The King (The Original Sinners: White Years, #2)(37)

it happened. If I can help you in any way, I will. But, please,

recall I am now a Catholic priest, so I’d prefer not doing anything particularly illegal if it can be helped.”

“Nothing illegal. I just don’t know where to start. You’re

the smartest man I know, and your friend Magdalena had a

club. How do I do this?”

“I suppose you’d start with a location. Magdalena’s club was

her home, her home her club. But I assume the town house

isn’t zoned for commercial enterprises.”

“And it’s not big enough. And neither is the M?bius. But,

yes, you’re right. We’ll need the perfect location. Lots of rooms

to play in. A big room for a big dungeon. A bar, too, but we’ll

keep the alcohol consumption in check. More or less.” “More,” S?ren said.

“You’re a Catholic priest. Aren’t you all drunks?” “If I wasn’t before, being back in your life might drive me to

drink. Between you and Eleanor it’s a miracle I’m even lucid.” Kingsley pointed at him. “I take that as a compliment.” “You would.”

“Maybe an old hospital,” Kingsley said, turning back to

his photographs and f lipping through them. “Are there any

old abandoned hospitals lying around Manhattan? Or a mental asylum?”

“A mental asylum might send the wrong message,” S?ren

said.

“Oh, you know what they say,” Kingsley said with a wide

grin at S?ren. “We’re all mad here.”

“Who’s mad?” Blaise asked, as she strode into the office

without knocking first. She had what looked like a newspaper

in her hands. Not a good sign where Blaise was concerned. “My girlfriend is mad for interrupting us when we’re working,” Kingsley said, feigning disapproval, which was Blaise’s

favorite form of foreplay. The more peeved he was at her, the

harder she worked to get back into his good graces. “I told you, I am not your girlfriend,” Blaise said. “I am

your submissive.”

“She has a point,” S?ren said. “They’re quite different con

cepts.”

“Thank you, Father.” Blaise gave S?ren a curtsy, which

was an act of submission and exhibitionism, as her pale green

kimono-style robe barely made it past her hips. At least she

had underwear on.

For now.

“What, pray tell, are you doing in my office when I told

you not to interrupt?” Kingsley asked, grabbing Blaise by the

arm and pulling her down on to his lap. In addition to sternness, she also adored a good manhandling.

“I need ten thousand dollars, please,” she said.

Kingsley looked across his desk at S?ren.

“She’s right. She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my ex-girlfriend.” “This is serious, King.” Blaise scrambled out of his lap and

sat on his desk facing him. “It’s for a good cause.” “Oh, God, not another cause.” Kingsley collapsed back

in his office chair and groaned. “No more causes. That’s an

order.”

“Listen to me, you French fascist,” Blaise said. “I need to

picket a church.”

“Chouchou, you know I adore you, but you can’t picket

God,” Kingsley said.

“You can picket God,” S?ren said. “No prohibition against

that in the Bible, to my knowledge.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the support,” Blaise said. Without smiling she looked back at Kingsley. “Listen to me. This

is a bad church. They’re the ones who are always on the news

with the ‘God Hates Fags’ signs and ‘Abortion is Murder’ signs.

And they’re coming to our city. Your city. Read it.” Kingsley grabbed the newspaper from her hands. He took

his glasses out of his desk and put them on.

“Oh, don’t do that,” Blaise said with a purr in her voice. “I can’t be mad at you when you have your glasses on. You look too sexy. Doesn’t King look sexy in his glasses?” she

asked S?ren.

“I am overcome,” S?ren said. Kingsley glared at him over

the top of his glasses.

“Just read it, King. There’s a church called The Way, The

Truth, and The Life, and they’re trying to take over Manhattan. Those people who have been protesting at the M?bius

are part of that church.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I asked them last time I was there. They tried to tell

me strip clubs exploit women.”

“What did you do?”

“Flashed them.”

“Don’t reward bad behavior,” Kingsley said, wagging his

finger at her. “If they think they’ll see your breasts again, we’ll

never get rid of them.”

“We won’t get rid of them. That’s what I’m trying to tell

you. They’re trying to take over the city. The guy who runs

it is a piece of shit. He’s this big fire-and-brimstone preacher,