The Odds, page 9
“Nobody forced you to watch the old lady die.”
“Eat my dick.”
“Just remember who’s on your side.”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re besties, I’m sorry, I forgot. So I guess I’m not the only player, huh?”
“Nope.”
“Do I have to be worried that I’ll be told to murder somebody?” Ethan asked.
“I’d worry about a lot of things.”
“Great.”
“But you earned a point tonight, so I hope you feel good about yourself.”
“It’s like you keep setting me up to be rude to you. How do you think I’m going to respond to that? Do you think I’m going to thank you for showing me how amazing I can be?”
“I’m trying to make the best of what I know isn’t a high point in your life,” said Rick.
“I met you in Vegas,” said Ethan. “You followed me here to Kansas City. Where was the other guy from?”
“That’s on a need-to-know basis, and you don’t need to know.”
“Did you make him travel here?”
“I’m not answering those kinds of questions about the game.”
“I’d just like to know if I have to add sudden out of town trips to the list of things I have to lie to my wife about.”
“It can’t hurt to start thinking of cover stories.”
“When does the game end? How many rounds are there?”
“Do you really think I’m going to tell you that?” asked Rick.
“Sure. Why not? If somebody’s on Survivor they know that it’s thirty-nine days. You know what it takes to win Monopoly.”
“I guess that’s a fair point,” Rick admitted, “but I’m not authorized to tell you. All I can say is, go home and try to get a good night’s sleep.”
“Sure. No problem. It’s not like I saw anything that’ll give me a sleepless night.”
Everybody was in the living room when Ethan got home. Tim and Patrick were still playing the same video game, while Jenny sat on the couch reading a book, or at least pretending to read one.
“What happened to your arm?” she asked, quickly standing up.
The kids put the game on pause, a testament to how serious this seemed to be.
“It’s no big deal,” said Ethan. “I got cut at work.”
“Did you put anything on it?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. They took good care of me.”
“Dad, you look kind of sick,” said Patrick.
Ethan nodded. “I’m pretty tired.”
“No, I mean sick. Like you’re going to throw up.”
“I’m not going to throw up, I promise. My job’s a lot more stressful than it used to be, that’s all.”
“You should quit,” said Tim.
“Then who would pay for your video games?”
“We’d just play the old ones.”
“That’s actually genuinely sweet,” said Ethan. “But no, don’t worry about me. I’m going to take a shower and go to bed.”
“Don’t you want dinner?” Jenny asked.
“Nah, I’m not hungry.” If he tried to choke down some food, he probably would throw up.
“Okay.”
Jenny looked really upset. And she was right to look that way. But did she look so upset that somebody watching might think she knew what was going on? Rick was already suspicious.
It would be okay. He’d been called out of the house with no notice and came home with a slashed arm. His wife would unquestionably look concerned in that scenario. It would be more suspicious if she had a cavalier attitude about it. He was just getting paranoid.
He took a long, scalding hot shower, scrubbing himself so thoroughly that it was painful. None of the executed man’s blood had gotten on him, but Ethan scrubbed away as if he’d been drenched in it. The cut on his arm stung like hell under the hot water. At least it was only trickling blood instead of gushing it.
Jenny walked into the bathroom as he stepped out of the shower. She took a towel off the rack and handed to him.
“Actually, maybe one of the older ones from the back of the closet,” Ethan said. “I don’t want to get blood on the good ones.”
Jenny retrieved one of their lesser towels. As he dried off, she got out the antiseptic and a box of bandages.
“So,” she said. “How was work?”
“It sucked.”
“Any idea when the overtime will stop?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. It’s not your fault.”
“It kind of is my fault.”
“I need to know that we’re all going to be okay when this is over,” she said.
“We’re going to be fine,” said Ethan, and his eyes darted away from her for a split second, and he cursed himself for not being able to stop it from happening, because not being able to sustain eye contact was the classic “I’m lying my ass off!” signal. He might as well have covered his mouth.
Maybe she hadn’t noticed.
She had totally noticed.
“Seriously, we’re going to be fine,” he said, stumbling over the words. He desperately needed to convey the message of “We have to keep up this ruse, because less than an hour ago I watched a guy get shot to death for violating the rule,” but he had no idea how to do it without breaking the rule.
Jenny said nothing. She absolutely did not believe that they were going to be fine.
And if she didn’t believe that, what would stop her from fleeing with their children?
What would stop her from calling the police?
“I promise you it’s all good,” he said. “I’ll keep working, and I’ll get our head above water and then I’ll quit. At least I know that I’ll never gamble again. I’ll probably have to go into therapy if I ever see a slot machine. So, yes, right now my unpredictable schedule sucks, but you have nothing to worry about. I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to take care of the kids. Our family is fine.”
“If you say so,” said Jenny. “Let’s get your arm bandaged up.”
She applied the antiseptic with a cotton ball and as he winced in pain Ethan searched her face for signs as to what she might be thinking. There was no way for her not to be scared, but he needed her not to be so scared that she decided it was worth it to break the rules. But he couldn’t convey that without breaking the rules.
He tried to think of a way to share that message in coded language, making it clear what he meant without tipping off any eavesdroppers, but he immediately rejected every phrasing as too transparent. His mind wasn’t working in top-notch condition at the moment.
It was too risky.
He’d have to trust that she wouldn’t do something dangerous.
After she bandaged him up, he put on boxer briefs and a t-shirt (he hoped Rick had been suffering through a nice unobstructed view of his dick) and got into bed. Jenny kissed him on the forehead.
“Do you promise everything will be fine?”
Don’t look away. Don’t look away. Don’t look away. Don’t blink.
“I promise,” he said.
“All right. I’ll come to bed soon.”
Jenny left the bedroom. Ethan fell asleep seconds later.
He woke up to the sound of his phone ringing.
What time was it? The clock on the nightstand said 12:00. No way.
He picked up the phone and, yes, it was Rick calling. The same night? Was he serious?
It might have been okay for him to let this call go to voice mail and pick up on the second call, when he’d left the bedroom and could speak more privately, but after tonight’s double murder he was much more frightened of defying Rick.
“Hello?” he asked.
“Hi, Ethan. Did I wake you up?”
Ethan slid his legs over the side of the bed. “I hope you’re joking. I just got back from work.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Did you think you’d get some time for R&R before your next challenge? Did I say anything to imply that?”
“Yes, actually. You told me to get a good night’s sleep.”
“You’re right. I did. I hope you got part of a good night’s sleep. Tell your wife you have to go back to work and get in your car. I’ll call you back in five minutes.”
Rick hung up. Ethan literally wanted to just start crying. This was unreal.
Jenny, of course, was awake.
“I have to go,” he said.
She sat up, scooted over, and took his hand. “We’ll get through this,” she told him. “Like you said, the weird work hours will go away after we make up the shortfall.”
“Yeah. Try to go back to sleep.”
Ethan quickly got dressed and went out to the car. He didn’t even want to look in the rearview mirror, because he probably looked like somebody you’d cross the street to avoid. Don’t hurt me, sir. Here’s some money.
Rick called.
“Are you outside of your house?” Rick asked.
“You don’t know?”
“I do know. I was seeing if you’d be honest.”
“Yeah, I’m in my car.”
“Are you ready for your next challenge?”
“No.”
“Are you saying that you’re not ready, or that you’re declining it?”
“I’ll hear what you have to say, but why should I bother accepting? I accepted the last challenge because I didn’t want a woman to get stabbed to death. I saved her and she died anyway. So it was all a great big waste.”
“You earned a point,” said Rick.
“So I earned a point. So what? I didn’t drive out there to earn a point in your game, I drove out there to stop a woman from being murdered by some whack-nut with a knife. Now I know that there’s no purpose to playing. I might as well not even bother.”
“That’s not a winning attitude.”
“What’s the challenge?”
“This time you have a 25% chance of succeeding.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“It would be boring if the game got easier.”
“And I’m playing for a point?” Ethan asked.
“No. You’re playing for a briefcase filled with ten pounds of cocaine.”
“I don’t want ten pounds of cocaine.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” said Rick. “But the drug dealers who believe you have their shipment would very much like it back.”
Ethan didn’t even know what to say to this. He just sat in his car, staring through the front windshield, unable to believe that this was his life now.
“Ethan...?”
“I thought coke was measured in kilos.”
“So you’ll win about four and a half kilos of coke that was supposed to be delivered to some extremely vengeful criminals. You could return it to them, no questions asked.”
“You know what? No.”
“No?”
“I’m calling bullshit. I don’t buy it. Maybe you can set up some game where one player tries to kill an old lady and the other player tries to save her, but you expect me to believe that you stole a briefcase of cocaine from drug dealers and have framed me for it?”
“Will frame you for it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“That’s interesting. I didn’t expect this.”
“So yes, I’m declining. I’m going back to bed.”
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t completely shocked,” said Rick. “I hope you have a restful night of sleep, and I hope this works out for you.”
“G’night.” Ethan hung up.
It had to be bullshit.
Right?
Ethan was suddenly having very serious doubts. Why wouldn’t these psychopaths add vengeful gangsters to the mix? It was the next logical step to this insanity! What the hell was he thinking?
He called Rick back.
“Yes?” Rick answered. “May I help you?”
“Can I take it back?”
“Hmmm. I’m not quite sure. Let me consult my rulebook.”
“Seriously, Rick, let me take it back. I wasn’t thinking right. I’m exhausted. I’m stressed out. I apologize.”
“What are you apologizing for? Skipping this round, or for the verbal abuse?”
“Anything. Everything.” Ethan hated how frantic he sounded. “I’ll apologize for whatever you want.”
“An all-encompassing apology like that probably isn’t sincere,” said Rick. “I don’t want your apology. Now, the good news is that I’m empowered to let you take back your terrible decision. The bad news is that I’m not empowered to do so without you incurring a penalty. There was a time element to this challenge, so I’m reducing your time by fifteen minutes, which I’d say knocks you down to a 20% of success.”
“All right. I’ll take it. What’s the challenge?”
“I’ll call you back in fifteen minutes. Stay in your car and try not to go completely mad before then.”
12
Ethan felt like he’d already gone mad. He passed the time by watching cute otter videos on his phone.
Finally, exactly fifteen minutes later, Rick called him back.
“You didn’t change your mind again, did you?” Rick asked.
“No.”
“Glad to hear it. So, Ethan, you get to go on a scavenger hunt! Race from clue to clue, and waiting at the end is some pure and uncut product. Hell, you can keep it for yourself if you want, or skim a little off the top. No judgment here.”
“Did you get a bit slaphappy while we were waiting?” Ethan asked.
“A bit, yeah. First clue. It’s an easy one. Look where you saved the kids. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“On your mark...get set...go!”
Rick hung up. Ethan started the car and almost knocked over his mailbox as he backed out of the driveway. Then he sped off toward the playground.
When he arrived there, he parked the car and realized that he didn’t have a flashlight. He popped open the trunk and checked, but this time nobody had been considerate enough to leave one there. The streetlamp would have to do.
He ran to the sandbox. As he stepped inside, he wondered if there were more hypodermic needles buried in there. Frantically digging through the sand in dim light with unprotected hands could end very badly.
Ethan hurried back to the car. He should’ve thought of this before going to the sandbox. He didn’t know how much time he had, but he knew he couldn’t waste any.
He didn’t have any gloves in the car. He did have an old grease-covered towel, which would have to be good enough. He wrapped it around his hand as he ran back to the sandbox, and then began to dig.
He didn’t even know what he was looking for. A tiny piece of paper? A box? He’d just have to dig and look for anything that wasn’t sand.
After about half a minute, he found something.
A hypodermic needle.
He’d love to slam this into Rick’s smug face.
Ethan continued digging. Found another one. Then another.
How many goddamn hypodermic needles were buried in this sandbox?
He kept going, hoping the towel was enough to protect him from getting jabbed with whatever shit was in these things.
Found another one.
Wait. He should learn from his mistakes. Maybe the clue was written on the needle. He held it up, trying to search for writing somewhere on the surface.
He couldn’t see well enough to tell.
He gathered all of the needles and carried them closer to the streetlight, then inspected each of them.
No writing.
He went back to the sandbox and continued searching, finding two more needles within a matter of seconds. He’d gather a couple more before running back to the light.
His hands were shaking.
Was he missing something? Were the needles a clue that he simply wasn’t getting?
He kept digging.
Another needle. And another. And another.
And then something green. A small envelope.
He tore it open and unfolded the paper inside.
Look where you failed to save the woman.
Technically, he’d failed to save two women, but this presumably was referring to the woman who’d been buried alive. He hoped the clues continued to be this straightforward.
Though he hated to leave a sandbox full of hypodermic needles, it was after midnight and he couldn’t imagine that any little kids would show up for playtime after dark. When this was over, he’d return to the playground and put up signs to warn people not to go into the sandbox.
He took the needles with him and returned to his car.
He almost put them in the glove compartment, but he didn’t know what was in them. He had a vision of getting pulled over by a cop and having a dozen hypodermic needles fall out of the glove compartment when he went to get his registration.
Instead, he put them in the trunk and covered them with the towel.
Not having a flashlight would be much more of a problem if he was trying to find the location of the grave in Rendill Park. He hated to lose the time, but he had to return home.
He’d had no reason to think he needed extra equipment—the last time it had been thoughtfully provided for him.
Was he allowed to call Jenny to have her meet him outside with a flashlight?
Sure, why not? He wasn’t allowed to tell her about the game, but this would be part of the lie.
He texted her instead of calling. Less chance of one of them accidentally giving something away. He assumed they were monitoring his text messages, though it was possible that the idea that they might be reading his texts was supposed to be enough to keep him on the honor system.
There might be digging involved, but they didn’t own a shovel. A flashlight could be innocuous, but he didn’t want Jenny to wonder why he needed a shovel after midnight.
When he pulled into their driveway, Jenny was there with a flashlight. He rolled down the window and she handed it to him without a word. Then he sped off to Rendill Park.
It was the same deal as before. The gate kept him from driving into the actual park, so he left the car behind. He walked a hundred paces forward, then fifty paces to the left. It was easy to find the place he’d dug before, though he was disappointed that there wasn’t a green envelope resting on top of the freshly overturned dirt.
