Bad Games- The Complete Series

by Jeff Menapace

  “Never in my 35 years in the business …”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you … ?!”

  “You’ve really done it, you son of a bitch. You’ve done it to yourself, and you’ve done it to ME! Do you know what this will do to us when word gets out?!”

  When Miles had eventually finished his fume—and Patrick didn’t dare speak a word during its entirety—his face was all veins and purple skin, both hands long since slammed and braced on his desk as he leaned in to hammer home each word. “Say something!” he demanded.

  Patrick lifted his head, and a strange calm washed over him. Still upset of course, still confused of course, but … it wasn’t him. He knew this as fact. And he felt a surge of righteousness in this undeniable truth.

  “It wasn’t me,” Patrick said.

  Miles blinked many times. “Come again?”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  Miles flumped back into his chair, threw his hands towards the sky. “Well hallelujah! That solves everything.” He picked up the phone. “Let me just call them back and tell them that the goddamn skin flick they watched as part of your presentation had nothing to do with you. Let me just tell them that and then all will be right-as-fucking-rain.” He slammed the phone back down.

  Patrick’s exterior remained calm while his mind surged with suspicion. “It was someone else,” he said. “Someone did this to me. I don’t know who, and I don’t know how, but someone—”

  When Miles and Patrick had first entered Miles’ office, Miles had drawn the shades with such force that one shade had fallen closed on a locked angle, giving a small diagonal view into the reception area. And like some gifted clue, Patrick spotted Steve Lucas walking right on by.

  That glance earlier. What was behind that glance? What was behind the son of a bitch’s glance???

  Patrick leapt from his chair and ripped open Miles’ door. He was on top of Steve Lucas in two strides and snatched his arm as though grabbing a fleeing thief.

  “Hey!” Lucas shouted. “What the—”

  Patrick pulled Lucas back into Miles’ office, slammed the door shut with the heel of his foot, and then shoved Lucas into the corner of the room.

  “Him,” Patrick said, his finger pointing at Lucas with such malice it looked capable of firing bullets. “It was him.”

  Lucas stuttered, “What the hell is—”

  “Shut up!” Patrick screamed. He turned to Miles, his finger still pointed at Lucas. “He fucked up that big software account and now he’s fucking up mine! He’s getting revenge because I know what he did.”

  Lucas went white. “I don’t know what he’s talking about, sir. I—”

  “Bullshit!” Patrick spat at him. He went back to Miles. “You know why he blew that software account, boss? Because he was busy getting piss-drunk and beating the shit out of a woman. That’s why. I’m the only one who knows that, and the little prick can’t stand it.” He whipped back to Lucas. “Can you? You can’t stand knowing I’ve got one up on you. So you tap into my software and try to ruin me!”

  “STOP!” Miles yelled. “Just … stop.” He sighed and shook his head. “Look, I don’t know what the beef is between you two, and to be honest, I don’t care—in my place of work you leave that shit at the front door. Patrick, you pointing fingers isn’t going to undo what just happened here today.”

  Patrick nodded fast. “I know it won’t, I know. But it will prove that I didn’t do this. That account meant everything to me.” He pointed his finger at Lucas again. “And he knew that. He’s responsible for what happened.”

  Miles hung his head, sighed, raised it and looked at Lucas. “Steve?”

  Lucas looked terrified. “What?”

  Miles splayed a hand. “Do you have anything to say?”

  “No. I don’t even know what’s going on!”

  “Somebody sabotaged Patrick’s presentation. Some pornographic images were inserted into the automatic slideshow. The account is blown.”

  Patrick studied Lucas’ reaction. Despite his rage, he could not help but acknowledge that Lucas wore a convincing look of shock. He was a wimp—he did not handle confrontation well. To think that he may be lying so convincingly now was difficult to accept.

  Could it have been someone else in the office? Perhaps. Problem is, Patrick thought, contrary to Hollywood’s lust for the beaten-to-death twist-ending, in real life it usually is the most likely suspect.

  “It was him,” Patrick said. “It had to be. Who else would have access to my office?”

  “Patrick, I swear—”

  “Shut up,” Patrick said without turning, his eyes fixed on Miles the whole time he spoke.

  Miles sighed yet again, looked at both men with a show of contempt. He then picked up the phone and punched a few numbers. “Stan? It’s Jon Miles. I need you to check all security codes entered into the system in the past—hold on …” Miles placed a hand over the receiver. “When was the last time you ran a check on your software, Patrick?”

  Without hesitation, Patrick said: “Right before I left last night. After six.”

  Miles took his hand away from the receiver. “Yeah, Stan, you still there? Check and see if anyone came in after six last night.”

  “I left at five last night,” Lucas blurted. “My brother and his kids are in from out of town!”

  Both men ignored him—the holy grail of truth lie on the other end of the telephone receiver.

  Lucas continued pleading. “I’m telling you, I—”

  Miles held up a hand, silencing him. “Yeah, Stan, I’m here … uh huh.” His eyes fell hard on Lucas. “Thanks.” Miles hung up. “Steve, our security system says you entered the building at exactly 12:15 A.M. last night. The officers ended their shift at 12. System says you swiped your way out at exactly 3:47 A.M. You mind telling me what you were—”

  Patrick spun and hammered Lucas in the face, shattering his nose into a bloody mess. Lucas fell back against the wall and slumped to the ground in a daze.

  “You motherfucker!” Patrick screamed, burying his foot into Lucas’ ribs. The man cried out, moaned and rolled over into a fetal ball.

  Patrick kicked his spine.

  He kicked the back of his head.

  He kicked his spine again.

  Miles hustled from behind his desk and grabbed Patrick from behind in a bear-hug. Patrick threw him off with ease and continued to kick Lucas anywhere he could. Miles gave up, turned and yanked open his door. “Call security!”

  A beast Patrick long-thought dead—a beast he sometimes refused to believe he had once embodied—had been resurrected, and when security rushed in to try and restrain him, Patrick actually roared.

  It took four guards to finally subdue him.

  49

  They were not back in Miles’ office after the fray. They were in the security office on the bottom floor. Patrick sat in a chair, a security guard on either side of him. Miles was on his feet, pacing back and forth in front of Patrick as he spoke.

  “Lucas is on his way to the hospital,” Miles said. “He looks like a goddamned bus ran him over.”

  Patrick stayed quiet, looking at the floor. His rage was not gone; common sense just had a hold on it.

  “His story checked out you know,” Miles said. “His brother and kids in town and all.”

  Patrick lifted his head. “What?”

  “We checked into it. His brother and kids were at his place last night.”

  Patrick frowned, dropped his eyes for a moment as he searched for reason. When they snapped back up on Miles, he said, “The system said he got here after twelve and stayed until almost four. He could have snuck out after they went to sleep.”

  “His brother claimed they were up until two, catching up. He’s willing to testify to that.”

  Patrick was adamant. “But that’s not—then how else do you explain …”

  Miles stopped pacing and faced Patrick. “I don’t know how to explain it, Patrick.”

  Patrick slappe
d his own chest. “You still don’t think I had anything to do with this, do you?”

  Miles closed his eyes and shook his head. He looked earnest. “No.”

  “Well then what the hell could have—”

  Miles held up a hand. “Cool it, Patrick. Just cool it.” He waited a tick. “The only logical thing I can think of right now is that someone got a hold of Lucas’ key card.”

  Patrick dropped his eyes in thought again. In his haste to blame Lucas he had never considered such a possibility. “Okay …” he said. “So then who would have—?”

  “Except,” Miles interrupted, “Lucas had his key card on him when he was carted off to the ER. We checked.”

  “So then both Lucas and his brother are lying,” Patrick said.

  Miles grabbed a chair and pulled it close to Patrick’s. He sat facing him, looked Patrick in the eye with equal parts sympathy and severity. “I don’t think they are, Patrick.” Miles lowered his voice—the guards could still hear, no doubt, yet he lowered it all the same for what Patrick guessed was the man-to-man, let’s cut the bullshit spiel to come. “Look, Patrick, I’m not an ignorant boss. I’m not blind. I know my employees, and I know Steve Lucas can be a pain in the ass sometimes. But I also know he wouldn’t do something like this. He doesn’t have it in him, he doesn’t have the balls. He’s a decent employee, and he can get the job done, but there’s a reason he never gets the really big accounts.” Miles leaned in closer. “Now, having just admitted that to you, can you honestly tell me you think Steve Lucas is capable of pulling something off like this? Something of this magnitude?”

  Patrick flashed on Lucas in his apartment last week. How scared he looked. How child-like. Patrick flashed on the times he told Lucas to get the hell out of his office. Again, how scared, how child-like. Miles was right: Steve Lucas was an annoying douche, but not the type to pull off something like this. What happened required planning, significant tech-knowledge … and a serious set of balls. Once again Patrick had to concede to Miles: Lucas didn’t have big balls. Average ones even.

  Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay,” he said. “So what now? Is the blame back in my lap?”

  Miles leaned back but did not move his chair. “No,” he said. “I don’t believe the Patrick I knew had this in him either.”

  Patrick frowned. “The Patrick you knew?”

  Miles looked at both guards. “Can you leave us alone for a few seconds, fellas? It’s okay.”

  The guards exchanged glances then left.

  Miles continued. “I know about what you and your family went through, Patrick.”

  “Jon—”

  Miles held up a hand. “I mean who doesn’t, right? The media didn’t exactly try to keep it a secret. And the public, they watch the news, they’re horrified for a bit, and then just like that it’s over and forgotten. Kind of like watching a movie. But it doesn’t work that way for you—it’s not forgotten just because it’s over. I’m not an ignorant boss. Something happens to a man after war. It changes him. Some say that war is the easy part. It’s the after that tears you up.”

  Patrick went to speak, but Miles raised his hand again.

  “But you’re a strong son of a bitch, Patrick. Not just here …” He touched Patrick’s thick arm. “But in here …” He touched Patrick’s heart. “And up here …” He pointed to Patrick’s head. “I wouldn’t have brought you back if I didn’t think you were ready. And I gave you Megablast because I knew you could handle it. Hell, maybe part of me suspected you needed something that big to occupy your mind. It wasn’t pity though. Christ, no, it wasn’t pity. This is my company after all; I can’t afford to be gracious at the expense of my wallet.” He smiled.

  Patrick didn’t.

  “And then I hear about your father-in-law,” Miles continued. “I even hear about your dog.”

  Patrick’s chin retracted.

  “I’m not an ignorant boss, Patrick …”

  Yes, you’ve made that quite clear.

  “I haven’t been in this business as long as I have without keeping solid tabs on all my employees.” Miles leaned back in his chair. “So I’ll be honest with you, Patrick. A part of me thought about taking Megablast away from you. I gave it to you in confidence when you came back to work. But after what’s been happening the last few months …”

  “What’s been happening?”

  Miles held up both hands and patted the air. “Relax, Patrick. I’m just saying every man has his limits.”

  “Limits? You think I’m cracking up? You think I put porn in the biggest presentation of my life as some kind of joke?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “You’re implying it.”

  “I don’t imply, Patrick. I say. And if I thought you were cracking up I would have taken you off the Megablast account immediately.”

  “So then what’s all this, ‘the Patrick you knew’ stuff? Are you saying I’m not the same guy?”

  Miles was beginning to look annoyed. “I’m saying you need some time off.”

  “You’re firing me.”

  “No—I’m saying you need some time off.”

  Patrick’s breath quickened. “Tell me something,” he said.

  Miles straightened his posture. “What?”

  “Tell me what you think happened. You don’t imply, you say, right? So say what you think happened. Say what you think happened to the presentation I killed myself over for months. You wanna have those guys come back in and check the security system again? Have them check and see how late I’ve been staying here every night? How much time I invested into this project, only to put a giant fucking cock up on-screen—”

  “Patrick!”

  Patrick stopped, his breath ragged, pulse hammering his skull.

  There was a moment of pause as both men collected themselves.

  “Okay,” Patrick eventually said. “So I need some time off. What—two, three weeks?”

  “More like months, Patrick.”

  “Months.” Patrick flashed a contemptuous smile. “If you’re going to fire me, Jon—”

  “You’re not fired, Patrick. But you will take some considerable time off.”

  Patrick looked away.

  “You’ll be compensated of course,” Miles said. “No change in benefits.”

  Patrick wanted to scream. To punch holes in all four walls. Instead he swallowed bile, turned back to Miles and said, “Okay.”

  They both stood and shook hands. Miles usually patted Patrick on his broad shoulders after a handshake. Not this time.

  • • •

  Patrick shoved the glass doors of the office building open as he made his way outside, a cardboard box of certain belongings tucked under one arm. The winter air bit into his nose and watered his eyes, and he believed it happened on purpose.

  Patrick moved quickly through the lot towards his car, the cardboard box nearly slipping out from under his arm. He caught it just in time, but a stapler still fell and hit the concrete. Patrick believed this happened on purpose too. He kicked the stapler across the lot, sending it skidding beneath a car. He spotted a man and a woman watching him in the distance.

  “What the fuck are you two looking at?!” he yelled.

  The couple turned their backs to him and began a huddled chat as though they’d never dared look at him in the first place.

  Patrick opened the Highlander, chucked the box into the passenger seat, then screeched out of the lot and sped for home.

  • • •

  “Here he comes,” Monica whispered to her father.

  They stared as Patrick kicked the stapler across the lot.

  “What the fuck are you two looking at?!”

  They turned away from Patrick and huddled together, giggling silently like kids. When the Highlander was gone they erupted in laughter.

  When they stopped, Monica lit a cigarette, inhaled deep and said, “I wonder how bad my lover-boy Steve is.”

  John smiled. “He didn’t look so hot wh
en they wheeled him out.” John’s smile changed to a sly smirk as he eyed his daughter. “You knew he’d snap and throw him a beating right then and there didn’t you?”

  Monica exhaled a long stream accentuated by the cold, then batted her eyes. “I’d hoped. Call it a pleasant bonus.”

  He grinned. “Have I ever told you how proud of you I am?”

  “Not today.”

  “Apple of my eye, baby girl.”

  50

  Patrick and Amy were on the sofa. Patrick had told her everything.

  “Something’s going on, Amy.” He shook his head, flustered. “Something.”

  Amy had been prepared for two basic outcomes after her husband’s presentation: pass or fail. She was confident in pass, and was prepared for a hearty celebration. Fail was of course a possibility, but even if you took away her bias and optimism and laid out simple truths, it seemed unlikely Patrick could fail given the time and work he had invested in Megablast. Not to mention his consistent rise within the company since the day he’d signed on. And even if he did fail, so what? It wasn’t for lack of trying. There would be other accounts.

  Except Patrick had failed. And all of the rationale Amy had gathered to cushion such potential bad news was immediately tossed when it was revealed exactly why Patrick had failed. Sympathy and compassion and reassurance had been replaced with what and the and fuck? as Amy struggled to digest such an outlandish tale. She believed her husband’s story though. Never once doubted him. Truth, as the old saying goes (and after what her family had been through, she sure-as-shit believed it), was stranger than fiction.

  Amy rubbed his leg. “What do you mean? Something like what?”

  “This is no longer bad luck,” Patrick said. “Oscar? Your dad? Bad luck, I can admit that. But this? No fucking way.”

  Amy steadied herself. “Well what do you think happened?”

  “I would have sworn it was Steve Lucas. Would have sworn on anything. But now …”

  Amy really didn’t know what to say. She shared her husband’s sentiments—Oscar and her father had been bad luck. These new events were deliberate. There was no other explanation. “So now you’re not sure it was Steve?”