Bad Games- The Complete Series

by Jeff Menapace

“We’ve got everything we need. You didn’t think I was going to keep fucking that idiot, did you?”

  John glanced back towards Steve’s room, then towards Monica again.

  “The booze and the Klonopin will erase his memory,” she said.

  John nodded, stood and said: “Where?”

  Monica pointed to her left eye. “Don’t go overboard, tough-guy. He’s not exactly Bruce Lee.”

  John smiled, then punched his daughter in her left eye. It was a jabbing blow, but enough to rock her back several steps.

  “Ow, ow, fuck,” she said, cupping both hands over her face.

  “Let me see,” John said.

  She took her hands away from her face and he studied her eye. He nodded as though appraising an antique. “You’ll have a decent shiner,” he said.

  “Good.” She turned and headed back to the bedroom to give it a final going over. Steve was still naked and sprawled out on his back, snoring as loud as ever. She thought of cutting off his prick and shoving it down his throat to stop the snoring. Maybe one day.

  Monica joined her father back in the living room. “Come on, let’s go. We need to be back here in the morning.”

  “What? Why?”

  She pushed him out the door and said, “Because I didn’t let you punch me in the face for nothing, dummy.”

  40

  Steve Lucas woke up naked and disoriented. A quick survey told him he was in his own bed. A second, deeper survey told him his room was a mess. His lamp was on the floor. His mirror was splintered like a spider web in the corner. His dresser top was wiped clean—the pictures frames strewn all over the floor, some cracked and broken. Next to one of those frames lay a near-empty bottle of Jim Beam, a brown stain circling its open neck.

  Where was Samantha? He pulled the sheets up from the floor, covered his lower-half and called for her. “Hello? Samantha?”

  Nothing. Calling her name sent a shockwave of pain throughout his head and he pressed a palm to it, squeezing his eyes shut. How much did he fucking drink last night? More importantly, he thought, looking around his room, what the hell happened?

  A sudden bang on his front door startled him. He quickly dressed in last night’s clothes and hurried to the living room. He opened his front door, hoping for Samantha, and she was there, but so was someone else—a large someone else who gripped Steve by the throat with one hand and rammed him back inside his home, slamming him up against the nearest wall. The man’s grip was impossibly strong; Steve could feel his blood rushing upward, pulsating hot against his face, bulging his eyes. If the man didn’t let go, he would be out cold very soon. The large man seemed to sense this too and loosened his grip, but only slightly. He pressed his face to Steve’s and roared into it.

  “You sick motherfucker! Give me one reason why I shouldn’t crush your fucking throat!”

  Steve had no words. He only hoped his shocked expression would plead his ignorance.

  “You think you can slap around my baby sister and not have it come back to you?!”

  Steve hadn’t noticed when he first opened the door—everything happened too fast. But now, as he looked over the shoulder of the big man, he saw a furious Samantha glaring back at him with a swollen purple eye.

  Steve instantly said: “Oh God … oh shit, did I do that?” He took his eyes off Samantha and put them back on the big man, praying they shone as big and remorseful as he felt. “I’m so sorry … I don’t know what happened … I … everything’s a blank. I don’t remember—”

  The big man tightened his grip again, cutting Steve off. “You listen to me, you sick little fuck. If you come within one hundred yards of my sister again, I will be back here and I will end your fucking life.” Like a shotgun blast, the big man drove his right fist through the wall just inches from Steve’s head. He then let go of Steve’s throat with his left and watched him slide down the wall until he sat hugging his knees like a terrified child. The big man slapped the top of Steve’s head. “Are we clear?!”

  Steve nodded quickly, afraid to look up.

  The big man turned to leave and Steve’s gaze fell on Samantha. He was too afraid to speak to her; he could only stare his regret through desperate, pleading eyes.

  “Asshole,” was all she said before she turned and followed the big man, slamming the door behind her.

  Steve Lucas dropped his head between his knees and started to cry.

  • • •

  Monica lit a cigarette once they were inside the Dakota. “‘Baby sister’?” she said.

  “What?” John said, cracking a window. “I could pass for your older brother. Daddy rescuing his daughter felt too cliché.”

  “But you are my daddy,” she said in a mocking, child’s voice.

  “Well that whole scene was a crock of shit anyway, so who cares?”

  She inhaled deep, grinned, and blew a stream of smoke at him. He frowned and fanned it out his window.

  41

  It was just past ten and Patrick was still clacking away on his laptop at the kitchen table. A glass of Glenlivet neat sat to his left.

  “Oh I see,” Amy said, sneaking up behind him, kissing his neck, then picking up his drink. “You can drink at home, but I can’t?”

  Without turning around he said, “I don’t plan on going cruising after.”

  She bonked him lightly on the head, then sat on his lap. He took his hands away from the lap top, wrapped them around her waist and kissed her.

  “You’re so funny,” she said once their lips separated. Amy was glad they were now at a point where they could make light of “that night.” It wasn’t stand-up material yet, but it had definitely reached breezy status.

  He kissed her again and said, “I shouldn’t be much longer.”

  She scanned what he was writing. “Looks like a screenplay.”

  He chuckled, looked back at the laptop, and spoke while glancing over what he’d written. “Yeah—PowerPoint slideshow will give me a good ten seconds before changing photos, but I need to be smack-on-cue with each frame like I am acting. And if I can convince these people that something as lethal as Megablast is the be-all, end-all, I think I’ll be ready for Hollywood.”

  She chuckled softly then kissed his cheek. “You’ll be fine.”

  He took a deep breath. “Hope so. Ten days and counting.”

  She laid her head on his shoulder. “So are you almost done?”

  His left arm still around her waist, he typed a few more things with his right hand and said, “I think so. Why?”

  “I thought I’d give you a blowjob before bed to relieve some of your stress.”

  Patrick clicked save, closed his laptop, and said: “Done.”

  42

  Patrick was double-checking various graphics on his PowerPoint presentation when co-worker Todd Hartnett rapped on his office window. Patrick spun away from his computer and waved Todd in.

  “Hey, Todd, what’s up?”

  “Wondering if you’ve heard from Lucas.”

  “Steve Lucas?”

  Todd nodded. “Hasn’t shown today.”

  “Somebody call him?”

  Todd nodded again. “Just voicemail.”

  “Maybe he’s sick.”

  “He never called in though,” Todd said. “He’s got to pitch that software account soon, doesn’t he? The foreign language program?”

  “Yeah, Friday I think.”

  Todd said, “I’d have to be on death’s door to keep me outta here if my presentation was at the end of the week.”

  Patrick nodded lazily in agreement. He had fallen into a daze, recalling the incident with Steve Lucas from the previous Friday. Lucas was going to see his new girl. He seemed excited. Maybe they ran off to Vegas and eloped?

  Patrick said: “Huh.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing, I’m just … Lucas invited me to happy hour last Friday. Wanted me to meet his new girl. I was thinking maybe they eloped or something.”

  Todd snorted. “Well if they d
id, then I hope for his sake the girl’s got some money—’cause if he doesn’t explain his whereabouts soon, he’s gonna lose that account.”

  Patrick nodded in agreement again.

  Todd Hartnett left. Patrick gave recent events a few more seconds of consideration, then discarded the issue and went back to work.

  • • •

  Patrick sipped from a bottle of warm Coke and looked at his watch. It was 4 P.M. Steve Lucas had yet to show today. Why the hell should he care? After what the prick said to him on Friday he’s lucky he didn’t crack him one.

  Patrick took the last swallow of his warm Coke, tossed it in the trash, and spun back to his PC. He stared at the screen. It may as well have been blank. He did care. Damn it, for some reason, he did.

  Patrick picked up his phone and punched two numbers. “Suzy, can you get me Steve Lucas at home?”

  “It’s just voicemail,” his secretary said. “People have been trying all day.”

  “What about his cell?”

  “We’ve been trying both.”

  Patrick sighed. “What about an address? Do you have his home address?”

  A pause.

  “Suzy?”

  “I’m looking … here it is.”

  She read it to him and Patrick jotted it down.

  “Are you going to see him?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I might. Thanks, Suzy.”

  • • •

  Patrick double checked the address he had written down, looked at the house, then tossed the address onto the passenger seat and stepped out of the Highlander. He walked the path towards Steve Lucas’ front door and rang the bell.

  No answer.

  He knocked hard. “Steve? You in there? It’s Patrick Lambert.”

  The door opened a crack, the chain still on. Patrick took in a slice of Steve Lucas’ face.

  “Steve? You alright, man?”

  “You alone?” Lucas asked.

  Patrick looked behind him, then back at Lucas with an odd look. “Uh … yeah. What the hell’s going on, man?”

  Lucas slid the chain and opened the door a little more. “Come in. Hurry up.”

  Patrick stepped inside. Lucas locked the door behind him and slid the chain back home.

  “Steve, what the hell? You’re acting like aliens are watching you or something.”

  Lucas shuffled into his living room and flopped onto his sofa. He was dressed in sweats and a white undershirt. His stubble looked to have several days’ growth.

  Patrick took a few cautious steps forward. He saw a hole in Lucas’ dry wall the size of a small melon.

  “Steve?”

  Lucas looked up.

  “Lots of people were asking about you at work today,” Patrick said. “They tried calling you.”

  “I know.”

  Patrick made a face. “Okay … any reason you didn’t answer? Call back?”

  Lucas massaged his temples, opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing.

  Patrick stepped further into his living room. “Are you sick?”

  Lucas shook his head.

  Patrick walked further towards the kitchen to his left. “So what’s up then, man? Are you gonna say something or what?”

  Lucas kept quiet on the sofa. Patrick was in the kitchen now. He opened a cabinet and spotted a bottle of vodka. A drink. Maybe a drink would relax him and loosen his tongue.

  Patrick took the bottle from the cabinet and called: “How about I fix us a drink?”

  “NO.” Lucas’ voice was strong and firm. And then a few seconds later, soft and weak: “I’m never touching the stuff again.”

  Ah, Patrick thought. Now we’re getting somewhere. He stepped out of the kitchen and sat on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “What happened?”

  • • •

  Patrick pulled into his garage two hours late. Not a big deal with the Megablast account looming, except that he’d told Amy he’d be home on time. When he walked into the kitchen she was already doing dishes. She didn’t look at him.

  “It’s in the microwave if you want it,” she said.

  He walked up behind her at the sink and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry I’m late. But trust me, I’ve got a good reason.”

  • • •

  They sat on the sofa together, Amy lengthwise with her feet in Patrick’s lap, he upright and massaging her feet—good for a couple of points after being late for dinner.

  “How bad was it?” Amy asked.

  “He didn’t really go into detail,” Patrick said. “He claims she showed up with a shiner. That’s bad enough I suppose.”

  Amy nodded. “I remember him from your work parties. He seemed annoying, but hardly violent.”

  “He claims he doesn’t remember anything. Not even a blur.” He tugged one of her toes, cracking it.

  She slapped his hand. “I hate that.”

  He smiled knowingly.

  “So did this lady call the police?”

  “I don’t think so,” Patrick said. “I think she would have done so by now. Besides, from the size of the hole in his wall, and from what Lucas told me, the lady’s brother seems a far scarier threat than the police.”

  “So then what … ? Is the guy just going to hide in his house forever? What about work?”

  “That’s what I asked him. He’s got this big account coming up. If it doesn’t pan out due to sheer bad luck, then oh well, it happens to the best of us I guess. But if it doesn’t pan out because he became an unproductive recluse a few days before the presentation …”

  Amy slit her own throat with her thumb and made a gurgling noise.

  Patrick said, “Exactly.”

  “And you were worried he was trying to horn in on Megablast.”

  “I wasn’t worried.”

  She flicked her foot up and nicked his chin.

  “I wasn’t,” he insisted. “I just worried he would … muddle things for me.”

  “Muddle things?”

  Patrick tried for another toe, but she jerked her foot away in time and shot him a look. “Yeah, you know—the guy’s a distraction,” he said. “I didn’t want him watching my every move, maybe dropping a dime on me here and there if I didn’t do something he thought I should.”

  “Well who the hell is he to judge how you handle your accounts?” she asked.

  “Nobody, I’m just saying.” Patrick then groaned, trying to find the right words. “He’s like that annoying friend at the bar who could ruin your chances at getting laid that night.”

  Amy cocked her head, arched both eyebrows. “Interesting analogy.”

  “Oh stop—you know what I mean.”

  Her expression remained fixed on him.

  “Look, I’ve been massaging your smelly feet now for over ten minutes. You can forgive me one questionable analogy.”

  She shoved her foot in his face, grinding it into his nose. Patrick turned away and pretended to gag.

  “Dick,” she said.

  “I have a big what?”

  “You wish.” She shoved her foot in his face again. Patrick laughed, snatched her ankle, and started attacking more toes.

  43

  Steve Lucas eventually showed up for work on Wednesday looking as if he’d just come from a funeral. On Friday, the presentation for the foreign language software company came and went—and went hard. Although Patrick heard it second-hand, the prospective clients had stayed for all of twenty minutes before packing their things and heading out. Lucas apparently crumbled right after, breaking down in tears. Whether it was this pathetic display or not, something tugged on the heartstrings of the powers above and Steve Lucas was kept on board. Granted, his next account was something a sophomore in high school could handle, but it was still work. He still had a job.

  Lucas knocked lightly on Patrick’s office window the following Monday. Usually, Lucas would just walk on in without an invite. Apparently his reprieve had knocked his bombastic nature down a peg, and that was just fine with Patrick
. He waved him in.

  “Hey, Patrick,” Lucas said softly. “Can I sit?”

  Wow, Patrick thought, the man’s been reborn. “Sure,” he said. “Have a seat.” And then once they settled, “What’s up?”

  “Couple of things really. First, I wanted to thank you for coming by to check on me.” He looked over his shoulder despite the closed office door, then lowered his voice. “I trust you didn’t tell anybody anything?”

  Patrick shook his head. “No—I didn’t say anything.”

  Lucas sighed as though he’d been holding his breath. “Thanks.”

  Patrick nodded once. “No problem, man. I’m glad they decided to keep you on board.”

  Lucas didn’t acknowledge the comment; he appeared pre-occupied with things already spoken. He looked up at Patrick with soulful eyes. “You won’t say anything, will you, Patrick?”

  Patrick gave a thin smile. “No, Steve, I won’t. What’s done is done, okay? Let’s just focus on the future.”

  Steve Lucas’ face started to brighten. He stood and extended his hand. “That’s great. Thanks so much, man.”

  Patrick shook his hand. “Not a problem. Let’s get back to work now, yeah?”

  Lucas’ face continued to brighten, to change, as if all truly had been forgotten. Could that be possible? Patrick wondered. Was the old Steve Lucas back just like that? Patrick felt a twinge of something. Jealousy maybe?

  “Got the big Megablast presentation soon, right?” Lucas said, taking a seat again. “Wednesday?”

  Patrick nodded slowly and reluctantly. “Yup. Two days.”

  Lucas leaned back and put his feet up on Patrick’s desk. “You feel good?”

  “Fine,” he said, his eyes on the soles of Lucas’ shoes.

  “Nervous?”

  Patrick’s toes bunched together like fists, his jaw clenched until he was aware of it. Again he wondered, why? The presentation was all but done. He was more than prepared—a fighter who had trained harder than he’d ever done his entire life. All there was left to do was step into the ring and do his job. So why was this twerp stressing him? After recent events, Steve Lucas was anything but a threat to his account now. Yet perhaps Patrick’s analogy to Amy the other night, no matter how crude, wasn’t too far off: He was about to get laid, and he didn’t want some cock-blocking idiot like Steve Lucas to ruin it somehow.