Bishop's Run

by B. D. Gates

  BISHOP'S

  RUN

  B. D. GATES

  All rights to this work belong to B. D. Gates

  MAY 2017

  Acknowledgments

  and

  Disclaimers

  To Elle, my editor and my biggest fan, thank you for your time, and your suggestions, as well as your encouragement and support in getting this story published. You're everything I could ask for.

  Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

  The characters, places, and events in this story are all products of my imagination. None of them actually exist In Real Life (sadly), with the exceptions of Penny Harris, who, by another name, is the woman I should have never walked away from, and Biggs, who really is based on a basketball coach who saved my ass on more than one occasion. I miss you both.

  I personally designed and created the cover. I'm rather proud of it, tbh.

  Not all happy endings are the happiest of endings.

  --Fortune from lunch at Lin's Chinese Buffet

  I smelled bacon.

  And that, usually, is a very pleasant way to wake up.

  Who was cooking it, though, was the question. The guys who'd been staying here with me had always brought their own food and coffee in. I had an idea, though, of just exactly who was making a mess in my kitchen and it made me smile.

  I was a little slow getting out of bed, still stiff from my injuries. I took a few minutes to make myself presentable (relatively), then made my way to the bedroom door and opened it, taking a quick look out into the empty living room. I walked through the open space to the short hall leading to the kitchen and peered around the door jamb, noting my crew of two dogs and one cat sitting quietly in a semi-circle, their eyes on the woman standing at the stove.

  Dressed in the standard-issue dark slacks, the sleeves of her crisp white shirt rolled to her elbows, her shoulder-length reddish-brown hair pulled back in a clip, she watched over the spattering bacon. There was fresh coffee brewing and a plate of the biggest cinnamon rolls I had ever seen at the center of the table. I stepped inside the doorway.

  “Well, good morning, Detective,” I said, folding my arms across my chest as I leaned against the door frame. "You're still here."

  “Good morning, yes, still here,” replied Detective Tess Hayes, glancing over at me and smiling as she laid the last of the thick-cut bacon on the short stack of paper towels. "I hope you don't mind, but I thought a little breakfast celebration was in order, since you're getting that off today,” she said, motioning toward the fiberglass cast that encased my right arm. Her green eyes caught the sunlight streaming through the window and I was suddenly surprised by the deepness of their coloring. Swallowing, I worked to find my voice as I stared, unable to look away.

  The detective dropped her eyes and her smile, misunderstanding my lack of response. My dogs, very empathic, more so than most because they'd lived through the skirmishes and then the all-out shouting war I'd fought with my last girlfriend, felt the change in the room. They headed for the back door.

  They were, after all, survivors. And they really hated yelling.

  “Yes, no, I mean, this is fine, really, it's fine,” I finally managed. “Thank you, this is really nice." I crossed the kitchen, lifted two mugs from the hooks under the cabinet, and took a deep breath. The girls peeked around the corner of the mudroom.

  “How do you take your coffee, Detective? Girls, come on, nobody's in trouble.” They hurried back in, smiling and wagging, and took their places under the table. The cat had flipped me off by scooting through the doggie door. Outside the window, I could see him sitting on the rail of the small deck, his back to me, his tail snapping side-to-side, demonstrating his irritation.

  “Detective...coffee?”I prompted.

  “Black, and please call me Tess.” She busied herself gathering plates and forks for the sticky buns, not meeting my gaze as I moved to the table, delivering our respective coffees to their places and sitting down.

  “Tess,” I said quietly.

  “Yes?” She continued setting things just so, avoiding sitting opposite me.

  I kept my voice low. Tess seemed a bit skittish. "This is really cool, thank you, and thanks for looking out for me the past what, four, five weeks. I know it probably wasn't easy."

  “It was...well, it got easier.” She finally took her seat and met my gaze with a small smile, and I found myself again looking into those gorgeous green eyes. I realized that, until today, I'd only seen her in the overnight hours. Frankly, due to my circumstances, I hadn't exactly been paying attention to my surroundings, at least, until recently. I felt like I was just waking up from a long sleep. I wondered what else I might have missed.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Miz Maggie out in the small garden between the big house and my current residence. The property sat on a nearly three-quarter acre corner lot in the middle of Tenley, the edges defined by the proverbial white picket fence. The main house was a turn-of-the-century two-storey with a wrap-around porch. I lived in what was probably once the carriage house, converted into a surprisingly modern one-bedroom/one-bath with all the conveniences anyone would expect in this day and age, including cable and WiFi.

  I reached over and helped myself to the very large, and surprisingly still-warm sweet rolls, followed by a heaping dose of bacon. The detective must have taken that as a sign that all really was well and that I was happy with the surprise party she had put on. She served her plate, taking nearly as much as I did.

  “So, Bert and Ernie have the day off,” I said, around a fair mouthful of food. “Oh, my god, this bacon really is delicious,” I added, holding out a piece to study it.

  “Detectives Whyte and Fowler have been reassigned. I'll be overseeing your case from now on. Since you've been here over a month, and your recovery from your injuries is nearly complete, it was decided that full police presence was no longer required.”

  Tess was back to being all business.

  "You mean, since no one has hunted me down and tried to kill me in the past four weeks.”

  “Well, now, Miss Baxter, that was not a factor in the decision-making process."

  "It's Bishop...just...Bishop, okay? Nothing more.” I unrolled a piece from the sweet roll on my plate and jammed it in my mouth.

  “Now, look, Bishop, the whole purpose of witness protection involves taking on a new identity and moving to a new place, assuming a new life, where the 'bad guys' won't find you and kill you, and anyone you may be associating with. Your new name is Lisa Baxter and you need to get used to it.”

  “Detective, I understand the purpose of witness protection, I'm not stupid, but I have to tell you that I do not feel like, nor do I look like a 'Sarah,' a 'Sally,' or a 'Betty,' or, for that matter, a 'Lisa'!”

  Detective Hayes sat back in her chair, and briefly, her softer side appeared, the version of her I'd spent so many evenings with, the woman who was attentive and kind and had the sweetest laugh, in those beautiful, now widened green eyes. But only briefly. Those green eyes narrowed, practically became weapons as Detective Hayes leaned across the table, keeping her voice low but direct.

  “There is a reason you have to change your name, and that is, first and foremost, the reason you are in Witness Protection--so that the people who wanted you dead can't find you. Now, obviously, you're having issues with the name given you by the U.S. Marshalls...”

  “I suspect someone in the Marshall's office thought it would be a hoot to change my name to Lisa,” I fired back at her, realizing how childish that probably sounded after it shot out of my mouth.

  “Lisa, you have to go with it, it's going to keep you safe, you'll get used to it.” She sat upright, her back straight against the chair.

  “Detective, look at m
e. Really look at me...do I look like a 'Lisa' to you? Really?"

  The detective scanned me up and down, taking in all of my five-foot-eight inches, from my light brown hair to my t-shirt accentuating my somewhat stocky build, then back to my face, where her eyes locked on mine. We had spent hours together over the weeks past, but neither of us had apparently ever really looked at the person we were spending time with, considering my earlier surprise. And, god knows, we hadn't talked much. At least, until recently.

  "No, Bishop," she sighed, "You don't. You don't look anything like a Lisa, but that is beside the point. You are in a small town below the Mason-Dixon line. You will be called Lisa or, more likely, 'Miz Lisa,' by young and old, and you will have to answer to it. And...I'm sorry that you have to live with that, but whatever you were into in Baltimore put you here, so I really hope that having to go by a name that you don't like is the worst thing that happens to you.”

  Huh. So, maybe the enforcement agencies that were part of the Witness Security Program (more commonly referred to as Witness Protection), weren't given all of the circumstances regarding their charges and what had forced them into entry in the program. The vast majority in Witness Protection are players in the game, hiding from their bosses, willing to testify against them about the activities they'd all engaged in, for a fresh start in a new location under an assumed name.

  Tess didn't know how I'd ended up here.

  I sighed and focused on the food on my plate. Finishing the breakfast celebration on a decidedly down note, I gathered up my utensils and plate and headed for the sink as the detective's phone buzzed.

  “Hayes,” she announced into the cell as she stood up, taking up her plate and silverware. “Okay, well, I'm taking 'Lisa' (cutting her eyes to me) to her doctor's appointment, then I'll be available to meet with them. Yeah, probably before noon. Yeah, okay, great, see you then,” as she tapped off and put her dishes in the sink.

  "Your appointment with Dr. Elohim is at ten-thirty, then I'll drop you off back here,” she informed me.

  "Then what?” I asked.

  "Then what, what?” she asked, for clarity.

  "Drop me off. So, after...what, over a month of twenty-four hour a day babysitting, you're leaving me here alone?”

  "There will be a surveillance vehicle outside on the street, probably for another week or so.”

  "But nobody in here.”

  "Right,” she hedged.

  "Oh, thank god,” I practically shouted. “So I can run around with no clothes on if I want to?”

  Tess looked at me, blinking. “I suppose you could, if that's what you want to do,” she answered.

  I'd caught the detective off-guard and I grinned at that. It had been my goal for the past two weeks or so, once I'd begun recovering, to tease her as often as possible. Just for fun. And because it was so easy.

  So, of course, I was gonna take advantage of this opportunity.

  "You just don't know,” I continued. “I have not been alone in so long that maybe if I do run around naked I just might start feeling normal again."

  The detective was blushing slightly, shaking her head, and she kept her eyes lowered as she replied. "Bishop, I don't think you would know normal if it walked up and introduced itself,” Tess stated. “This house has video games, a remote-controlled helicopter and an RC car with a night-vision video cam, laser-tag gear...”

  "That's for the dogs,” I interjected.

  "...and god knows what else. Really, when we unpacked the shipping boxes, we thought you were a fourteen-year-old boy!”

  I laughed at that. “Well, that's me,” I admitted, still smiling and nodding my head. “A girl I dated described me as 'Peter Pan' to her mother. Said I was 'a lot of fun' but I was never going to grow up and start taking 'Life' seriously. Probably because I wouldn't ask her to move in with me.”

  "How old were you?” Tess asked, looking up at me.

  "Twenty-six,” I replied in all seriousness.

  Tess's eyes opened rather incredulously. I was grinning again as I turned and started towards the hallway. “Oh, when you get to the department, will you remind Whyte that he still owes me?”

  "Owes you for what?” Detective Hayes demanded.

  "He'll know,” I replied, as I headed for the bedroom to change clothes. “I'll be right out, don't want to be late.”

  "Hey, wait!” shouted the detective.

  I went back into the kitchen. “What?”

  "Here.” She was holding what appeared to be a shirt box.

  "What, a present?" I took the box. "For me? Really, Detective, you shouldn't have, seriously, because I'm not exactly the kind of girl you give lingerie to, so I hope you kept the receipt."

  The detective narrowed her eyes. "It's not lingerie," she said through clenched teeth as I took the box. “And it's not a present. It's protocol.”

  "Okay, just checking," I said, laughing, as I headed for my bedroom.

  *****

  Detective Tess Hayes sat back down at the table and rested her chin in her hand. Rosie, the Corgi/Jack Russell mix, poked Tess's leg with her nose, and quickly shifted her gaze to the tabletop holding the plate of bacon. Tess looked down on the second poke and caught the little dog's want. She chuckled.

  "I know where you learned that,” Tess said to the pushy dog, as she broke a piece of bacon in half. Sophie, the red-and-white border collie, stood up from under the table and moved closer for her share, wagging her tail and glancing nervously at Rosie, who was inclined to snarl if she thought Sophie was getting too close to her treat.

  "Now, girls, there's enough for both here,” Tess said, as she handed out the pieces. “And more than enough for me,” she thought.

  2

  Doctor Elohim's office was on the second block off Main street, just behind the locally-owned pharmacy. How convenient, I thought, as we walked in. In the waiting room were several patients sitting at various points around the room, all of them in one kind of cast or another. I walked to the far end, away from the young kid with the croupy cough and a cast from his right hip to his toes, taking a seat in the corner. Detective Hayes went to the reception window. The office secretary rolled the heavy glass aside as she approached.

  "May I help you,” said the woman, in such a way that it was not really a question. I suspected that she had said those same four words so many times that it was an automatic gesture on her part, they no longer had any real meaning to her.

  "Lisa Baxter for an appointment with Dr. Elohim,” responded Detective Hayes. The woman nodded and handed Hayes a clipboard with several sheets of paper and a pen snapped under the clip.

  "Fill out the front and back on the first one, sign at the bottom of the second one, then bring it back to me. Doctor is running a little behind this morning but you should get in shortly.”

  "Thank you,” replied Hayes.

  I watched Tess walk back to me, her sense of presence belying her actual size. Once again, I was wondering where the hell I'd been the past month, amazed that I had not really noticed how attractive she was, her Irish heritage giving her a natural beauty that other women would kill for. Or would pay their stylists and cosmetologists exorbitant amounts to have, for that matter.

  She sat down in the chair next to mine, wrote in the billing information for the Tenley PD, then handed me the clipboard.

  "This should be a good test for you,” she said.

  "What do you mean?” I asked.

  "I mean, let's see if you've studied,” replied Detective Hayes. “Let's see if you've spent your time doing your homework, rather than playing with Whyte and Fowler.”

  "Huh,” I snorted, turning the board toward me and pulling the pen from the clipboard's jaw. “Name...” I said, in a harsh whisper, drawling out the single syllable like a curse.

  "Just fill it out, you don't have to answer out loud,” declared Tess, in a somewhat exasperated hiss.

  I completed the papers, signing the second one with a very natural-appearing 'Lisa Baxter,' then
handed the clipboard to the detective for her review.

  "Well, see,” she said, sounding all the world like a schoolmarm who'd just convinced a six-year old that she really could tie her own shoes. She looked over the pages, then carried them back to the receptionist, who glanced up as she approached, but made her wait behind the closed glass while she busied herself rearranging the papers on her desk.

  "Oh, shit, no,” I thought, watching Tess being ignored. I didn't want to see what was going to happen next, but I couldn't look away.

  Just about the time I expected the detective to shove aside the window and toss the clipboard through like a hand grenade, the receptionist slid open the glass.

  She's obviously done this before.

  The detective handed the clipboard to the woman, who deftly removed the papers, then glared at her.

  "What?” asked Detective Hayes.

  "Where's the pen?” growled the woman.

  In my hand, I thought, as I looked down at it.

  I leaped up from the chair and was nearly run into by the diminutive detective, who was halfway across the waiting room in three strides.

  "Sorry,” I whispered, as Tess snagged the pen from my outstretched hand.

  Back across the room in three strides again, the detective handed the pen to the witch behind the window, who was very pleased that she had pushed Detective Hayes' buttons. She was also now very aware that the detective was armed, and quite possibly dangerous, when her suit jacket swung open, showing her badge and the butt of her holstered gun.

  "Anything else?” asked the detective, through moderately clenched teeth.

  "The nurse will call your name to take you back,” said the woman, glancing up briefly, but not meeting her eyes.

  "Thank you,” tersely replied the detective as she turned away.

  "Have a nice day,” said the receptionist, quickly closing the hopefully bullet-proof glass.

  By now, everyone who had been watching the exchange averted their eyes. Except me. I was looking at the real Detective Tess Hayes, the one who didn't take anyone's shit. Her green eyes glimmered, shining like the green of the ocean in bright sun. Her cheeks bore a red glow, a natural rouge that emphasized her high cheekbones.