Jack of Spades

by James Hankins

  “Let me see the gun.” It was all Golding could think to say. If the guy didn’t really have one, Golding would walk over and beat the shithead bloody. He wasn’t worried about a knife or any other weapon. The way he felt, as angry as he was, as afraid for his son as he was, he doubted anything less lethal than a gun could stop him.

  Galaxo held up an ugly matte-black handgun and thoughts of making a move at that moment fled Golding’s mind. He couldn’t risk Danny being hurt.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “Hon, why are you taking so—” Emily stopped in the doorway. She took in the scene in an instant, far more quickly than Golding had, and reached for the phone hanging on the wall of the kitchen, near where she was standing.

  “I’ll shoot him,” Galaxo warned sharply.

  Emily stopped, her hand hanging motionless in the air. She looked to Golding. He shook his head. She dropped her hand.

  “Come into the room, please,” Galaxo said. “Next to Jeff there.”

  He knows my name, Golding thought. He didn’t choose our house randomly. Golding felt Emily grab his hand and squeeze harder than he would have thought was physically possible for her.

  “Don’t hurt him, please,” she said, her voice cracking.

  “Mommy, what’s the matter?”

  Danny’s voice was so small. The boy himself was so small, so innocent, so unaware of the tension in the room, the fear gripping his parents with strong, cold fingers. Golding felt his heart breaking. If anything happened to Danny, he wouldn’t want to live. And he sure as hell couldn’t be the cause of something happening, so he stayed where he was, motionless, his wife motionless by his side.

  “Daddy? What’s wrong? Galaxo is here to play. He told me.”

  He didn’t want his son to be frightened any more than he had to be, so he said, “I see that, son.”

  “Isn’t it great, Daddy?”

  Golding said nothing.

  “Well?” Galaxo said, and Golding could actually hear the piece of shit smiling inside that ugly yellow head.

  “Yes, Danny, it’s great. Now could you please be quiet for a few minutes and let Daddy talk to this…to Galaxo?”

  Emily had begun to sob at his side, but he couldn’t comfort her. He had to keep his mind on the motherfucker who was holding his boy.

  “I don’t want you to hurt our son.”

  “I don’t want to do that either,” the alien said.

  It was horribly creepy. That voice coming out of the big stupid grin, the lips never moving but the voice coming out just the same, the same voice on the fucking cartoons.

  “So what do you want?

  “First of all, I don’t want to traumatize a child if it can be avoided.”

  The fingers squeezing Golding’s heart loosened their hold just a little.

  “You don’t?”

  “Of course not. You must think I’m a monster.”

  “If you don’t want to hurt Danny, why don’t you let him go?”

  “Now you must think I’m stupid.”

  “You’ve still got your gun.”

  “Look,” Galaxo said, “let me make this easy for you. I’ll let little Danny here go, and you can send him to his room, but his pretty mother has to come take his place over here. Sound good?”

  Oh, God, he wants to rape Emily.

  “Let me put your mind at ease, Jeff. I don’t want to hurt your Emily, either.”

  He knows her name too. “You don’t?”

  “No. It’s you I’m here for.”

  “Oh.” Golding was relieved but, if he had to be honest with himself, not very fucking much. Oh, shit.

  “Do we have a deal?” Galaxo asked. “Danny here trots off to bed and Emily comes over to me?”

  “But I want to play, Galaxo,” Danny pleaded. “I don’t want to go to bed.”

  “Maybe if you’re a really good boy and do as Daddy says right now, I’ll come back some other night.” Galaxo looked over at Golding. “When you’re not expecting me. Would you like that, Danny?”

  “Yeah!”

  “But listen, Danny,” Galaxo said. “I want you to go straight to bed. Do you know how to call the police?”

  “Sure do. Mommy and Daddy taught me. Just dial nine, then one, then one.”

  “Very good, Danny. You’re a smart little boy.” Danny beamed with prided. “Now listen carefully, though. If you do that tonight, call the police, I’ll kill your mommy and daddy, understand?”

  Danny blinked. He looked up at Galaxo, then over at Golding, then back up at Galaxo. Something screamed in Golding’s head, something that raged against his son hearing such words.

  “Danny,” Galaxo cooed. “If you call the police, I’ll take this gun and shoot both your parents in the face. Now, do you understand?”

  Even from across the room, Golding saw moonlight strike the tear tracing its way down Danny’s smooth cheek.

  “I need you to answer me, Danny. Do you want your parents to die?”

  Danny shook his head. His little narrow shoulders were shaking as he cried softly.

  “Because it will be your fault if they do. Do you want that?”

  “Jesus,” Golding said. “Stop it. He’ll go to bed, and if we tell him not to use the phone, he won’t.”

  “I have your word?” Galaxo asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s good enough for me. Come on over, Emily.”

  Impossibly, Emily’s grip tightened even more on Golding’s hand. He turned to her. “You have to, honey. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  She looked into his eyes and, just maybe, believed him. He wished he could believe himself. She walked across the room with unsteady steps.

  “Kneel on the right side of this chair, please, facing Jeff.”

  She did as told. Galaxo transferred the gun from his left hand to his right, then pressed the barrel against the back of Emily’s head. She must have felt its pressure because she tensed and a panicked sob escaped her.

  “Okay,” Galaxo said cheerfully, “off you go, Danny. Good night!”

  He helped Danny slide off his lap. Danny ran to Golding, tears pouring down his beautiful little face. Golding dropped to one knee and held his son tight, then felt the tears wetting his own cheeks.

  “Okay now, that’s enough,” Galaxo said. “Sweet dreams, Danny. And remember, no police.”

  Danny looked up at his father.

  “Danny, I want you to go straight to bed, okay? Close the door, get under the covers, put the pillow over your head, and go right to sleep.”

  “Do I put my PJs on?”

  “You can sleep in your clothes tonight. Just take your shoes off.”

  “I don’t want to go, Daddy.”

  “Just go, son.” It came out far more forcefully than he’d meant it to—he saw it on Danny’s face—so he added, “I’ll come in later, after you’re asleep, to tuck you in.” He wondered if that was true. “Okay, champ?”

  Danny sniffed. “Mommy, too?”

  “Of course, Mommy, too. Now go to bed, son. I love you.”

  Danny walked slowly out of the room, turning once in the doorway to look back at his father. Then his little figure disappeared into his room. The door closed.

  “Very good,” Galaxo said. He paused and no one said anything for a few moments. “You’re a terrific daddy,” he added finally. “Not at all like my own dad.”

  “Sorry if I can’t summon up any sympathy for you. Now what the fuck do you want?”

  Galaxo hesitated, then said, “Right to business, eh? Okay then. What I want is for you to see the gun I have jammed against the back of your wife’s skull. I want you to realize that if I twitch my finger you’ll have to replace the carpets in this room. You’ll probably have to paint the walls, too. Do you see that?”

  “I do.”

  “Okay then. No heroics, right?”

  Golding was silent.

  “Because I don’t think you’re a stupid man, I’ll t
ake that as a yes. Now come over here.”

  Golding hesitated and Galaxo said angrily, “I’ll pull this trigger, you dumb jock, if you don’t do as I say right fucking now.”

  “Okay, okay, please calm down.”

  He took a breath and walked over.

  “Slowly,” Galaxo warned.

  Golding slowed his steps. Could he do it? Could he rush him, knock his arm away before he pulled the trigger? He thought he could. But if he was wrong, he could never live with himself. He wouldn’t want to live anyway.

  “Stop right there.”

  Golding was just three feet from the bastard who was holding a gun to his wife’s head.

  “Now,” Galaxo said in that crazy, alien voice. “Here are the rules. I’m going to give you two choices. Once I do, you’ll have one minute to pick one. If you don’t choose in that time, I’ll choose for you, okay?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Come on, Jeff, stay with me. It isn’t that hard. Do I really have to repeat myself?”

  “No, I…understand what you said.”

  “Nifty. Let me think for a second, okay?” He tilted his big yellow head a little to the side, like he was giving something serious thought. “All right, I have it. Remember, the choice is yours. Okay, here we go. Either I shoot your wife in the back of the head, that’s your first option, or you slit your wrists with a kitchen knife. That’s your second. Got it?”

  Emily sobbed again. A rock lodged in Golding’s throat.

  “Wait a second,” Galaxo said. “That’s not really very interesting. One death or another. Boring, don’t you think? Where’s the wrinkle? Where’s the twist? Besides, any husband who’s any kind of a man—and judging by all the pictures on the wall over there of you parasailing and playing rugby, you’re a real man’s man, aren’t you, Jeff?—any kind of a man would save his wife’s life before his own. So, no, those choices won’t work. Hmm.”

  Galaxo tipped his head to the side again. Half a minute went by. Golding glanced at the gun. Its muzzled was buried in his wife’s soft hair. Her eyes pleaded with him, silently reminding him of his promise to protect her. He looked at the gun again. He’d never make it. And then she’d be dead.

  “Oh!” Galaxo said, excited. “I have it. This is different. And I’m afraid you’re not going to like it one bit. But if you want to keep Emily’s brain right there in her skull where God put it, then you’ll make the right choice.”

  Golding held his breath.

  “It’s those pictures there that gave me the idea,” Galaxo said. “That’s you rock climbing, right? And you again, shooting down white-water rapids in a kayak. I can only assume that’s you under all that ski gear flying down that nearly vertical slope. Let’s see, rugby, crew, boxing. You’re quite the man’s man, Jeff. And that got me thinking about the kind of activities you probably wouldn’t want to participate in. And so here it is. Your choice. Either you agree to pleasure me orally—that’s right, Jeff, blow me—or I subdue you, and believe me, I have the means, and while you’re subdued,” he paused dramatically, then added, “I remove one of your wife’s breasts.”

  Silence. Jesus. Had he heard right? Could those words have come from that cartoon face? Wasn’t possible, was it?

  “The clock’s ticking,” Galaxo said.

  Only then did Golding notice the apple-shaped timer in the sick bastard’s left hand. Only then did he hear the ticking. He must have had it in his lap all the time.

  “Fifty seconds, Jeff.”

  “Wait.” He hesitated. “Please, you can’t really expect me—”

  “Forty-five seconds.”

  Jesus, it was hot in the house. The air was thick, stifling. Wasn’t the fucking air conditioner on?

  “Forty seconds, Jeff.”

  Golding looked at his wife, the terror in her eyes, the tears running down her cheeks.

  “There must be some other way,” he said. “Something else you want. There has to be—”

  “Do you know who I am?” Galaxo asked, and that fucking weird voice was starting to drive Golding insane. “Have you heard about me on the news?”

  “I…yes.”

  “Then you know that I’ve already killed people. You know I’ll do just what I say. I’ll make you knock yourself out with chloroform, which you’ll agree to do unless you’d rather watch me cover the walls with Emily’s brains. And while you’re sleeping, I’ll take one of her breasts. And I won’t even kill you. You have my word on that. After I operate on her, I’ll walk out of your lives. But you’ll have to live with your choice when you wake up. You’ll have to explain it to your son and your families, tell them how you could have stopped it. You’ll have to live with the fact that you could have prevented your wife’s mutilation by performing a simple physical act that people do to each other every day. Twenty-five seconds left, Jeff. And remember, if you don’t choose, I’ll choose for you. Now I don’t know what you may have heard about me, but I’m mixing things up a little tonight. Usually if the person I’m dealing with doesn’t choose in time, I’m prepared to treat it as if he chose both options. But because I can’t realistically choose for you to blow me if you refuse, I’ll have to take you out one way or another—chloroform or bullet—and take Emily’s pretty breast. I won’t even be greedy. I’ll just take one of them. Of course, there’s a way for you to make sure that doesn’t happen, Jeff.”

  Please, God, stop this. “But isn’t there something else we can…I mean, why would you want to make me…”

  “Under twenty seconds left, Jeff. Please, please, please don’t make me hurt Emily. I don’t want to do it.”

  Goddamn ticking. So fucking loud. How was he supposed to think with that fucking ticking?

  “Jeff, you should know that I will absolutely do what I say. And if you try to rush me right now, I’ll fucking shoot her. If you don’t do what I say, I’ll incapacitate you and I’ll cut her tit off, so help me God.” He paused. “Look, I know it’s tough for a stud like you to do what I’m asking, but come on, it isn’t that big a deal, is it? People do it all the time. Women blow men. Homosexual men blow other homosexual men. I bet pretty Emily here does it to you now and then, right? And she does this just so you can have a little pleasure. Are you such a hypocrite, are you so selfish, that you wouldn’t do the same thing for her when she’s being threatened with horrible mutilation? Ten seconds now, Jeff!”

  Golding wasn’t certain when Galaxo had started screaming, but his voice was frighteningly urgent.

  Golding was crying now. “Please, please, please, please…”

  “Jeff?” Emily said in a tiny voice.

  Galaxo shook his head. “Goddamn it, Jeff, your time is almost out and I will NOT FUCKING LET YOU CHOOSE AFTER THE BELL RINGS, SO CHOOSE NOW!”

  “I can’t do that,” he sobbed.

  “The second that bell rings, I’ll put you down, Jeff, I swear to God, one way or another you’ll go down and I’ll go to work on Emily. You have to believe me. Here were go. Four…three…two…ONE…”

  “I’ll do it!”

  Ding.

  A moment of silence.

  “Really?” Galaxo said. “Good for you. That can’t have been easy for you to say. If it’s any consolation, I think you made the right choice. Now kneel down right there. Yeah, just like that.”

  Galaxo stood, very slowly, and Golding heard a faint metal on metal sound, like Galaxo had knives in a pocket of his black pants, and they were rubbing together. As he stood, he kept the muzzle of the gun right against Emily’s head, sliding it up over the curve of her skull until, when he was fully standing, the barrel rested on the top of her head, aimed straight down.

  “Please don’t do this,” Golding begged.

  “Actually, you’ll be doing all the work. Look, don’t blame me. You made your choice, Jeff. Not me. Now remember, my finger is already tensed on this trigger. Just the slightest additional pressure and BOOM. Understand?”

  “I understand.”

  “Then let
’s get started.”

  With his freed hand, Galaxo tugged down the plastic zipper of his shiny black running-suit pants, reached in through the opening, and pulled out his member. Golding was no longer crying. He felt no emotion now. Not fear. Not relief. Not even anger. Wait, he realized as he looked up at Galaxo, who was smiling down at him with that huge, terrible, fake, cheerful smile. He felt something after all. He felt it as he glanced into his wife’s eyes before she closed them. He felt shame, burning, soul-searing shame.

  NINE

  The pancakes were indeed almost as big around as Spader’s head. And the stack was high, the butter melting enticingly on top, the syrup dripping down the sides of the squat tower. They looked fabulous and Spader wished he’d ordered them instead of the Denver omelet he’d gotten. Yet David wasn’t touching them. David, who normally had the voracious appetite one would expect in a nineteen-year-old athlete his size, hadn’t taken a bite. Instead, he stared sullenly out the window while his mother and father made slightly awkward small talk. After Spader had politely inquired about the play his ex-wife had seen with her still-relatively-new boyfriend, and after Olivia politely said that they’d had a fine time, and Olivia asked whether Spader had remembered to look for the photo albums and Spader said that he hadn’t had time but would try to do so later in the day, he turned to his son and said, “Okay, David, I’m sorry it took so long for the three of us to get together for this, but this is your meeting, I guess. What’s on your mind?”