The Killing Games

by J. S. Carol

  The kitchen door opened.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said a voice.

  The world shifted beneath King’s feet. He felt light-headed and unreal. He would have recognised the bomber’s voice anywhere, and this wasn’t his voice. He turned and saw Tony standing in the doorway. His massive bulk was blocking the light from the corridor.

  ‘I need you to come with me.’

  23

  ‘Seth,’ the Asian kid called out. ‘We’ve got the LAPD, Fox, CNN and a dozen other news channels burning up the phones. They all want to talk to you, and they want to talk now.’

  ‘Stall them,’ Seth called back.

  ‘Stall them how?’

  ‘Tell them I’ve left the country. Hell, tell them I’ve been indicted for my part in Princess Di’s assassination. Whatever it takes.’

  Seth stared at the main screen. ‘LIVE FROM ALFIE’S’ was printed in big letters on the banner, just in case anyone hadn’t worked it out. Rob was talking up a storm, making this sound like the most exciting thing that had ever happened. This was pure TV gold. Alex King was pressed up against the grille. You could see the desperation on his face. You could feel his terror.

  As TV moments went it was as compelling as that kid and the tank in Tiananmen Square. This was one of those rare moments where real history and media history collided. It had started in 1937 with the Hindenburg disaster. That had been the first major historical event to be captured by the TV cameras. It hadn’t been the last. The Kennedy assassination, the first man on the moon, the Berlin Wall coming down, 9/11. That list would go on for as long as there were people out there willing to document the news, and people willing to bear witness.

  The phones were ringing off the hook. The news stations were calling to see where their pictures had got to, and the LAPD were no doubt calling to tell him to kill the feed before Marley killed King. Seth was letting the pictures run, not because he was heartless, but because it was already too late. Unless the SWAT guys got out there with their metal cutters in the next two seconds, King was a dead man.

  Seth stared at the screen and counted the seconds off in his head. He reached five. There was a blur of movement at the door, and then the actor disappeared. Seth stared at the empty space behind the grille, hoping King would make a miracle reappearance, and knowing it wasn’t going to happen.

  ‘Seth,’ the black kid shouted. ‘I’ve got the head guy over at Fox on the line and he’s threatening legal action if we don’t send those pictures now.’

  ‘Tell him we’re sending the footage over, and apologise profusely for the delay.’

  This part of the story was all played out, and it was another home run for TRN. Fox could have as many damn pictures as they wanted. It really didn’t matter anymore. In life, first place was all that mattered. Nobody remembered the losers.

  24

  ‘The prodigal son returns,’ the bomber said. ‘Come on up here so I can get a good look at you.’

  King climbed the stairs to the upper level on legs made from lead. It was a real effort to keep moving. He could barely breathe. The air seemed thinner in here, like he was at the summit of Everest.

  ‘Sit down, Tony, I’ll deal with you later.’

  King watched as the restaurant owner lowered himself to the floor beside a woman who had JEN written on her forehead. For some reason, JJ and Ed Richards were sitting on chairs away from the other two. Their faces were white, the stress showing. They both looked like the world was about to end. The fact that JJ was alive came as a shock. It looked like he wasn’t the only nine-life cat in this town. Twice now he’d been convinced that she was dead, yet here she was, alive and breathing.

  The bodies of DeAndre Alexander and Simone were lying in a lover’s tangle at the side of the main group. Like Romeo and Juliet, if Tarantino had been directing. The supermodel’s head was surrounded by a pool of coagulating blood. From the front she looked as beautiful in death as she had in life. If it wasn’t for the small, neat bullet hole in her forehead, she could have been sleeping.

  The back of her head was another matter. When the bullet had exited it had taken a large section of skull with it. Her blood had spilled out onto the floor and was still seeping into the cracks. King just stared. It was such a waste of a life. He glanced around and saw the other corpses. This wasn’t like the movies. Not even close. The smell of death seemed to have got right inside him. This whole thing was just too much. He sank to his knees and threw up all over the floor. The smell was so bad it made him double over and puke again. He kept retching until the vomit turned to bile and his stomach was empty.

  ‘Feeling better?’

  King looked up and saw the bomber staring at him. The question was heavy on sarcasm and light on concern.

  ‘Grab a napkin and get yourself cleaned up. Then come on over here, son.’

  King struggled to his feet and grabbed a napkin from the nearest table. He wiped his face then walked over on legs that were shaking so much he could barely feel them. He stopped in front of the bomber. His eyes went straight to the explosive vest, then the gun, then the watch with the flashing red heart. Vest, gun, watch. In that order. The watch puzzled him. It looked like the sort of thing a jogger would wear. Judging by the precision of his marksmanship, there was nothing wrong with his eyesight, so what did he need such a large watch for?

  The bomber looked him up and down. ‘Take off the microphone.’

  King did as he was told. He bundled the earpiece, mike and wires together and handed them over. The bomber dropped the device onto the floor and crushed it under his boot heel. He looked King up and down again.

  ‘So this is what the next big thing looks like. I’ve got to say, I’m not impressed. I thought you’d be taller. And that whole frightened-little-boy act you’ve got going on kind of jars with the whole action-hero thing. You know, I saw that film of yours. What a joke. You wouldn’t have lasted a day in the real army. You would have been eaten alive. Special Forces? I don’t think so.’ He paused. ‘Okay, how about you tell me what you’ve been up to back there for the last three hours?’

  The bomber raised the gun and sighted along the barrel, and King started talking.

  25

  JJ was only half-listening so all she picked up was the odd word. FBI, hidden camera, throat mike. She was trying to find the positives in the situation, while desperately trying to work out a move that would keep her alive. Mostly, though, she was trying hard to pretend that it wasn’t King standing there because the guilt was too much to bear.

  The actor was little more than a kid, and he was going to die because of her. She tried to tell herself that she wasn’t holding the gun, that it wasn’t her who was about to pull the trigger. She tried to tell herself that she couldn’t take responsibility for other people’s actions, that she shouldn’t take responsibility, but it didn’t work. This was her fault. She’d arranged the date with Simone. She’d made the lunch reservation. And it was her who’d dragged him here kicking and screaming.

  King finished talking and Marley told him to empty his pockets. He dropped everything onto a nearby table. Cell phone, billfold, a small scuffed Ziploc bag. Marley picked up the bag and held it to the light.

  ‘Heroin or cocaine?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s coke.’

  Marley tipped the bag upside down and watched the contents drift like snow to the floor. He shook his head.

  ‘You dumb son of a bitch. You’ve got the whole world at your feet and you’ve got to go and stick this crap up your nose.’

  ‘It’s just coke.’

  ‘Just coke! Next you’ll be telling me you’re not an addict.’

  ‘I’m not an addict.’

  ‘So what? You use it every now and again? Just the occasional line to make the party swing a little harder, is that it?’

  ‘No man, you’ve got it all wrong. I’ve stopped.’

  Marley barked out a laugh. ‘Of course you have. That’s why you’ve got that bag in your pocket. What is it w
ith the people in this town? Are you all stupid? You know, I could have stayed in bed today, just let that whole survival of the fittest thing take its course. Leave it long enough and you’re all going to end up extinct anyway.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t get it. I really don’t. You’ve got everything going in your favour yet you want to go and screw it all up by taking drugs. Come on, help me out here. Why would you do that?’

  King shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘And that’s the best you can come up with?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  JJ felt her heart breaking. King didn’t just look like a scared, lost kid, he sounded like one, too. The actor shrugged again, then shook his head and stared straight at Marley.

  ‘What? Have I got pizza around my mouth? Is my fly undone?’

  King let out a small, self-deprecating laugh and shook his head. ‘This is stupid, but when I was hiding back there I promised myself that if I ever got out of here I was going to start over. I was going to go the whole nine yards. Get myself into therapy and get my head sorted out once and for all. I really meant it, too.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t even know why I’m bothering telling you any of this since you’re just going to shoot me anyway, but it’s been forty-three days since I last had any coke. I keep that bag on me because I find it helps. It’s like a smoker keeping a pack with one cigarette in. I know how lame that sounds but it’s the truth. I swear on my life. If you don’t believe me, look how beat up the bag is. If I was still using, that bag would be new.’

  Marley glanced at the bag, then stared hard and long at King. The actor broke eye contact and looked at his socks.

  ‘And that’s the God’s honest truth? And don’t even think about lying to me, son. As I’m sure these good folks will testify, I’ve got a bullshit detector the likes of which you would not believe.’

  King nodded, and Marley stared some more.

  ‘I guess everyone deserves a second chance,’ Marley said eventually. ‘After all, that’s why we’re here today. If I’d given Tricia a second chance, then things would have worked out very differently.’

  King said nothing.

  ‘Alex, I’m going to be honest with you because you’ve been honest with me. I was going to kill you, but I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to let you go.’

  King sagged with relief. He opened his mouth to say something and the bomber shut him up with a wave of his hand.

  ‘Before you get too excited, there is a condition. When you get out of here, you’re never going to use that crap again. Do you understand? Never. Again. You’re not even fit to breathe the same air as my Tricia, but if I can save even one person from the same fate, then that’s got to be worth something. But bear this in mind. If you ever use drugs again, even once, even a little bit, I will come back and haunt you until the end of time. Do I make myself clear?’

  King nodded. JJ doubted he knew who Tricia was. She doubted he cared. All that mattered was that he was getting out of here. She heard Marley tell him to get undressed and that’s when everything turned to shit. King reached under his shirt, and JJ saw the glint of steel and knew exactly how this was going to play out. There was no time to think. She launched herself from the chair and hurtled towards the actor, desperate to stop him, but knowing it was already too late. This was her worst nightmare come to life. The idiot was trying to play the hero.

  Time went long, but it wasn’t long enough. It didn’t matter how fast she moved, there was no way to reach King in time. It was like that long-ago night when Tom had died. Whether you were a second too late, or ten minutes, or an hour, it was all the same. Marley’s arm came up to defend himself and it was like everything was moving in slow motion. King countered the move and lunged with the kitchen knife, burying it deep into Marley’s neck. A second later, JJ crashed into them. Her last thought was that, yet again, she was too late.

  26

  JJ opened her eyes and saw Marley lying on the floor beside her. His eyelids fluttered as he fought to stay conscious, but he was fighting a losing battle. You didn’t need a medical degree to see that he was in a bad way. There was just too much blood pulsing from the knife wound. His eyes closed again and this time they stayed shut. The heartbeat on the watch was flashing at ninety beats a minute. As she watched, it dropped to eighty-nine.

  JJ jumped to her feet and pushed past King. She grabbed some napkins from one of the tables then dropped to her knees beside Marley. She knew from TV that removing the knife would make the injury worse, and she knew you had to apply pressure to the wound, but that’s all she knew. She arranged the napkins around the knife and pressed down hard. The sad face that had been carved into the knife’s handle seemed oddly fitting. King was getting to his feet beside her, a look of dumb incomprehension on his face. He kept glancing at his empty hands like he couldn’t work out what they were.

  ‘You idiot!’ she shouted at him.

  ‘I had to do it. He was going to find the knife.’

  JJ glared at him.

  ‘What? I’ve just saved our lives.’

  ‘No, you’ve probably just got us killed.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘And there’s no time to explain.’ JJ turned to Tony. ‘Get everyone out. Now!’

  The restaurant owner struggled to his feet and started ushering Ed Richards and Bev towards the foyer. Their faces were worried, eyes scared. JJ looked at Marley’s watch. His heart rate was down to eighty-seven. Only thirty-seven beats to go. King was hovering at her shoulder, glued to the spot.

  ‘Get out of here!’ she screamed at him.

  The actor jumped like he’d been electrocuted, then sprinted after the others.

  ‘JJ, come on,’ Tony shouted over his shoulder. ‘You need to get out.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she called back. ‘If I go now, Marley will die quicker. You’ll never get clear in time.’

  ‘You can’t stay here’.

  ‘Please, Tony, just go.’

  Tony looked at her one last time, then disappeared into the foyer. JJ pressed harder on the wound, blood seeping between her fingers. If she left now, Marley would bleed out more quickly. His heart rate would plummet and she’d probably be dead before she made it to the lower level. If she stayed then his heart rate would slowly fall until it reached fifty. Either way, she was dead.

  She suddenly felt more alone than she’d ever felt, even more alone than she’d felt during those dark days after she’d buried Tom. This was crazy. She never acted on impulse, yet here she was, kneeling on the floor with the hot blood of a murderer covering her hands.

  Her eyes locked onto the sad face carved into the knife handle. It was almost as though it was mocking her. What’s more, she deserved to be mocked. You gathered the facts, formulated a strategy, then executed that strategy. That’s how things worked in her world. But not this time. She’d acted without thinking, and now she was facing the consequences of those actions. JJ almost laughed at that. Like Marley had said, it was all about consequences.

  A second later an explosion ripped through the restaurant. JJ instinctively shut her eyes. When she opened them again, she was still alive. Her ears were ringing, her head was full of noise, but her heart and lungs were still pumping. There was a second explosion. This one sounded smaller because she’d been deafened by the first. The doors and grilles, she realised. It had to be.

  Eighty beats and counting.

  JJ grabbed some clean napkins and laid them on top of the blood-soaked ones. She pressed down hard, careful not to move the knife. There was blood on her fingers and hands. Alarm bells were chiming inside her head. She glanced at the watch and saw Marley’s heart-rate drop by another beat. The stink of him had got into her nose again. Cheap aftershave and soap, but eclipsing all that, the hot smell of his blood.

  ‘Don’t die.’ She whispered the words under her breath, repeating them over and over. ‘Don’t die, don’t die. Don’t you dare die, you son of a bitch.’

  Seventy-eight beats.

>   Marley’s eyes suddenly flickered open and he reached up and grabbed her wrist. There was no strength in his grip. It was like being grabbed by a ghost. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a wet, gurgling sound. It took JJ a second to realise he was laughing at her.

  Seventy-six beats.

  Had Tony reached safety yet? She hoped he had, otherwise this had all been for nothing. The irony of the situation hadn’t escaped her. For someone who spent her whole life divining the future, she’d really screwed this one up.

  A heavy hand landed on her shoulder. She looked up and saw a SWAT guy in full battle gear. He motioned for her to move aside.

  JJ shook her head. ‘I can’t. I need to keep him alive.’

  A second SWAT guy grabbed her, threw her over his shoulder, and sprinted towards the stairs. She glanced back at Marley. There were two SWAT men working on him. One was keeping pressure on the wound, while the other attempted to defuse the bomb vest. The guy carrying her jumped from the last step, then sprinted across the lower level and into the foyer. They crashed through the wreckage of the front doors and burst out into the parking lot. The sunlight touching her naked skin felt like the kiss of an angel.

  Epilogue

  So, how are you going to play this one?

  First, you’re going to remove the battery from your cell phone. The concept is completely alien, and it takes a couple of attempts before you manage it. You feel like you’re unplugging yourself from civilisation, which is exactly what you are doing. When the cops finally returned the phone to you, there were 236 missed calls and texts. Some were from friends, but most were from the news channels.

  TRN’s footage of you being carried half-naked from Alfie’s has been playing non-stop since the siege ended. Stills from the footage made the front pages of the morning papers. All of them. The New York Times, the South China Morning Post, the Sydney Morning Herald. Inadvertently, you’ve become the face of the siege. The only saving grace is that your underwear matched and was relatively modest. The fact that the whole world has now seen your cellulite is something you’ll learn to live with. When placed against the fate of the eight hostages who died, it means nothing. You’ve orchestrated plenty of media circuses, but this is the first time you’ve been the main feature. It is not a comfortable place to be.