The King (The Original Sinners: White Years, #2)(38)

and he wants to make sodomy a federal crime, outlaw strip

clubs and pornography in every form, ban public schools from

teaching evolution, and make having an abortion punishable

by jail time. Also, they hate Catholics. They think the pope

is the Antichrist.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Kingsley asked. “I

mean, other than you’re a feminist, he’s a Catholic priest and

sodomy’s my favorite hobby?”

“You are not listening to me,” Blaise said, snapping her fingers to get his attention. “The governor of New York is Reverend Fuller’s best friend. His wife and the mayor’s wife go

shopping together. This guy even says the opening prayer at all

the state functions in Albany. The church is rich, it’s powerful and it wants to take all our freedoms away. Reverend Fuller’s

like an evil Billy Graham on acid, and we have to stop him.” “I met Reverend Graham once,” S?ren said, putting his feet

up on Kingsley’s desk. “A good man. I’m currently trying to

imagine him on acid. Makes for quite a thought experiment.” But Kingsley wasn’t listening. He was staring…studying…

gazing…seeing…

There it was. Right there.

Kingsley reached into his desk and pulled out a bundle of

cash bound with a paper band.

“Here,” he said, handing the money to Blaise and removing his glasses.

Blaise threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on

the cheek.

“Merci, monsieur,” she said. “I promise I will earn every

penny of this in bed tonight. And tomorrow night. And the

night after…”

“Consider it a finder’s fee,” Kingsley said.

“For what?”

“For this.” He held up the newspaper to display the blackand-white photograph. “I found our club.”

Kingsley was gratified to see S?ren’s eyes widen. “What is it?” Blaise asked.

“This church bought a five-story condemned hotel from

the city,” Kingsley said. “The paper says they’re turning it

into their new church headquarters. It has a ballroom, a bar

and fifty hotel rooms. Complete with attached parking garage. This is our club.”

“You intend to buy that building for your club?” S?ren

asked, sounding dubious.

“Fuck, yes, I do,” Kingsley said.

“Are you serious?” Blaise asked. She sounded awed and

aroused. He could probably talk Blaise into submitting to anal sex tonight—lots of it. He should go on anti-church crusades

more often.

“Deadly serious,” Kingsley said. He couldn’t stop staring

at the picture in the paper. It looked like everything he’d

dreamed right before his eyes. He hadn’t felt this sense of destiny, this rightness about what he was doing since the day he

first laid eyes on seventeen-year-old S?ren sitting behind a

piano in a chapel in Maine twelve years ago. The hotel was his.

It belonged to him. And he could shut down a toxic church

in the bargain—killing two birds with one f logger. “But the sale already went through,” Blaise said. “The

church owns the building now.”

“I don’t care. I’ll buy it from them or steal it from them.

But I need to know more about this church before I try either. You know them?” he asked S?ren.

“I have heard of them,” S?ren said. “What I’ve heard certainly gives me pause. The church is politically active—a fullf ledged member of the Religious Right. I’m a firm believer in

the separation of church and state. Better for the state. Better

for the church. Better for everyone. This particular ministry

seems determined to turn America into an evangelical Christian theocracy, which, as you can imagine, doesn’t sit any better with Catholics than it does with heathens like yourself.” “You should ask Sam about the church,” Blaise said. “She’s

the one who showed me the article in the paper. She knows

all about them.”

“Sam? Who’s Sam?” Kingsley asked.

“Sam works at the club,” Blaise said. “At the M?bius. Your

M?bius?”

“Sam. Is she new?” He couldn’t picture a bartender named

Sam.

“She started a month ago.”

“How do you know this and I don’t?” Kingsley asked. “Because you don’t pay any attention to the club except

when you want to sleep with one of the dancers.” “You may have a point. So, who is Sam?”

“Sam’s the new head bartender. And she’s amazing. Really

smart and funny. She has history with Fuller’s church—bad

history.”

“How bad?”

“She didn’t tell me much, just that if Fuller’s church moves

in, she’s moving out. Which would be sad, because she gives

me free drinks whenever I go in.”

“Because you’re my girlfriend?” Kingsley asked. “Submissive? Whatever you are?”