The Odds - Jeff Strand Page 0,67
including penalties.”
“How did you let this happen?”
“Are you going to interrogate me or are you going to pause the fucking game?”
“We’ll pause the game. But we told you to—”
“Save the lecture, okay? We’ll talk about this when I get there. Goodbye.” The Claw Man hung up. “Now what?”
“Now I’m going to see if the drivers are still here. Try not to bleed out before I get back.”
Ethan cautiously walked out of the shed. He didn’t see anybody on the roof, so he hurried over to the house then went inside. The van driver was still seated on the living room couch, watching a courtroom show. Another man who looked about ninety sat next to him.
“Uh, hi,” said Ethan.
The driver looked over at him. “Hi.”
“You didn’t hear all the gunfire?”
“Our job is to wait for instructions, not go out and get ourselves shot.”
“Well, good. The Claw Man has been seriously injured. I’m going to need you to help get him in the van, then take us to his private jet.”
“Are you asking nicely, or should I assume that you’re going to point that gun at me if I say no?”
“For now, let’s say that I’m asking nicely.”
The driver nodded and stood up. He handed the remote control to the other driver.
They walked out of the house. The driver seemed unimpressed by the sight of all of the dead bodies. He looked down at The Claw Man. “Those are some nasty wounds,” he said. “We probably shouldn’t move him.”
“We’re going to move him,” said Ethan.
“Just help him,” said The Claw Man. “It’s fine.”
“It’s gonna hurt.”
“I know it’s gonna fucking hurt! It already hurts!”
“Do you want heads or tails?” the driver asked Ethan.
“Tails.”
Ethan picked up The Claw Man by the feet, which was unbelievably painful on his injured wrists, and the driver lifted him under his shoulders. The Claw Man cried out in pain, though the amount of sympathy this elicited from Ethan was minimal. They carried him around the house and over to the van.
“I’ll put the seats down so he can lie on the floor,” said the driver. “Should we get a blanket or some garbage bags or something so he doesn’t bleed all over the upholstery?”
“Fuck the upholstery!” said The Claw Man. “Let’s just go!”
They were as careful as possible when getting him into the back of the van. Ethan didn’t care about his comfort, but if The Claw Man got jostled and some intestines or a kidney became visible, he’d be less useful as a hostage.
As the driver sped them to a small airport, The Claw Man called to let them know he was on his way. They were flying back to Las Vegas.
They were somehow able to drive right up to the plane. The ability to bypass all lines was a major incentive for Ethan to become incredibly rich.
The Claw Man was getting blood all over his seat.
There was no beverage service on this flight, because Ethan had ordered the crew to stay in the cockpit and not come out for any reason. He wasn’t sure if he’d actually shoot them or not. If he missed, he could depressurize the cabin and kill everybody—or so he assumed, since he didn’t know exactly how the science on that worked. He was relatively certain that shooting a gun midflight was bad.
“You ruined everything,” The Claw Man told him.
“My bad.”
“We were almost at the final challenge. All of the players in one building. Fight to the death. Winner takes all. A five million dollar prize to the winner. It would’ve been spectacular.”
“I’m sure everybody involved is very disappointed.”
“We had six floors of content. Traps everywhere. Getting enough scorpions for the maze was a pain in the ass, but that’s nothing compared to the surprises in the final building. We had a fucking lion. Do you know how much work and expense we put into that building? If I showed you some of the design documents, you’d want to jump right back into the game.”
“You should calm down,” said Ethan. “You’re getting overly agitated and when you twist around like that it makes you bleed more.”
“I was even rooting for you,” said The Claw Man. “I thought to myself, that guy can pull this off. You could’ve been five million dollars richer. Now it’s no prizes for anyone. All the risks everybody took, all the lies they had to tell to their significant others, all the players who died during the game...all for nothing. Thanks a fucking lot, Ethan.”
“I’m truly not sure