mxpw's A/N the First: Turns out there'll be one more chapter with me at the helm. There will be no A/N from Frea. She has returned from her trip, and by all reports had an excellent time. However, she crashed (time zone changes are a bitch) before we could discuss plans to update the next chapter. We were probably gonna update on Thursday, but as quistie64 is planning on updating her Homer-esque epic SOM2, I decided just to go ahead and update today. Hence no note from Frea. She'll probably be annoyed with me. I can live with that. If she were writing her own note, I'm sure she'd say something about how awesome all of you guys are, but with twice the wit and three times the horrible puns.

mxpw's A/N the Second: Thank you to everyone that has reviewed, reblogged, tweeted, or otherwise commented on this story. It is very gratifying to know that you all are interested and enjoying this little yarn we came up with. I know I gave you all a bit of a hard time after Chapter 6, but I really do appreciate you guys! Thank you! And a big thank you to Steampunk Chuckster and quistie64 and for their help with the story.

Frea's A/N the Only: Ahahaha. You thought I didn't have access to my own account and couldn't come back and change it later, mxpw? SURPRISE. HERE I AM. Hi, everybody. I'm back from my trip and super excited that you get to read this chapter!

The Lazarus Room

"Don't you know it's rude to spy on a lady?" Carina asked, her voice syrupy smooth. She leaned down and brought her knife within an inch of the man's face. Fear rose in the man's eyes, but not as much as I expected, given that he was trussed up in a strange woman's hotel room. I had to figure this was not the first time he had found himself in a dangerous situation.

I reached out and put my hand on Carina's arm. She looked at me, one perfect eyebrow arching.

"Let's give the man a chance to talk before the two of you start gettin' friendly, shall we?" I asked. I didn't think Carina would actually use her knife on the man, but nothing about the sultry spy had gone as I'd anticipated so far, so it was better not to take my chances.

To my surprise, Carina shrugged and straightened. I reached down and helped the man to his feet, maneuvering him to the bed. I sat him down on it and removed the gag. I said, "Who are you? What were you doing?"

The man said nothing.

"Here, let me," Carina said, and started firing off questions in a language I didn't really understand. I did catch a couple of words, though: it was Russian. Even though the man didn't respond, I saw the look of understanding in his eyes. He knew what Carina was saying.

Carina must have seen it too, for she looked triumphant. "Knew it. Could always spot a Russian a mile away, Chuckie."

Russian? This was a new development. The Russians were after Bryce Larkin, too? The Bishop, Carina's employers, and the Feds weren't enough? What was this, a melting pot of Find the Missing Thief? I felt a little light-headed and a lot warm. Just what had this wag stolen that was this important, anyway? It had to be made of solid gold, at the very least.

Fortunately, Carina hadn't noticed my distraction, as she was too busy watching the Russian with narrowed eyes, an intense look overtaking those pointed, pretty features. I took a deep breath and rubbed the back of my hand across my forehead. Carina continued to snap off questions in Russian, and the fellow sitting on the bed glared back in silence. It went on for some time, too fast for me to follow. Hand me a German speaker, and I can tell you where he came from down to the neighborhood. But when the OSS had switched its focus from Germany to Russia at the end of the war, I'd seen the writing on the wall, and I'd split. So I could only stand there uselessly, watching the tennis match of silence and speech go on.

A few more threatening gestures with Carina's knife and a nasty look that made even me shy back later, the man decided he valued his life and started talking. I had no idea what Carina had said to get the other man to talk, and I got the feeling I was better off that way. Judging from the pale sweat that had started to spring up at the man's temples and all.

When the flood of Russian stopped, Carina waved the knife in the man's face. "Da?" she asked.

"Da," the man said.

Carina turned that cat's smile on me, and the room heated up a bit. I tugged at my tie, which suddenly felt a great deal more constricting. "Good news, Chuck," she said. "He's only here to follow you."

The man said something. Carina flicked a glance at him and looked at me again as she amended, "Right. He's only here to follow you and then probably kill you."

I felt light-headed again. "How is that good news?"

"Because he was going to wait until after you had found what you were looking for, silly."

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't find that very comforting, Miss Miller!"

"Oh, all right, take it as you will. I'm simply pleased he doesn't seem to know anything about me and my mission here."

"So really it's just good news for you."

"Looks like it," Carina said, and she didn't look the slightest bit ashamed. It seemed pretty typical of my interactions with her so far. She slid her knife delicately back into the folds of her dress. "He didn't tell me much, unfortunately. Just that he had been told to follow you and report back on your activities. If you found the device, he was supposed to take it from you. I inferred the killing part."

"Lovely. Until a few minutes ago, I had no idea I was even looking for a machine," I said, and yanked my hat off my head. I worried it with my hands and put it back on. "What are we gonna do with him?"

"He didn't know about me before, but he does now. I can't let him report back to his superiors."

"What exactly are you suggesting?"

"Come now, Mr. Carmichael, this is Chicago. I don't have to tell you what happens to rats in this town."

She really didn't. I'd seen enough of the Bishop's handiwork, and heard Casey's stories besides, to know that the Chicago way of dealing with things often meant a one-way ticket to Lake Michigan. And they didn't take the ride for the ambiance.

That wasn't me, though. I knew some private dicks that would be more than happy to look the other way while some mook got fitted with concrete loafers, so long as the price was right, but I had never been one of them. I'd seen more than my fair share of death during the War, thank you very much, and I wasn't much interested in seeing any more.

"We're not killing him," I said.

"We can't let him go. He knows too much about me."

"That's tough, toots, but I've got a strict no-killing policy, even for the Russians."

Carina's eyes flashed. I got the sense that she wasn't used to being disobeyed or argued with, but I hadn't survived in this game as long as I had by having a soft spine. "Then what do you propose we do with him, Mr. Carmichael?"

"Maybe I know a copper down at the 42nd that would happily take this collar off our hands. Chances are, men of this man's ilk have a rap sheet."

"You want to hand this fine gentleman to a cop." Carina's look dripped with pure skepticism.

"We can trust him, okay? I've worked with him before. He's a friend, but don't tell him I said so. It puts him off his lunch. But either way, he'll find some way to make sure this guy doesn't see the light of day for a long time."

Carina surprised me by letting out a light chuckle. She swept her hair back from her forehead with one daintily gloved hand. "I should have known this would happen from everything she said about you. Very well, Mr. Carmichael. We'll play this fiddle your way this time, but when it comes time to pay the piper, it's on your head, not mine."

I didn't even bother following up on the mystery woman comment this time. It was obvious that Carina wasn't going to disclose who she was talking about. There were more important matters to deal with anyway.

"Thanks, great, I'll call him right now." I walked over to the phone on her desk and dialed the precinct's number. It was a harried conversation, with a lot of grousing from Casey, and a lot of pleading from me. After longer than I would have liked—mainly because of the impatient look on Carina's face—Casey finally agreed to come pick up the Russian spy. All I felt was relief. "He's agreed. He said he'll be here in half an hour."

Carina grumbled, but she eventually nodded and sat down in the chair behind her desk. "Now that we've got that taken care of, we need to talk about what we're going to do from here."

I really didn't have the first clue. After having my teakettle rattled good and hard by Agent Shaw at the docks, I was in over my head and I knew it. A plan started to form, and immediately I knew it had to be about the stupidest plan I'd ever come up with. But if there was anybody in Chicago that could give me the kind of answers about what was really going on in my town, it was going to be Vincent "The Bishop" Karpazzo.

I didn't see much of a choice. I knew he didn't know where Bryce was—he wouldn't be throwing around so much dough if he did—but there was no way the Russians were operating in his backyard without at least having some idea of what was going on. And if he knew that much, then maybe he could tell me more about who Bryce Larkin really was and what it was everybody was looking for. I certainly wasn't going to get that information from Carina.

"I've got a few contacts that I could feel out and see what they know."

"Same," Carina said, and I almost smirked as I saw her rearrange the desk back to the way it had been before I had commandeered it for my own. "And I'll do one better. I'll see what I can find out about this G-man giving you trouble."

"Why?" I asked, instantly suspicious. Carina's type wasn't the helpful sort, if you catch my drift.

She smirked. "Maybe I just like your face."

That clearly wasn't it.

"And maybe it's the fact that if the Russians are involved, things are a lot more complicated than I thought and we may be the only people we can trust."

I highly doubted that, but I nodded in agreement. I was surrounded by criminals, spies, and government agents, all trying to one-up me and do me in, and all I wanted was for Sarah to come back, or to maybe take a vacation. After the last few days, I could really use one.

"I'll call you in the morning and tell you what I've found. You'll do the same, right?" I didn't want to sound like I didn't trust her, but the fact of the matter was, I didn't trust her at all. We might have come to an understanding of sorts about joining forces, but it wouldn't surprise me one bit if she gladly took everything I found out and gave me back nothing in return.

"Of course, Chuck," Carina said and batted her eyelashes at me, her voice low and smooth. "You can trust me."

I snorted and adjusted my hat. I knew when I was being fed a load of bull, but it was probably the best I could hope for.

"Now if you'll excuse me, Chuck, I'd like to have a word or two alone with our new friend." Carina held up a hand. "Don't worry, I promise not to hurt him. He'll be in one piece when your pet bull shows up, but I really must insist. A lady's privilege."

Lady, you ain't no lady, I wanted to say, but I'd been raised better than that. I wanted to object. From the look on the Russian's face, he wanted me to object, too. But I knew when to pick my battles, and Carina wasn't going to budge. So I just nodded my head, said, "I'll be in contact, Miss Miller," and made my way out the door.

Even though I knew she'd be long gone, I still couldn't help looking both ways down the hallway for any sign of my guardian angel. There was nothing there.

An hour later found me deep in the Bishop's territory, on the east side of town. I knew he liked to frequent a little gin joint called the Lazarus Room, so that would be my best bet for finding him. It was a conversation I didn't relish in the slightest, but sometimes a man's gotta do what he's gotta do, and right now, if I wanted to stay ahead of the Russians, I needed as much information as I could get my greedy little hands on.

The Lazarus Room appeared a small place, nestled between a fine ladies' boutique and a delicatessen. There wasn't much to it: a short bar, some stools, and several booths that lined the opposite wall. But it was richly decorated in leather and kitted up with glaringly expensive wood paneling. The colors were earthy, the glasses were shallow, and the liquor, it was said, had flowed deep and rich even during the days Prohibition had plagued our fine city. When I walked in, there weren't many clients: everybody knew you only visited the Lazarus Room if you were expressly looking for the Bishop, and only if you were fool.

I was definitely both.

Fortunately, he was there. Of course, so were Mr. Colt and Mr. Delgado. I had expected that but I still felt the familiar snakes come alive in my stomach. I was walking into the lion's den, and I had no idea if I'd ever be walking out.

To my amusement, the Bishop's henchmen looked surprised to see me. Both stood up at the same time, and I'm not ashamed to admit, I felt a small thrill of pride when both men reached inside their coats. The Bishop merely raised a hand and both men relaxed.

Vincent Karpazzo was a fairly big man, nearly as tall as I was and broad shouldered like most of the Monsters of Midway's offensive lineup. Much like the walking, talking mountain standing next to him, he appeared all muscle, which was no surprise. He'd had a reputation for getting his hands dirty when he was moving up the ranks of the Chicago underworld. His bald pate gleamed under the dim lights of the Lazarus Room, and his piercing gaze alone made my knees want to shake. It was said that the Bishop was as intelligent as he was ruthless, and I'd had just enough dealings with the man in the past to know that was true.

The Bishop didn't stand like his two lackeys had. "This is an unexpected surprise, Mr. Carmichael." He gestured at a seat across from him and I sat down. "Come to accept my offer after all?"

Any conversation with the Bishop was bound to be a minefield, so I knew I had to tread carefully.

"Like I told Frick and Frack over here yesterday, my answer is no." Perhaps I was a little more tired than I had thought. It seemed like my mouth had stopped listening to my brain.

The Bishop's lips thinned. "Then why are you here, interrupting my evening respite?"

"I have no interest in your deal, but I have one of my own. I came to see if you would like to trade." I held my breath and hoped I wasn't being too obvious about it.

"I see," the Bishop said. "Very well. Perhaps we can come to some kind of arrangement."

I placed both hands on my thighs. I had to resist the urge to move my hand closer to my gun, as that would surely earn me a jaunt to the pearly gates. "Great, that's great." I could feel a ramble coming on and took a breath to stop it. I flashed him a quick grin. "So why don't you tell me what you know and I'll fill in the blanks for you, gratis?"

The Bishop laughed, loud, almost like a bark. It was disconcerting, to say the least, but not as disconcerting as the way he abruptly stopped. "You are a funny man, Mr. Carmichael. That's why I like you."

"Uh, thanks?"

"But funny only gets you so far in this life."

"You know, Bishop, my mother said the same thing. But I always told her—"

The Bishop slapped the table. "Enough. You will tell me what you know and if I think it valuable information, I may be persuaded to share as well."

"Now just a second, Bishop, that's not the kind of deal I was talking about."

The Bishop smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. Colt and Delgado took up positions behind me. "That is what I'm offering. I suggest you take it."

A smarter man than me might have chosen that moment to genuflect or even backpedal, certainly apologize at the very least. But another thing my mother had pointed out to me a couple of times was that I was Charles Carmichael, and Charles Carmichael wasn't always a smart man.

So I straightened my shoulders. "I've never reacted well to bullies before," I said.

Karpazzo's eyes narrowed. "And I've never reacted well to people who waste my time, Mr. Carmichael."

"All I want to know is if you know what device Bryce Larkin has that's so important. Last I heard, your trade wasn't machinery."

The Bishop's eyes narrowed slightly. "It's always been a disappointment to me that you've never agreed to work for me, Carmichael. I imagine we could have formed quite the lucrative partnership."

"Again, thanks?"

The Bishop drank from the tumbler by his hand. "I have to say, I'm impressed. Quite impressed, even. Not one of the many gumshoes that I have contracted with over the last few days has even discovered that much." He nodded and both Colt and Delgado grabbed my arms.

"Hey," I said, alarm striking.

"You've quite the brain, Carmichael. And as much as I would prefer to let you work and see what you discover with that big brain of yours, I'm afraid that certain," the Bishop paused, obviously seeking the proper word, which told me this was important, "outside interests are pressuring me for results and I don't have time to deal with impudent young gnats that show up on my doorstep demanding answers. I simply can't wait for this game to continue."

The henchmen had grips like steel infused with iron, clamping around my arms. I tried to struggle free and reach my gun, but all I could do was jerk there in their grip like a puppet. There was no way I'd break free from Delgado, let alone Colt, from my current position. "Now hold on, Bishop, I don't know anything," I said, my voice beginning to rise in panic. This was not how this was supposed to go. "That's why I'm here!"

He ignored me. "Don't do it here. Take him out back and find out everything he knows."

The two men literally dragged me toward a side door of the Lazarus Room. It wasn't the first time I'd been thrown out of a place like this, but this time, I knew I was doomed. Fear gnawed at my innards. Even if the goons didn't kill me after they'd beaten the information they thought I had—but didn't—out of me, I knew I was not going to enjoy what was about to happen.

How did I always get myself into these kinds of situations? Was I just born special?

The air was crisp when we got outside. I knew I had to do something, anything, to try and get free. They had yet to disarm me, but their hold on my arms was so strong that there was no way I could reach my gun. If only I could somehow get my arm free long enough to get to my gun, I might have a chance. Maybe. None of the hand-to-hand training the Army had been kind enough to bestow on me at Camp Lehigh was floating to the surface.

They dragged me down the alley, though I had no idea why. It wasn't like some copper was going to come walking the beat anywhere near the Lazarus Room. And given my luck, if one did happen to walk by, it'd be one on the Bishop's dole. He'd be paid handsomely to look the other way, and I'd still have a face full of knuckle sandwich.

"Always knew that mouth of yours would get you in trouble one day, Carmichael," Colt said in his deep basso.

"Yeah, you and everybody else," I said, and tried to wrench my arms free. All I managed to do was earn a cuff upside the head from Colt and a warning not to try it again from Delgado.

Finally, it seemed we had moved far enough down the alley, for the two men carting me around stopped. Delgado reached into my coat pocket to pull my gun free when suddenly there was a blur of darkness in the corner of my vision.

Just like that, she was there.

I don't know where she came from or how she knew I was in trouble, I just knew I had never been more relieved in my life to see my guardian angel. I caught just the shape of her, the smell of oranges and gardenias in spring time, and then I hit the wall. Sparks skittered at the edges of my vision.

She had gone for Delgado first, and the impact of the two of them coming together had caused me to go flying. I heard a loud grunt, heavy breathing, and the impact of flesh against flesh. I whipped around in time to watch Delgado take a wicked right hook to the face. He went spinning into his companion, and I watched as my guardian angel kicked Colt in the stomach with what seemed like all of her strength.

The blow barely seemed to affect the larger man, though it did make his bowler fall to the ground. I lunged forward and hit Colt at the knees. The man went toppling to the side and I swear it was like hitting an elephant.

"Watch out," my guardian angel said, the first time I'd ever heard her speak. I twisted onto my back in time to see that Delgado had recovered from her initial attack. He pulled a revolver from inside his coat. I closed my eyes instinctively, expecting him to fire, but he never got the chance.

There was a sickening thunk sound, the kind of sound you hear when jamming a cleaver into a chunk of meat, and I opened my eyes to see a knife protruding from Delgado's chest. His eyes went wide, the whites of them stark against his face even in the darkness. Blood, I realized. That was blood leaking out of his chest, just dripping like a split bag of milk. He collapsed to the ground in a heap, right on top of me.

I scrambled away from the dying man, pushing him off of me as quickly as I could.

A loud boom filled the alley and the darkened night brightened briefly. My guardian angel cried out in pain—a shot! Colt had shot her. Colt had shot my guardian angel. My friend. The woman I thought maybe I was in love with, even though I knew next to nothing about her.

I saw red. Before I knew it, I was on my feet, and watching my guardian angel save my hide over the years must have rubbed off, for I kicked him before I knew what I was doing. The revolver went flying. Colt turned toward me, ready to end me with a punch to the side, but I dodged back and jumped forward, kicking him again, this time in the face. Once. Twice. He groaned and tried to cover his face with his arms. I didn't care. I was so angry, I just kept striking him with my foot.

"Carmichael!"

I ignored whoever was calling my name. He had to pay for hurting my angel.

Something grabbed my arm and pulled. "Come, Carmichael, we must go!"

It was like coming out of a fog. Her voice pulled me back to reality until I realized I was in a dirty back alley, standing over a bleeding Mr. Colt. The angel was close, closer than she'd ever been so that I could see the domino mask over the top half of her face. What was going on? She was okay? "He shot you," I said, stupidly.

"Yes, but we must go." She jerked her covered head and tugged on my arm, trying to pull me out of the alley.

I let her and we both ran into the night.

mxpw's A/N the Third: Oh boy, things are really getting intense now. And we have our first sighting of this mysterious guardian angel of Chuck's. Who is she? What is she really doing following Chuck around? Are we really sure she's even a woman? I suggest continuing to read the story to find out the answers to these questions and more!

Footsteps rang down the corridor as I closed the safe. I panicked and slammed the false floor down, kicking the rug into place before I realized that the footsteps were familiar. And then I was rushing to the door for an entirely different reason than people were trying to kill me.

For a half second, the worry crossed my mind that the click of those distinctive heels could belong to Carina, but no, there she was, Sarah Walker. My ex-secretary and the woman who'd kept my life together for years.

She gave the office door with its dangling knob a look. "Chuck?" she asked. "Is everything…oh, my god."