Chapter 7 · free to read
The club's landline had not taken an outside call in six years.
Saint Ambrose, the disused one on the waterfront. Five in the morning. Bring the piano player and nothing else.
No badge, no weapon. A suspended cop, a jazz player and a stage tech with a rope, walking into a disused church at five in the morning.
He had left it where they would find it first. It was the most courteous threat any of them had ever received.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.