The Odds - Jeff Strand Page 0,36

sane person would knock on that door in the middle of the night.

Ethan did not have the option of being sane.

13

“Stay in the car,” he told Tammy.

“Can you leave the keys so I can listen to music?” she asked.

“Sorry, no,” he said. He didn’t want to be a jerk, but he also didn’t want to come back out and discover that she’d stolen his car. He wasn’t thinking, “There’s no way this night could get any worse!” There were plenty of ways this night could get worse, and having his car get stolen would be a big one.

“What if they come after me?”

“If you speed off in my car, then I’m screwed. You can come with me if you want, but I don’t know what’s going to happen in there.”

“I’ll wait,” Tammy said.

Ethan got out of the car. The last thing he wanted to do was go up and knock on that door. In fact, he considered that this might be more dangerous than having drug dealers think he had a suitcase of their goods.

But right now it was just him in danger. If he failed, Jenny and the kids might be in danger. Or not. There was a lot of unexplained stuff in the rules of this game. Either way, he thought his best course of action was to try to successfully complete his 20% chance of finishing this round of the game.

He walked up to the front door.

He could not believe he was going to do this.

He knocked on the door.

Waited.

Nobody answered. Maybe they couldn’t hear him above the music.

He knocked again, louder.

The door swung open. A young skinny guy with hair that stuck up on the left side answered. He blinked a few times as if unused to the light, even though it was dark outside. “Yeah?”

“Hi,” Ethan said. “This is going to sound weird—”

“You a cop?”

“No.”

“Prove it. Say ‘I’m not a cop.’”

“I’m not a cop.”

“You look too scared to be a cop anyway. You buyin’?”

“No. I’m looking for a clue.”

The skinny guy laughed. “You’re in the wrong place, dude. I don’t know anybody who’s got a clue about anything.”

“I was told to come here to get a clue. You may not be the right person to talk to.”

“Do you mean get a clue as in expand your mind? I could get you some shrooms, maybe. Not sure if I have some or not. I could look.”

“No, I’m not here to buy any drugs.”

“Shrooms aren’t drugs. They’re all natural. God makes them.”

“I just want the clue. Is there anybody else in there I can talk to?”

“Yeah, it’s party time in here. C’mon in.”

Ethan followed him into the house. There were at least a dozen people inside, and a thin but pungent cloud of smoke. Beer cans were everywhere. The kitchenette counter was piled high with garbage and dirty dishes. One wall was lined with multiple plastic tubs of kitty litter that didn’t look like they’d been scooped out in weeks.

There was absolutely nothing about this house to dissuade him of the notion that it was a crack house.

“Hey!” the skinny guy shouted. “Hey! Hey!” When nobody heard him, he walked over to the stereo and turned off the music, eliciting several angry reactions. He pointed to Ethan. “This dude is looking for a clue!”

“You a private eye?” asked a man who sat on the armrest of a couch.

“No. And I’m not a cop. I’m on a scavenger hunt, and I was given this address for my next clue.”

“Scavenger hunt? That sounds fun as shit. Can I play?”

“Does anybody know what I’m talking about?” Ethan asked. His heart was racing and he was having a little bit of trouble catching his breath, but he tried not to show how scared he was.

Everybody looked around at each other and shook their heads.

“Nobody knows? Somebody here is supposed to have a clue for me.”

“Nah, dude, nobody has your clue,” said the skinny guy. He pulled over a chair. “But have a seat. Party with us.”

“I really shouldn’t.”

“Have a seat. Party with us.” He wasn’t quite threatening, but nor was he suggesting that this was completely optional.

Ethan sat down.

“You sure you don’t want anything?” the skinny guy asked. “You sure don’t need any uppers, but you’re definitely a dude who could use some weed.”

“No, thank you. I appreciate it, though.”

A woman plopped right onto his lap. Her hair was unwashed and stringy, and if she’d had any breasts to speak of, they would’ve popped out of the tiny top she wore.