
     
    I call Father Emmanuel about five times in a row before he picks up. Dial, listen to it ring, imagine “Happy” blaring in his chambers at the Vatican, hear it go to voicemail, and repeat. When he picks up, it’s with a voice that’s worn, tired, and hushed, and I feel more than a little empathy for him. “Hello?”
    “Father Emmanuel,” I say, pacing the wood floor of Dr. Perugini’s friend’s apartment. It’s a sweeping sort of place, high ceilinged and