Endgame

by Jeffrey Round

  “And for everyone else?” Edwards asked.

  “I’ll have a glass of red wine,” Verna said.

  “Oh. That sounds good!” Janice seconded.

  “White for me,” said David. “Alsatian, if you have any.”

  “Of course, sir,” Edwards assured him. “We have everything you require.”

  “I’ll have the same,” Crispin spoke up.

  “Soda water for me,” Spike said. He saw Max grinning at him and shrugged. “Lousy digestion.”

  “Beer for me,” Pete said.

  “I’ll have a dirty martini,” Sami Lee said, scowling. “On the rocks. Hold the junk.”

  “One martini, hold the olives,” Edwards said. He turned back to the kitchen and soon returned with a tray of assorted drinks. He handed Noni a martini glass. Noni sipped it then sat back and sighed contentedly.

  “Perfect,” he said. “Absolutely perfect!”

  “Now that drink requests have been taken care of,” Crispin began, “I, too, have a small request.”

  The others turned to face him where he sat with both hands on a small portable recording device.

  “As we are all aware, this is an historic occasion. I would like to beg your indulgence in allowing me to tape the sessions while we are on the island. It would greatly help in my task of documenting everything if I might be allowed to make a recording of all our conversations — well, perhaps not all, but nearly all that goes on here this weekend.”

  Faces turned to regard one another around the table. Spike spoke up first.

  “I don’t think anyone has any objections, Crispin,” he said.

  “It’s all right with me,” Max seconded.

  “Most kind of you,” Crispin said. “I thank you all, as will posterity one day.” And with that, he proceeded to turn on the recorder sitting before him.

  As though self-conscious at being recorded, everyone began to speak animatedly. Verna asked if anyone else had heard the rumours about Bono owning the island.

  “I heard it was Madonna,” Janice piped up.

  Max laughed his harsh laugh. “And all the fucking villagers think it’s some crazy place for government experiments.” He made a face. “Whoo!”

  “Well, whoever owns it, I hope they show up soon,” Spike cried. “They’re gonna miss a damned good party!”

  Pete sat and listened to them in silence. The Voice said nothing.

  Enticing smells wafted in from the kitchen. Sandra emerged wearing an apron and pushing a cart laden with food. She set the dishes on the table one at a time, removing the covers to reveal an assortment of beef, chicken, veal, and vegetables. Edwards was indeed a capable chef and had turned out a veritable feast in short order.

  The guests were busy passing plates and helping themselves when Noni stood and raised his glass.

  “Now that we’re all together, I’d like to make a toast to the reason we’re here today,” he said, looking at Spike, Max, and Pete in turn.

  Glasses were raised as murmurs of assent went around the room.

  “While we’ve got a bit of work ahead of us,” Noni continued, “I intend to do my very best to get you guys whatever you want by way of an agreement from the recording companies before we leave this island. Here’s to a very successful reunion of the Ladykillers!”

  “Hear! Hear!” cried Spike, as they all drank.

  “All I can say,” Max said, “is I’m glad it’s you. You worked your magic for us last time and I have no doubt you’ll do it again this time.”

  Max turned to the others.

  “This bastard got us out of one of the trickiest situations I’ve ever been in,” he continued. “I was sure we were headed for jail, but Noni convinced someone else to take the dive when we thought we were done for. Did you have to bribe the guy much?”

  Noni looked uncomfortable for a moment then laughed. “I can’t reveal any trade secrets,” he said. “And I can only say this in confidence, meaning none of you can pass it along to anyone else.” Here he gave a stern look over at Crispin LaFey and his recording device, though the glance went unnoticed by the critic. “And that goes for posterity, Crispin,” Noni said.

  “What does?” Crispin said with a start.

  “What I’m about to say,” Noni replied. “Which is that I merely brokered a deal with another party to plead no contest to the charges. I believe a sum of money may have been mentioned at the time. In fact, I was just following orders from Harvey Keill when I passed an envelope on to a certain party right before the trial. A happy ending was ordered and a happy ending was produced. That’s all I can say about the incident.”

  David’s eyes were fixed on Noni. He watched the lawyer with a malevolent expression. At that moment, Edwards entered with a fresh bottle of wine.

  “Cheers to the chef! The food is excellent,” Verna called out.

  “Thank you,” Edwards said, giving an ironic bow to the room.

  “Speaking of happy endings, where is the man of the hour?” Max asked. “When is Harvey coming?”

  “I’m waiting for Mr. Keill to let me know when to take the boat across to pick him up.” Edwards glanced out the window where the wind blew heavily through the trees. “In fact, I’d expected to hear from him by now. I hope he calls soon. It’ll be tricky getting across once the storm hits.”

  “When you hear from him, tell the fucker we’re all waiting for him,” Max growled.

  “Will do.” Edwards smiled politely and ducked back inside the kitchen.

  At that moment, a wasp buzzed around the room before landing on the table close to Verna. She shrank in horror.

  “Please kill it!” she said, shivering. “I’m deathly allergic to those things.”

  David reached over and crushed the insect with the bottom of a glass. Eyes were averted from the sticky yellow and black mess left on the table as he wiped it off with a napkin.

  Verna looked at him gratefully. “My hero!”

  “Any time at all, ma’am,” he replied in a southern drawl.

  Verna looked around the room and sighed. “I certainly hope there are no more of these things inside. I brought my EpiPen, but I’d hate to have to use it. I’ve cheated death so many times already, I can’t tell you.”

  The eating resumed. Max took stock of everyone gathered around the table. “For those of you who don’t know, there’s more than one celebration taking place this week. Sami Lee and me met twenty years ago this coming Sunday. We decided that coming here was a great way to celebrate our — er — ongoing sinful union.”

  A chorus of congratulations went around the table. Sami Lee looked gloomily at the others and stubbed out a cigarette, but said nothing.

  “In fact,” Max continued, “Sami and me met through Sarah.”

  He raised his bottle to the woman in blue at the far end of the table.

  “It’s Janice now, Max,” she corrected in a bright voice. “It was at that party, wasn’t it?”

  Max scowled at her. “What party would that be, Janice?”

  “The party we all wished we hadn’t been at,” Janice replied. “That party.”

  “Yes, it was, now that you mention it,” Max said in a menacing tone.

  Glances caught and held briefly around the table. That party. This was in-crowd material, though most of the group knew what she was referring to. The table lapsed into silence again.

  After a moment, Spike turned to the critic. “Crispin, my friend — what magazine are you representing here?”

  Crispin turned upon hearing his name. “Actually, I’m here as a freelance writer,” he said. “Once I’ve finished the piece, I’ll sell it to the highest bidder. Perhaps Spin or Rolling Stone, though that remains to be seen, of course.”

  Max looked up. “You weren’t assigned to cover us by a particular publication?”

  Crispi
n shook his head, his mouth set. “No, I’m afraid not. Most magazines don’t have full-time staff writers any more. In any case, I want to keep strict control of the material. In fact, I’m really here because I’ve been writing a comprehensive history of punk rock. I’ve already got a publisher lined up. You see, I feel this reunion could turn out to be an important chapter in that history. This could be the beginning of a more generalized revival of punk music around the globe.”

  Max brightened. “Really? Well, we are honoured again. Glad to hear it.”

  “Truly, I am the one who is honoured,” Crispin replied.

  “And in that case,” Max said, “I’d be happy to tell you a few of my war stories from back then. We met Rotten and few of the others, so there’s a lot of dirt to be dished. Maybe later tonight we’ll crack open a few cold ones and chat.”

  “I’d be delighted,” said Crispin. “I love authenticity. Isn’t that why we’re all here?”

  “Absolutely.” Max looked over at Verna. “What about you, hon? Apart from our real-estate man, Davie” — he nodded in David’s direction — “and the hired help, Sandy and Eddie, we know just about everybody else here. How did you come to be a part of this little event?”

  Verna smiled broadly, her eyes sparkling. “I won the Noise contest that was held last month. Someone phoned me up a few days ago and said my name had been selected from thousands of entrants. I’ve been a Ladykillers fan forever, so it was an absolute thrill to be chosen.”

  “Lucky you,” Max said.

  Verna beamed. “Absolutely!”

  “Why, I won the same contest!” Janice blurted out. “That’s how I got to be here. Someone phoned me last week.”

  “Two big winners,” Spike chimed in. “Quite a coincidence.”

  “The only things is …” Janice paused.

  “What’s that?” Spike asked.

  She gave a little giggle. “Well, I don’t remember entering any contest. Of course, I wasn’t about to turn it down when they called.”

  “Double lucky then,” Spike said with a laugh.

  Sandra cleared away some dishes while Edwards replenished the drinks. A faint buzzing could be heard. He pulled out his BlackBerry and glanced at it then looked up with a puzzled expression.

  “I’m sorry to tell you that Mr. Keill has been delayed. I’ve just received a text message from him.”

  “Well, does he say when he’s coming?” Max demanded. “He knows we can’t do anything without him here. This is his game.”

  Edwards scrolled through the message and looked up. “Mr. Keill says he hopes to be here first thing in the morning. In the meantime, he urges you all to make yourselves at home and get as comfortable as you can.” The wind gave a mournful howl overhead at that moment. It suddenly died again as though it had changed its mind. Edwards glanced at the window with a doubtful look, then brightened as he continued to refill the empty glasses. “In the meantime, if there’s anything you need, just let me know. I’ll do my best to get it for you.”

  He turned and went back to the kitchen.

  Max’s fist hit the table. “Well, isn’t that just fucking great? Harvey throws this little bash and then can’t be bothered to show up.”

  Sami Lee put a hand on his knee. “He’ll be here. You know he wants this as much as we do.”

  Max nodded gruffly and slumped in his chair.

  “Don’t worry, Max,” Noni told him. “Sami Lee’s right. I know Harvey wants this reunion to take place as much as everyone else. He told me so himself, so don’t fret.”

  “I’ll murder the fucker if he screws this up,” Max growled.

  The threat hung in the air. No one spoke for a moment.

  “Oh, sweetie, don’t even think about it,” Verna chimed in, waving her hands and making her bracelets jangle. “Just think of all the preparation he’s done already. He’s not going to back out now.”

  David picked up the bottle of white to top up his glass, emptying it in the process. He turned it upside down in the ice bucket. “There goes one dead soldier,” he said with a laugh.

  For a moment, no one spoke. Harvey’s sudden cancellation had hit them all in different ways, though it was clear the party seemed to be on a downward swing, the mood turning glum.

  It’s too early to start thinking doom and gloom, Spike thought. They would have to get through this weekend and still have the tour to look forward to.

  “I’ll get another bottle,” he said. He stood and headed for the kitchen. As he pushed his way through the door, he saw Sandra standing in front of the fridge. She seemed distant, her thoughts elsewhere. Edwards was nowhere to be seen, though he’d just gone through that way a few minutes earlier.

  “Eddie-boy gone out?” Spike asked.

  “Oh, I don’t …” Sandra looked over with a startled expression. “Sorry. He was just here a minute ago. Do you need him?”

  “No worries,” Spike said, heading toward her. “More drinks. I’ll help myself.”

  Sandra quickly stepped aside as Spike approached. He caught a whiff of fear. Was she afraid of him? He opened the fridge and looked in. The labels looked expensive, though he knew nothing about wine. He grabbed two bottles closest to the front and let the door slam shut.

  “These’ll do,” he said, heading back to the dining room.

  Chapter 9

  Upstairs, Edwards kept his ear tuned to the goings-on in the dining room. If any of his guests got restless, he might find himself in a very tricky position. Mr. Keill’s instructions had been explicit: he was to gather everyone’s cellphones without arousing any suspicions whatsoever. He hadn’t said why he wanted this done, only that he would square it with them all upon his arrival. A joke of some sort, no doubt. Until then, Edwards knew he had to be careful.

  He carried the ring of master keys carefully, trying not to jangle them as he slipped first into one room and then another. He’d managed to get Sandra’s cellphone when they first arrived and he got Verna’s next when she was busy with her makeup kit. He hadn’t been able to find where Spike Anthrax kept his, but then remembered the message said Spike probably wouldn’t carry one, not being technologically inclined. He’d let it rest at that, but watched to see where the others put theirs as he showed each of them to their rooms. Most had left them on dressers or bedside tables, but the lawyer, Noni Embrem, had slipped his into the pocket of his jacket. It was going to be difficult getting it from him.

  Max Hardcore’s red cell was sitting on the dresser beside Sami Lee’s purple phone. Pete’s was on the table next to his bed, right where Edwards had watched him leave it. The hardest one to locate belonged to the critic, Crispin LaFey. It had been zipped into the lining of his computer bag, but Edwards found it eventually. The laptop’s keyboard was in Braille, he noted, slipping the phone into his pocket. So he was truly blind after all.

  It was all over in five minutes. By his reckoning, Edwards had every phone on the island except for the lawyer’s. He removed the batteries, bagged them all, and slipped downstairs via the back stairwell in time to hear Spike ask Sandra where he was. He heard the fridge open and close again as Spike left the kitchen. If anyone asked, he’d say he was in the bathroom. What could they say to that?

  He waited till Sandra was busy gathering dishes in the dining room before pulling out the footstool. He climbed up, pushing the bag into the cupboard over the sink as he’d been instructed, then locking it once he was done. It would be easy enough to find if anyone wanted to search the entire premises, but without batteries the phones were useless. He was about to step back down when he noticed a tin container. Curious, he opened it. It was filled with a vile-smelling white powder. A cleaning agent of some sort, he decided, pushing it farther back. Had it been there earlier? He couldn’t recall.

  Edwards thought again about his new employer. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of this Mr. Keill. Everything had been
so specific — the man had made copious notes telling him each guest’s food and drink preferences, which rooms to put them in, as well as where to seat them at dinner. He’d been very particular about all of it. In fact, it seemed that nothing had been left to chance except for his arrival. And now Mr. Keill was going to be late.

  Edwards hoped the guests wouldn’t blame him once they realized their phones were gone. It had all seemed fine at first, but in fact he was no longer sure he liked this job. Despite the excellent pay, it was turning out to be more than he’d bargained for. Though the retainer was generous enough, he had yet to see anything beyond the initial funds that had brought him to the island in the first place.

  He got down off the stool and put it away, wiping his hands as Sandra returned bearing a handful of plates. He took them from her and let them slip under the suds in the sink. He hadn’t been kidding when he called himself “chief bottle washer.”

  Sandra went back out to the dining room. The door opened again almost immediately. It was Crispin, the blind man. He appeared confused as he looked directly at Edwards.

  “Sir?” Edwards said.

  “Excuse me. Is this the way to the washroom?”

  “No, sir. It’s to your right, down the hall. Third door on the left.”

  “My apologies. Thank you.”

  The door closed and Sandra returned a few seconds later.

  “Doing all right?” Edwards asked.

  “Yes, I guess so,” she said. “They seem to be finishing up out there. It’s just all a little bit odd, isn’t it? I mean, it’s strange how the host hasn’t arrived in time for his own party.”

  “Perhaps,” Edwards replied with an ironic smile. “You might see if anyone wants any more wine.”

  “Will do. Though the green-haired one was just in here helping himself.”

  Edward laughed. Sandra picked up a bottle of red and a bottle of white and went out brandishing one in either hand.

  A cell buzzed. For a moment, Edwards was startled as he wondered whose phone he’d missed on his rounds. Then he realized it was his own. It was another text message from Mr. Keill. Serve dessert, it said, then show them the video.