The Odds - Jeff Strand Page 0,20
like she was already having trouble staying awake. “Yes, I kidnapped the mayor’s daughter and the entire Kansas City police force will be searching for her. I’ll be lucky if there’s not an APB for my car already. Her leg is hanging out of the trunk because I didn’t close it all the way.”
“You could’ve just said, no, she won’t be missed.”
“But then you wouldn’t know what I thought of your stupid question.”
“Who’d you pick up? Some crack whore?”
The woman was fully unconscious now.
“Nah,” said Rick. “She’s a homeless druggie but not a prostitute. Gross teeth. Whether she suffocates or we put a bullet in her head after she’s rescued, nobody will miss her.”
Rick pulled into the garage. He waited until the automatic door had closed before he got out of the car. Gavin and Butch walked over and peered through the passenger side window.
“Ugh, you sure didn’t pick a hottie. Did she stink up your car?” Gavin asked. As always, his black hair was slicked back with so much gel that Rick was surprised birds didn’t get stuck in it.
“I brought some Lysol.”
“Smart man. It’s all about the advance planning. She’s looking pretty emaciated and shit. I think Butch can carry her himself.”
“Screw that,” said Butch. He was an overweight guy who seemed to consciously dress to highlight this fact. Right now he was wearing a way-too-tight shirt with horizontal stripes.
“Why should we both get her reek all over us?” Gavin asked.
“Why should it be me instead of you?” Butch asked.
“Because you already have a below-average aroma. Sorry to have to break that to you. I’m sure you’ve always believed that you smell like freshly cut flowers.”
“Just get her out of my car,” said Rick. “I know you guys have nothing better to do than stand around and offer up witty banter, but I’ve got a schedule to keep.”
“You think we’re witty?” asked Gavin. “That’s sweet. Thank you, Rick.”
Gavin opened the door, and he and Butch lifted the woman out of Rick’s car. “You wanna get the other door for us?” Butch asked.
Rick opened the door to the main part of the house. Gavin and Butch carried the woman inside. A moment later, Gavin stepped back into the garage, holding a shovel. “This is what’s going in his trunk.”
“Let me see it.”
Gavin handed Rick the shovel. Rick flipped it upside down and looked at the blade. “The writing’s too small.”
“That’s the agreed-upon size.”
“He’ll never see it.”
“It’s not like it’s microscopic. It’s totally readable.”
“It’s totally readable if he inspects the shovel. It’s going to be pitch black out. He won’t see it unless he shines the flashlight right on the words.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” said Gavin. “The rules are the same for everybody.”
“Then let me add another clue. A piece of paper in the trunk. Not right out in the open, but something he’ll find in a corner if he’s paying attention.”
“The tester found the message on the shovel.”
“The tester knew to search for stuff like that. Look, I know that if I were in this situation, I would not be shining my flashlight beam all over the shovel in case somebody wrote a clue on it.”
Gavin shrugged. “The decision has already been made. You’re just going to have to live with it.”
“Well, I disagree that it’s 50/50 odds.”
“Tough shit.”
Five minutes to midnight. Rick tried to get into character. His call would be monitored, so he had to be a cold-hearted game master, the kind of sociopath who didn’t care about Ethan’s struggles in keeping this a secret from his family. It was, he supposed, all part of the game. Ethan needed ingenuity to succeed.
He didn’t have a script, but he had key points to make, and he was most definitely not allowed to offer any additional clues. If the people listening to the call decided that he’d given Ethan too much information, they’d go into Termination Protocol, and that would be very, very bad.
He tried to channel his seventh grade math teacher, who had a zero tolerance policy for late work and who would mark you tardy if you showed up seconds after the bell rang. He couldn’t let emotions play any part in this. He had to be impartial—though of course he was rooting for Ethan all the way—and heartless.
At midnight, he sent a text.
Ethan didn’t immediately answer, so he called.
The call went to voice mail, so he called again. It was up to Rick to decide when to send somebody to deliver the message