Camden's Knife

by John Patrick Kavanagh

  “You bet your ass you do, Davey. So sure enough, a couple minutes later the guy picks it up, staggers into the Penalty Zone and tosses the ball right into the furnace. It was like a fucking bomb went off. You should have seen the looks on people’s faces. It was great!”

  “Did anyone get hurt?”

  “No, not except for the guy and his pal. Kennard walks over with a couple of the boys along with his Louisville Slugger and proceeds to beat the shit out of them. Bad. But the crowd loved it. Everyone applauded.”

  “This place is getting bad. You want a drink?”

  “Yeah, I could use one. I feel like I put away a bathtub full of water today. Let’s get down to the good stuff.” He motioned to a waitress.”Kristin, would you bring me a rum and coke and a Chivas for Mr. Stonetree? Thanks.”

  “So what’s new with you?” Tyler continued.”How’s the girl?”

  “Sharon? Oh, she’s getting along. She thinks she’s got symptoms. She’ll find out more on Monday.”

  “No kidding. How’s she taking it?”

  “Not bad, not bad at all. She’s a good trooper. She activated before we went on the trip but never said a word.”

  “Oh man, that’s too bad. I know she’s not crazy about me but it’s still a shame. You ought to get her into one of the 1000 programs. I hear the stuff is pretty good when the old CYD is just coming on. You could probably do that through somebody at work.”

  “Yeah, that is a good idea. Who should I see?”

  “I’d try someone in Pharms. They essentially control it, don’t they? That’s what I’d do.”

  Stonetree thought back to his conversation with Lane. She could probably arrange it. Arrange it? Demand it!

  “So what’s the hot gossip over at sweet SUE these days, those bastards.”

  “Oh, you’ll love this one.” Stonetree waited until the waitress delivered their drinks.”I had a chat today with one of your old flames, at least a flame of your dreams.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “Guess.”

  “Well, one of my all-time favorites was that lady who worked up in Leasing, you know, with the curly hair and crooked nose.”

  “Nope.”

  “How about Randi from my old operation?”

  “Nope.”

  “Don’t tell me Sheila?”

  Stonetree’s eyes brightened.”As a matter of fact, I did talk to her today. Your name didn’t come up, though.”

  “Man, I’d like to play guns with her sometime. Okay, who?”

  “Two more guesses.”

  “Not Dutch,” he replied, his own eyes brightening as best they could.”Not Dutch. Don’t tell me Dutch. I still dream about her. She’s dressed in a French maid’s outfit. I discover her in my bedroom, walking back and forth in front of a full-length mirror. She’s practicing.” He paused.”Not Dutch.”

  “Better.”

  “Doesn’t exist.”

  “The best.”

  “Not Trisha Lane?”

  “You win a free round of drinks.”

  “You were talking with the goddess we mortals only fantasize about? And you didn’t invite me? Hey! Share and share alike. This is your buddy you’re talking to.”

  “I thought you’d like that.”

  “Like it!” Tyler moaned.”I love it. Every inch of it.” He wrapped his arm around his friend’s neck.”Oh, please bring me with you the next time! I’ll do anything. I’ll even wait ’til you’re done!”

  They laughed so hard that most of the drinks spilled. Tyler motioned for another round while Stonetree wiped off his sleeve with a handkerchief.

  “This conversation is getting me hot,” Tyler said, pulling out the Bradean.”Time for more medicine. You want some this round? At the rate we’re going, you’re not going to get much of a buzz from the cheap booze they sell here.”

  “Maybe. It’s been a long day. But you ought to go easy on it. You just cooled a few minutes ago.”

  “Listen, Mr. Sixer,” he replied in a mock snarl.”Mr. I-went-to-Europe Sixer. I have a temperature and I don’t want it. If you want it, you can have it. And then you bring up Dutch, which doesn’t help at all. Cut me some huss.”

  Tyler dropped two more capsules into the cylinders and quickly injected them, handing across the still smoking unit.

  “Try just one of the thousands,” he urged.”They’re a lot better than the 800’s or 900’s. That 800 and grand mix would probably knock you over. You have to go easy on this stuff, though. Hell, I just take them to feel normal. I can imagine what it does to you.”

  “No mixes, thanks,” Stonetree replied, opening the device and shaking it.”But maybe I’ll try a thousand. Only one.”

  “Here you go.” Tyler smiled, handing him a capsule.”But I’m telling you, try the 800 and thousand combo. You’ll love it. I think I even get a little shiver from it.”

  “Okay, okay. Give me the 800 too.”

  “You want to go downstairs first? Get comfortable? Maybe. Catch some tunes. Let’s do it.”

  “Screw the tunes. Let’s socialize with some of the local talent. What? Are you getting married or something?”

  After sitting in a lounge chair, Stonetree glanced at the faces near him. It wasn’t that he was afraid of getting caught using a drug that at least for him was illegal. Everybody seemed to use Febrifuge or one of its competitors, and no one raised an eyebrow. People took Febrifuge like they took aspirin. Nobody asked to see Tourcams or looked into eyes. They used the drug on street comers, in offices, on trains, in cars, in Sirius.

  It was like the way some people smoked cigarettes or chewed gum or sported wigs. It was like the way some people wore two wristwatches instead of one, or drank coffee in the morning, or ignored trouble out on the street. Ordinary.

  Febrifuge Blue was the most popular legal drug in the country. For 74% of young adults, it was a state-of-the-art shock absorber that softened the rough road that CYD had paved over the country; over their lives.

  Febrifuge Blue was the most popular illicit drug in the country. For 26% of young adults, it was a state-of-the-art shock absorber which softened life’s hard corners into smooth contours.

  Sixers used it with impunity; with an almost imperceptible smugness. Febrifuge Blue used by Sixers was reaching epidemic proportions but there was no way it would stop until somebody, somewhere came up with a plausible reason to dissuade its disciples.

  The Addiction Research Center in Baltimore had recently reported after an exhaustive study that Febrifuge Blue and its chemical cousins had no lasting addictive qualities and caused minimal harm to a typical user. The comfort it provided to three quarters of its customers was simply more consequential than the immoral high it gave to the other quarter. Febrifuge Blue was like a prize bull roaming the streets of Calcutta, going where it wanted and revered by most who came in contact with it.

  On busy nights the crackles came from everywhere; by midnight the entire place smelled of exhaust. He felt a little uneasy about using a drug that made him feel wonderful when others needed it to maintain their health, but so much for philosophy. He pushed away his watch to make room for the unit and pressed the button.

  He stared into the wall of flames, not paying attention to the shapes of those standing at the ledge. The first wave coursed through him, its effect lasting longer than he was accustomed to; a smoother, deeper flow. The furnace grew dim but just to him. He chuckled. Tricked again.

  He thought he heard Tyler say something but ignored it, focusing instead on a woman in a white mini-dress with a black stripe down the front. It was bare on one shoulder, a tight sleeve down her other arm. The thick waves of her sequined red wig dropped down past her waist and opaque ruby contacts hid the direction she was looking. The six-inch heels of her sandals contributed to the insect-like appearance.

  She was sensually sweeping her outstretched arms back and forth in time with the music. Now playing was Everybody’s Green, the song he’d mentioned to Lane. He wondered what it would be like
to dance with her, if in fact she danced at all. He pictured the two of them sitting in her office just as they had that afternoon. He’d look at the skyline and say, “Well, that’s enough for the day. Let’s go dancing.” And she’d respond, “I’d love to.”

  The second wave washed over him, leaving a bit of dizziness in its wake. The peaceful, contented sensation seemed…how could he describe it? Closer than usual. It was larger than usual. The idea of a feeling closer and larger made him smile.

  Tyler nudged him.”Not bad stuff, huh?”

  “No, not bad at all. Sure cools you down.”

  “That’s the idea, isn’t it? Come on, we’ll warm you up. I’ll take you over and toss you into the furnace. Kennard would probably thank me and give me a lifetime membership. SUE might even hire me back.”

  Stonetree glanced back at the dancer and thought about Lane. Then he thought about Sharon. In some respects they were alike, but in many ways so different. They both had something to offer him but both came at a price. He felt a third wave.

  “So tell me what Trisha had to say today. Did she ask about me?

  “Nope. Just business. She’s looking for a new assistant.”

  “And she wants you?”

  “We’re talking about it. I’m thinking it over.”

  “I wouldn’t think about it!” Tyler squealed.”I’d be over there right now on my hands and knees begging her for more work! I’d take a cut in pay. I’d be happy just to follow her around all day. Christ! She wants you to work for her and you’re sitting in this dive with me? What, have you lost your mind?”

  “There’s a little more to it than that, Ty. I mean large amounts of work. You should have seen the pile of stuff she wants me to read. Not tomorrow. Now! I could end up living there.”

  “I guess. That woman does have one tough reputation. She grinds them up and spits them out like a Yamaha blender. She’s gonna be running that whole operation someday, you wait and see. I wouldn’t be surprised if she dumped old Pierre himself. If she can get rid of Camden, she can probably wipe out anybody. Could be a good career move, though.”

  “I know. And I’d be getting into some really interesting things.”

  “Like her pants?”

  Stonetree sighed. Tyler had a way of moving from cleverness to tedium, and he had things on his mind of greater concern than his friend’s adolescent sex drive.

  “Look,” he finally said, staring around the room.”There’s a woman over there, the one in the black dress and earrings. Go give her the other membership and I’m sure she’ll take care of you.”

  “She doesn’t need a membership card. That’s why they call her a she. If she wasn’t a she, she’d be a he, and I wouldn’t give a shit!”

  They both laughed. Maybe tonight wasn’t the time for concerns. It was time to loosen up at least for a little while.

  Tyler popped for another round and they moved to the other side of the room where a crowd had gathered to watch a high-stakes game of Standoff! Doubles going on, a hundred bucks a point with lots of action on the side. Tyler recognized one of the teams, two art dealers from Yokohama who showed up in the city once a month to skim the best off the top of the galleries and ship it back to the Land of the Rising Sun. He’d seen them in action before and recommended that some easy money was to be made if they gave odds against the locals.

  Stonetree put up two $50’s, his friend adding $400 and booking three-to-two on the art dealers in the next game. By the time contract eight arrived, Mr. Ichiro and Mr. Yoshida had mathematically eliminated the locals from any hope of winning. At the end of contract ten, Tyler’s dupes handed over the $500 and skulked away.

  Standoff!’s rocketing to the pinnacle of the gaming industry was both shocking in its speed and pervasiveness. The story went that Franklin Potcheck got the idea the day after a drunken night at a county bar association gathering following an hour of playing liar’s poker with a few of his friends that earned him $300.

  He didn’t know anything about game design but designed it anyway, knowing enough about copyright law to sew up the rules. He found a company that specialized in board games but was turned down; told that abstract strategy games were passé. He convinced his brother to put up $25,000 in return for 20% of all proceeds from the enterprise. The fulfillment printing operation’s manager, when the contract was signed for the manufacture of the first 2000 sets on a production-for-fee basis, told the inventor the game was a loser.

  Through chat room word of mouth, the entire first run was depleted in a few weeks and Potcheck Enterprises Games was founded, placing an order for 10,000 additional units which were snapped up in a few days.

  Potcheck approached the three leaders in internet gaming but refused their offers to bring the amusement online because of the large slice of the pie demanded in return. After a few more false starts, the inventor approached pinkiefinger.com, a relative newcomer to the internet that was still sorting itself out with a hand basket of offerings from news to music reviews to soft-core pin-up fare. CEO John Zeiger presented an interesting offer for hosting that appealed to both parties: a stock swap plus variable fees based on future income along with options granted dependent on sales. Within 18 months, Franklin Potcheck owned a controlling interest.

  PEG had recently announced that sales of the analog version of the board game had passed 350 million units worldwide, and that Pinkie was averaging 9.5 million players at any given minute, the recently increased $9.95 per month fee not making a dent in participants. And to sweeten the pot, Pinkie had just rolled out PEG’s latest amusement, Get It Right!

  The biggest draw of Standoff! was that it was an almost perfect gambling vehicle, the attraction amplified when the play was done with real money. Pinkie, via an offshore third party processing agent, offered a wide range of services including deposits, withdrawals, loans, tracking shunts and instant dispute resolution, guaranteeing access and honesty, none of which had ever been challenged. Players could bet against each other while bystanders could wager on outcomes, straight up or with odds, and on over twenty different proposition possibilities.

  Potcheck’s brother now lived in Marina del Rey, California sporting a net worth of close to a billion dollars. The inventor himself was deep into the completion of Prism, a 6,000 room resort/casino at the far end of the Las Vegas Strip. An announcement was expected in the autumn regarding the dates of the $100 million, winner-take-all World Standoff! Tournament and the act or acts which would open its 19,000 seat Oasis Theatre. Estimates regarding the amount that would be bet on the four players in the WST ran from a low range of five billion dollars to upwards of 50.

  “You gotta loosen up that wallet of yours, Stoney,” Tyler said, handing over four $50’s.”You gotta trust your brother’s intuition!”

  After another round and a brief conversation with two women Tyler had his eye on, Stonetree said good-bye.

  He walked into the cool, quiet night and hopped into one of the three lims awaiting fares, wide awake and filled with anticipation about the next few days. On the ride home, he questioned whether he should accept Lane’s offer. If things didn’t work out to her satisfaction or his, he still had a standing offer from Tribe to go back and maybe even get Riley’s old spot if it became available. Maybe it was time to get a fresh start.

  But it was disturbing to have to conceptualize the changes such a decision might bring, including all the work and all the hassle. His life was finally settling into an even pace, like a creek two weeks after the last rain meandering along; no problem, no sweat. Plenty of time to do nothing but nothing for hours on end. Sleeping late or missing work once every few months just because he needed an entire day to do nothing.

  Opportunity, though, was as seductive as Dutch. The decision was made.

  CHAPTER 5

  The following morning, the first phone call Stonetree made was to Riley’s home. One of Riley’s children answered and gave him the number of the hospital where Steve was a patient. Calling there, he spoke wit
h his wife who told him Steve was having tests completed and probably wouldn’t be back in the room until later in the afternoon. She said he was very sick and if at all possible, she’d appreciate his being left alone, advising “Lung cancer can get pretty ugly.” He asked when she thought he’d be up to having a conversation involving a work related matter, and she hung up the phone.

  His next call was to Sharon’s apartment but there wasn’t an answer, so he tried Classy Cupcakes. She was there but could talk for only a few minutes. One of her part-time employees had just quit, another worker was sick and the shop had been in an uproar since the previous Monday. She told him she’d been there until 11:00 the previous night and returned at 7:00 this morning. She said she was running a slight fever and felt tired and dizzy like she had the flu, but was otherwise holding her own. There was no way she could take the rest of the day off and would probably have to stay late again that evening.

  He asked if he could come over to help out but she dismissed the offer, saying she wouldn’t be of much help to him if he was behind in accounting work at SUE. He was taken aback by her curtness but didn’t pursue the issue. The pressure she was under was tremendous, he thought, certainly more than he’d ever experienced. The threat of a bad CYD diagnosis would be enough to put anyone on the edge.

  He asked if she wanted to go out for dinner later or come over to his place. The best she could say was that she’d have to see how she felt as the day wore on, see how much she could get accomplished at the store. He told her he was set on going to see the Mustang but didn’t want to make the long drive alone. She suggested he drop by Sirius to see if he could latch on to one of those strays. He didn’t feel it would be very productive to continue the conversation so told her he’d call again when he returned.

  After hanging up he considered phoning back to tell her about Lane’s proposal but decided it might only put her in a worse mood.

  He checked his home listing for McReynolds and called him again, getting the same recording that the number wasn’t in service. Then he dialed Lane’s home number but switched off before making the connection.