BISHOP:
Fast. She tells me about a man—Dean. Calls him abusive. Says he left her when she was “at her lowest,” and now he’s got a new fiancée. She says the girl’s name like the end of a prayer: Jesika. With a K.
THE WATCHER:
She told you she needed protection.
BISHOP:
She told me she was hurt. Said he was harassing her. Said she was scared to walk her block. Said she didn’t want money—she wanted peace.
THE WATCHER:
How do you get from peace… to a park?
BISHOP (beat):
She starts feeding me information like sugar. What time he leaves for work. Where he grabs coffee. She points out his office high-rise and his new place with a lake view. I’m standing in a stranger’s robe in a stranger’s room listening to her breathe in time with a man she says broke her. She says, “I don’t want him dead. I just want to feel safe again.” I should’ve walked. But she looked at me like I was the one decent thing left in the city. That’s a nasty drug.
THE WATCHER:
She paid you?
BISHOP (humorless):
In stories. In feeling necessary. Money came later—mixed with room-service coffee and her hand on my wrist when she said my name like it meant something.
THE WATCHER:
She mentioned a stolen ring—did you take it? For retribution maybe?
BISHOP:
Wasn’t me.
THE WATCHER:
So spell it out. The plan.
BISHOP:
Nothing fancy. That’s why it worked. She wanted an “encounter.” Words only, she swore. Make him feel watched the way she felt watched. Make him stop parading the new girl in front of the old one. The way she saidparadinglike it was a crime. She scouted. She timed. She told me what to wear—nondescript. Told me not to bring anything that reads in court likepremeditation.This is where people say I’m absolving myself. I’m not. I’m telling you the choreography.
THE WATCHER:
And then?
BISHOP:
I step out from the shadows. Say his name. He turns. I tell him to leave her alone. He says, “Who?” We both knew the who. I pushed him once—not enough to break, enough to shake—and then something cracked anyway. He stumbles. Hands out. I see reflex, not guilt. He looks at me like I’m a thug. Then I lose it. Black out. Come back with blood on my hands.
BISHOP (swallows):
She was pissed I took it that far. So I tried to take control back. When the instruction came to meet at the park—when she told me not to go—I went anyway. Setup. The bastard wasn’t even there.
THE WATCHER:
And you leave the park in cuffs.
