by John Bruni
Chapter 10
1
Martin remained quiet when Edward started laughing about Randall burning Samuel’s mansion to the ground. He didn’t utter a word when William and Charles started betting over who would die next. He didn’t open his mouth when the riot started. Since Barry died, Martin only stared at a blank wall, motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest.
Edward drank deeply from a fresh glass of whiskey. “You know, this has been a blast so far. People dead, a riot, some kind of underground movement. I like it. It’s much more fun on this side of the game.”
Coppergate smiled, mercifully not showing his teeth. “A gladiator who escaped death in the Coliseum, just so he could view the other gladiators in their tireless struggle with death.” He laughed, but it sounded more like a hawk being choked.
Edward turned to George. “How do you like it?”
George cleared his throat as he removed his glasses to polish them with a handkerchief. “I . . . well, it seems kind of . . . you know. Cruel.” He replaced his glasses upon his greasy nose, just above a bulbous, ripe pimple.
William’s brow furrowed. “You don’t like this?”
“Well, I didn’t say that.” George’s glasses had already slid down, so he propped them back up with a finger. “I know it’s wrong, but I kind of like it. It excites me. Weird.”
“I think I understand,” William said. “I remember the first time I saw someone die. I was much older than you at the time, of course. There is that guilty feeling at first, but there’s a particular exhilaration that comes with watching a person breathe their last breath, especially if you just won money because of it.”
“You’re making it sound like a sexual experience.” Elizabeth. She looked at William with a cold smile on her dead fish face.
William’s well-mannered countenance flared up, and he looked at his shoes in exact imitation of his son’s nervous tick. It was the only time father and son completely resembled one another. “I’m not ashamed to say that it turned me on. If it didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”
“I understand.” The smile became more playful, and she licked her lips theatrically.
Edward and William glanced at her, as if they thought their sidelong eyefuls could escape Elizabeth’s detection. George, on the other hand, watched her with eyes wide and pants bulging.
“That was rather gratuitous,” Coppergate said. A gentle smile played at the corners of his mouth, almost making him look human. A kindly grandfather admonishing a little girl.
George finally looked away, and Elizabeth settled back into her chair. Edward felt the front of his own pants tighten a bit, and he thought it might be time for another line. “I’ll be right back,” he said.
No one noticed. He walked past Martin, who still stared into space, as if he’d fallen asleep and his body didn’t know it yet.
Edward stepped out into the hallway and toward the bathroom. Once he’d locked the door, he withdrew the vial from his pocket and tapped out a rough line out next to the sink, which he then painstakingly perfected with the edge of his business card. He snorted quickly, twice, and he lost all sensation in his nose. His heart raced for just a moment and then settled to a light rush. He licked the counter and the card.
He looked down to see the lump at the front of his pants. It had wilted slightly, just enough to not jerk off. He thought he’d be all right now that the coke had taken his thoughts away from Elizabeth.
He washed his hands, and just as he toweled them dry, he heard a light rap at the door. When he opened it, he found himself face to face with Elizabeth.
“Huh?” he said.
She pushed past him into the bathroom, shutting the door. “Give me some. I’ll be nice if you do.”
Edward grunted. “Nice? I was hoping for something more substantial.”
Elizabeth stood a little closer to him. “Let’s get something straight between us.”
“Yes. Let’s.” Edward grinned so hard his lips hurt.
She ignored his stupid comment. “Look, I can’t have my guy deliver here. Wingate would flip out, and Richard would mark it down in my permanent record. Just give me a couple of bumps.”
“How much do you like me?”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is how much I could like you.” She reached to his crotch and kneaded the lump she found there. Instantly, he went rigid again, and she pulled his zipper down. She yanked him out and held him in her palm, running her fingers over his glans. Petting a kitten.
“Wow.” The word felt lame in his mouth, but he couldn’t find the time to hate himself for saying it. He could only marvel as she stroked him gently. How long had he wanted her like this? How many times had he been with a fuckslinger, pretending it was Elizabeth? He didn’t think they made numbers that high.
His cock had only been in her hands for a half a minute before he lost it. Ropey strings of satisfaction pulsed out of him and all over her hands, up to her elbows.
“That was quick,” Elizabeth said. She dropped his dick and went to the sink.
“You took me by surprise.” He wiped his slick penis down with toilet paper. “I’ll be better next time around.”
“Next time? You just came on me. You owe me some coke.”
Edward’s jaw dropped, and his eyes burned. “But you hardly touched it!”
She shrugged. “Not my fault you have a hair trigger.”
“You fucking—“
“You owe me, Bridges.” Cold. No more kind and tender from her.
Someone knocked on the door. Gentle. Unobtrusive.
Edward and Elizabeth glared at each other. “Who’s there?” he asked.
“Martin. You almost done?”
Elizabeth folded her hands into fists, and she looked down at his limp cock. She drew back, ready to strike his exposed member.
Fuck. He held out a vial to Elizabeth. “In a moment,” he said to Martin.
She lined up two fat rails and sucked them back into her nasal cavity. She did this while Edward washed off his dick and hands before putting himself away. Finally, they composed themselves and opened the door.
“It’s all you,” Edward said. He walked past Martin, who didn’t say a word. He didn’t even acknowledge Elizabeth as she followed Edward out. Martin just shuffled into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
When they got back to the observation room, they ordered more drinks from the butler. Coppergate spoke, and at first it seemed like he was talking to himself. Then, they realized he had accessed his mobile account.
“What’s he doing?” Edward asked.
“Something quite interesting,” Charles said. “I can’t say that a contestant has tried this before.”
“What?”
“It would seem that Samuel’s son found the punk girl. They’ve teamed up, and they’re tearing the east side apart. Richard is calling in some favors to get guards on our houses. The mob, I think.”
“No shit?”
Charles’s eyes gleamed with violent excitement. “He’s asking for their best killers.”
“Damn.”
2
When Martin didn’t return after a half an hour, Edward started to wonder. “Where the hell is he? He’s been in the bathroom for a long time.”
Elizabeth looked into his eyes, and he knew she thought the same thing he did. “Maybe he’s sick,” she said. But she didn’t sound convinced.
“Maybe we should check it out.”
Coppergate turned his wheelchair so he could look at Edward. “Do you think something is amiss?” His flat tone revealed none of his thoughts, but Edward knew Coppergate had the brains to come to the same conclusion.
“Yeah,” Edward said.
“His son’s death was rather unfortunate.”
“No,” Elizabeth said. “He didn’t have any qualms about us using Barry in the game. He didn’t feel a damned thing until Barry died. He’s just being a hypocrite.”
“It may be more complex than that,
” Coppergate said. “If you’ll notice, Barry reverted to a sane perspective right at the very end. Martin wanted his schizophrenic son killed like a horse with a broken leg. But with his son cured? That’s unfortunate. But it’s also of his own making.”
Edward couldn’t take this babble anymore. He stood. “I’m going to check on him.”
“We’ll come with,” Charles said.
3
Edward knocked on the bathroom door and received no answer. He looked around to his companions, all of whom had followed him, and none of them seemed very surprised. Just to make a show of it, he knocked again.
This time, when no one responded, Coppergate gave him a nod. Edward tried the knob, but it wouldn’t move. “Key, Charles?”
“Hold on.” They watched as Charles flicked his eyes back and forth, accessing his home security account, and the door clicked, opening slightly.
None of them entered the room, but they all leaned forward, hoping to get the best glimpse they could. Many people died over the course of the years during the game, but all of them had been contestants. One of their own dying? Unthinkable.
Martin lay sprawled on the floor, blood coagulating around him. The knife he’d used to slash his wrists and forearms rested on the rim of the sink, a solitary strand of red slithering down to the drain.
Charles moaned. “What a mess.”
“Poor fool,” Coppergate said.
Edward couldn’t speak. Even though he knew what he’d see in here, he couldn’t help but be surprised to actually see it.
“Clark!” Charles said. “Clean this up, please.”
The butler eyed the mess, his nose wrinkled slightly. “And what of Mr. Taylor?”
Coppergate cut in. “Dispose of him. But discreetly. Try not to be too undignified with him. He may be colored, but he was still one of us.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“What about his wife?” William asked. “Should we notify her?”
“God no,” Charles said. “I think it’s not out of the question that Martin was overtaken by rioters tonight and tortured to death. It’s far less scandalous than suicide. More dignified, I should think.”
They went back to the observation room, letting Clark get to work. In his time working for the Wingate family, he’d cleaned up his share of corpses. Maybe not on a regular basis, but it happened enough so he didn’t feel shocked or disgusted by this task. He doubted this would be his last body disposal, either.
Chapter 11
1
Wayne couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this good. Clean water coursed down his body not from a fountain, nor from a fetid creek, but from an actual shower. He could even control the temperature. And soap! He’d forgotten about that luxury. He hadn’t used it in years, and he marveled at how clean his own body smelled.
While he bathed, Stacy offered to clean his clothes. Part of him felt reluctant to let himself get into this situation, since he didn’t fully trust her yet. It would be very easy for her to sneak up on him in the shower and stab him in the back. Then again, he realized that maybe it didn’t matter. While he wanted to do good by taking on the rich fucks, he also knew that death stood around the corner, waiting for him to catch up.
She’d also given him a disposable razor, which he’d used to scrape his natty beard away. Now, as he stepped out of the shower and toweled himself dry, he saw the fogged-over mirror and wiped at it with his hand. For the first time in a while, he didn’t mind looking at himself. The lesions stood out against his pale skin, sure, but he didn’t bleed, and his clean and smooth face looked almost youthful. The skin where his beard had been looked as soft as baby flesh, and it almost gleamed, free from any lesions or marks. Flawless. The air felt a bit cooler on his face, but he felt so fresh and reinvigorated that he didn’t care.
He wrapped the towel around his bony waist and stepped out of the bathroom into the front room. Stacy sat there, watching TV. She’d flipped through stations, bored out of her mind. The news kept talking about some kind of serial killer and a stupid riot, so she changed it to a late night sitcom called Daddy Needs Love, which turned her stomach. Finally, she found an Eightball Gabe marathon. Just then, she noticed Wayne.
She gave him a once over, fondling her chin. “You clean up pretty well. I’m sure without the, uh . . . you know. You’d look pretty hot.”
“Bullshit,” Wayne said. “But thanks. And thanks for not killing me in the shower.”
She laughed. “No problem.” Although she had given it some thought. It wouldn’t have been all that difficult, and besides, how badly did she really need him? Sure, two heads were better than one, but she would only end up killing him later. Why bother waiting? But then she thought about all the dangers they might encounter. It would be a good idea to have an ally by her side, at least for the time being.
She nodded to his clothes, folded on a nearby table. He took them, shocked to see how nice they looked. They still had stains, including a really bad brown one that took up the entire seat of his pants, but they smelled good and felt crisp.
He jimmied his pants up under the towel, and when he’d buttoned and zipped up, he let the towel fall. Soon, he felt the cleanest and coziest he’d been in a while, fresh from the shower in clothes that no longer smelled like shit. He felt comfortable enough to sit on the couch next to Stacy. She turned the volume down and switched it to a news station, so she wouldn’t be distracted.
“Now that we’re all freshened up,” she said, “what’s our plan?”
“We have to find the others and convince them to join us,” he said. “On our own, we don’t stand a chance, but maybe if we can get them all on our side, we can do something to really hurt those rich bastards.”
She felt uncomfortable with the idea, considering how she felt about the billion dollars. She had no doubt that the others probably thought along the same lines as her. They couldn’t trust anyone else, even if they agreed to join them. But at the same time, she knew Wayne wouldn’t like that thought. Instead, she tried the passive route. “What if they don’t want to join us? What if . . . you know.”
Wayne grimaced. “I thought of that, too. Maybe some of them would want to kill us. But I’m sure that most of them would want to join us. We’re all in the same boat. We’re being fucked with because the rich fucks think we’re worthless to society and no one would miss us. They’re using us. No one likes to be used.”
“We should get weapons, just in case. Besides, even if they do join us, if we’re going up against rich people, they’re going to have guards. We’ll probably need to fight our way through them first.”
Wayne hadn’t thought of that. He knew they’d maybe have a night watchman or something, but armed guards? “We’ll have to worry about that later. For now, we need to find the others.”
“How do we do that?”
“When I was out on the Sleaze Strip, I was looking for you and the other fuckslinger. We could probably find him here. Maybe that homeless guy and the punk chick, too. I don’t know about the others, but it’s a start.”
She shook her head. “After what just happened down there? No, cops will be looking for us.”
“Yeah, but who are we?”
She took his point, but it didn’t matter much to her. “There were a lot of witnesses. They might not know you, but they sure know me. Besides, the sun’s coming up. No one’s going to be down there.”
Wayne sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Well, you got any bright ideas?”
She turned away from him, tired already of trying to figure out what to do. The TV showed more footage of the riot, and she got ready to change the channel again when she saw . . . “Actually, I do.”
“I’d love to hear it.”
She grinned, pointing to the screen.
Wayne followed the path of her finger until he saw the riot. At first, he didn’t get it. A bunch of punks tearing shit up on the east side. Then, he saw her, the punk girl, and she wore an eye patch. She bled
from her nose, and she shouted something while beating a cop in riot gear with a baseball bat.
Behind her stood another familiar person: Randall. Two for one.
“Well, I’m pretty sure this is good evidence that they’d be on our side,” Wayne said. “Let’s go down there, have a chat with them.”
She wanted to say no. If they waited long enough, maybe the riot would kill Skank and Randall, thus lightening their load to finding a mere three people. Still, they could make for valuable allies, just in case the others turned out to be shitty. She decided to stick with Wayne a while longer, but going into a riot? That sounded dangerous. “I don’t have a car,” she said.
“Shit.” He rubbed his eyes. “We have to get down there. Do you know how to hotwire a car?”
“Afraid not.”
“How about money for a cab?”
She did have that, but she didn’t want to admit it. She had to pay her rent next week, and she barely had enough to cover that. Then again, she remembered she might not need to pay rent. Either she’d be dead by tomorrow, or she’d have a billion dollars. Fuck the rent, she could get a house. Outside the city.
“Yeah. I guess I do.”
“Then call us a cab and let’s go.”
“Will a cab take us there? Remember, we want to go to a riot.”
“We’ve got to try, and the longer we wait, the more likely that Skank and Randall will die.”
“What if we die?” Stacy asked.
“Then it won’t matter,” Wayne said. “We’re as good as dead, anyway.”
Fuck. She wished he hadn’t said that. They sat for a while, watching the news on mute, the awkward silence growing.
Finally, she sighed. “Fine. I’ll call a cab. But remember: If anything goes wrong, it’s your fault.”
That sounded a bit too grim for Wayne, but he nodded his head in fatalistic acceptance.