by Jeff Strand
"I still don't feel that way."
"That isn't why you tried to get me out of the cage? I mean, the other cage?"
"When you've been dreaming about a Cyclops, and then somebody comes to talk to you about a Cyclops, you want to hear what they've got to say."
"The Cyclops is real," says Harriett.
"That part, I'm not ready to buy. I just want to know how you know my dreams."
I look at Harriett. "I'd like to know why Maraud is dreaming about Cyclopses, Seth is fantasizing about them, and you were trained to kill them. Why isn't it consistent?"
"I don't know."
"Yeah, I assumed you didn't."
Harriett turns to Maraud. "After we make our escape, I'll show you a scroll that explains everything. This is your destiny, Maraud the Berserker."
"Just Maraud," he says.
"So, I'm all for talking about Cyclops stuff," says Seth, "but I just got brought in here at gunpoint when I tried to save your butts. I'd like to focus a little more on the short-term. I feel like I missed a lot."
"You did miss quite a bit," I say. "What happened to your sword?"
"If Raiders of the Lost Ark taught us anything, it's that you don't swing your sword at somebody who has a gun."
"That's reasonable. You're right, we need a plan."
"I'm not a big planner," says Maraud. "I live moment to moment."
"I respect that," I say. "But an alternative to that lifestyle is one where we figure out how we're not going to die when Mr. Tidy gets here."
"We'll have to convince him of the importance of our quest," says Harriett.
"Oh, sure, that'll work. These are psychopaths who do cage fights. You can't use the word 'quest' around lunatics like these."
"Mr. Tidy was not at the fight," says Harriett. "Perhaps he abhors violence."
"He doesn't abhor violence! He's coming to kill us!"
"I know Mr. Tidy," says Maraud. "He does abhor violence. When he kills us, it will be humane."
"So what's your plan?"
"Reason with him."
"Oh. Okay, then. So, while we wait to reason with Mr. Tidy, can I ask why you're spending your nights like this? You seem like an intelligent guy."
"Fights are only once a month," says Maraud. "I hate them. But if I win, and I always win, I can make three thousand bucks. That's enough that I can spend the rest of my time reading and watching independent films. Fair trade."
"That really does sound like a sweet deal," says Seth. "I wish I could do that."
"You get nothing if you lose."
"Yeah, that's where it would fall apart for me."
"Has the Dice Man ever rolled double sixes on you?" I ask.
"Yes."
"And?"
"And I won the fight."
We're all quiet for a moment.
"Do you have a family?" Harriett asks him.
"I have three ex-wives who hate me."
"Did you reproduce?"
"Nope, thank God." He rubs his left leg. "Hate to do this, but I'm getting a cramp. Going to have to stretch."
We all rearrange ourselves in the cage so that Maraud can stretch his legs. It's bad enough that my whole body hurts and that the cage was never meant to accommodate four people (and, technically, I'd count Maraud as a person and a half), but it's also miserably hot in here. We're all covered in sweat and blood, and the smell is awful. If the residents of the small town we're supposed to be saving could see us now, they'd probably request a new batch of champions.
"Are you currently courting a fourth potential wife?" asks Harriett.
"Accepted my sexual orientation couple of years ago. Much happier now. If you're a large gay man with an Internet connection and a working car, you're not lonely. Good life."
Harriett raises an eyebrow and looks at me.
"That's awesome," says Seth. "I wish I were at least bi. I know there are disadvantages to being gay, with persecution and some civil liberties issues and all that, but as far as online hookups go, you've got it made."
"Making up for lost time. Wish I'd figured it out sooner. Wasn't fair to my ex-wives. They deserved better." Maraud shifts uncomfortably. "Sorry, need everyone to readjust again."
We all make room for him to stretch his legs.
"So," I say, "since I'm the skeptic of the group, this might sound better coming from me. We're on our way to Arizona. We don't know exactly where yet. Our goal is to find the Cyclops and slay him, which will save the residents of the small town where he's ruining things for everybody. Before that, we have to find a weapon that's at the bottom of a well. Are you in?"
"Not if we die."
"I thought you were going to reason with Mr. Tidy?"
"Going to try to reason with him. Not a reasonable man, though. Vegas odds, going to say ten-to-one that we all die in here."
"Okay, that's not good to hear, because I was kind of under the impression that you were optimistic."
"Not at all," says Maraud. "Sorry for giving that impression. No, we're pretty well screwed. Not in the habit of showing fear."
"But let's discuss the possibility that we are not minutes away from death," says Harriett. "Will you join us?"
"What does it pay?"
"There is no payment involved, except fulfillment of your destiny."
"You took away my livelihood, so that doesn't really work for me. I have nothing now. Wish I could sue you."
"I'm sure we can work something out," I say.
Seth raises his hand. "I just want to say that I'm totally cool with the idea of him getting paid when I'm not. That's how committed I am."
"Thank you," says Harriett.
"Don't mention it."
The door swings open. A very old man, slender almost to the point of being skeletal, walks inside. He's dressed in a dark blue suit and holds a small black leather bag. He looks like every step wracks his body with pain.
He closes the door behind him, then stands there, looking into the cage.
"Got yourselves into a mess, I see," he says.
"Yes, sir," says Harriett.
"And I get to clean it up." He sighs. He points to me. "Evan Portin. Newly widowed, newly unemployed. You'll be missed by some, but not enough to cause problems for me."
If that's my eulogy, it was sure a crappy one.
"Maurice Halligan. Stage name, Maraud the Berserker. Sad to see you in this position."
"Sad to be here."
"Sad or not, I believe that the world will be better off without you, and I think you agree with that."
"Yep."
Mr. Tidy points to Seth. "Seth Lynch. I'm sure your parents will be very upset that you didn't return home. But you're very far from home, and I'm confident that they won't find your grave."
"I texted them my location right before I got here."
"No. You did not."
Seth curses under his breath.
Mr. Tidy points to Harriett. "And, last, Harriett Lancaster. There's not much information available about you, is there? But, like Mr. Portin and Mr. Lynch, you are very far from home, and I can extinguish you." He unzips his bag, reaches inside, and takes out a hypodermic needle. "Who would like to be first?"
Nobody volunteers.
"It won't hurt," says Mr. Tidy. "You'll feel a gentle tingle. Rather pleasant, in fact, although of course I haven't tried it myself. What about you, Mr. Portin? Would you like to start things off? Give me your arm."
I'm not aware of any instance in which assuring a captor that you won't say anything to anybody has worked, but I see no reason not to try it myself. "We won't say anything, I promise," I tell him. "You said yourself that nobody knows where we are. Just let us go and we won't say a word."
"No. And it's a little insulting that you would even take that approach."
"We can pay you."
"You already have. Your car has been confiscated and is being dismantled at this very moment. Inside they found weapons and approximately twelve thousand dollars in cash. Thank you
for your donation."
Now my brain has finally accepted the reality that this man may indeed murder the four of us. I'm going to die in a cage like a lab animal, except without the contributions to science.
"Mr. Portin," he says, "please give me your arm."
"I don't think so."
Mr. Tidy gives us a cruel smile. "I always enjoy seeing human beings turn on each other. So, would one of you other three care to give me Mr. Portin's arm, or should I change the order of your executions?"
"Make you a deal," says Maraud. "Let us go, all four of us, and I'll give you bacon."
Mr. Tidy looks intrigued. "You will?"
"Yeah. Within an hour."
Mr. Tidy seems to be considering the offer. I have no idea what is going on here. If I knew that this was how we could negotiate our way to freedom, I would have offered him a bacon cheeseburger with extra bacon and a bun made out of bacon-topped bacon.
"I thought your ex-wife won him in the divorce."
"She did. But it was a spite thing. I can convince her to give him up."
"Then, yes, I accept those terms. A couple of gentlemen will transport you there and back."
Mr. Tidy puts the hypodermic needle away. He walks back toward the door, still looking agonized with every step. We silently watch as he opens the door and slowly leaves the room.
"So you didn't mean, like, actual bacon, did you?" asks Seth.
"No. Bacon's a Dachshund. Mr. Tidy fell in love with her back when Denise and I were still together."
"He's not going to eat the dog, is he?" I ask.
"No, he's not going to eat the dog! He's going to give him a good home. What kind of question is that?"
"I don't think it was an unreasonable one," I say. "He's not morally sound. He might be a dog-eater."
"You think I'd give up my dog to get eaten?"
"It's your ex-wife's dog now."
"Doesn't mean I'd let Bacon get hurt. What kind of monster do you think I am?"
"Look, I love dogs as much as anyone," says Seth, "but even if Mr. Tidy was standing there with a knife and fork, if he's going to let us go, the wiener dog is a good trade."
"He's not going to eat the dog," says Maraud.
"I understand that. I'm just saying that even if he was, you're doing the right thing."
"Wouldn't give up Bacon's life for you people. Don't even know you."
The two men in jumpsuits return to the room. One of them keeps a gun pointed at us, while the other lets Maraud out of the cage. The idea that we will be shot if anybody else tries to get out of the cage is not explicitly stated but very strongly implied. I hope that Maraud will go berserk and subdue them before they lock the cage again, but he doesn't.
"Back as soon as possible," he says, as they lead him out of the room.
"Do you think it makes me look bad that I'm okay with the dog being eaten?" asks Seth. "I mean, I'm glad that the dog will be treated well. That's the preferred outcome. I just think that the lives of the four of us are worth a dog. Maybe I'd feel differently if I'd met Bacon."
I think there are more important conversations we could be having right now. I stretch out, enjoying the disappearance of Maraud's bulk.
"I know we're supposed to be celebrating the fact that we may not die tonight," I say, "but you both caught the part where he said that my car was being dismantled, right? And the money and weapons are gone. What are we going to do about that?"
"I assumed that they'd give the money and weapons back after they let us go," said Seth.
"Why the hell would you think that?"
"I guess my mind couldn't cope with any other possibility."
"Let's face it," I say, "our whole little Cyclops-slaying adventure is over. We have nothing."
"I understand your cynicism," says Harriett. "Personally, as long as I draw breath and am reasonably mobile, I will not give up."
"Well, good. I admire that. Meanwhile, I'm going to figure out how to get a bus ticket back to Florida, so that I can try to rebuild the pile of smoldering debris that is my life."
Harriett puts her hand on my shoulder. "Evan, I feel that we've become friends throughout this experience. Right now, while we're still trapped in a cage awaiting an uncertain fate, it is perfectly sensible that you'd want to return home. All I ask is that you postpone the final decision until we're no longer in peril."
"Sure. Fine. Whatever. Why not?"
"What do we do now?" asks Seth.
"I guess relax until Maraud gets back."
* * *
About an hour later, the door opens again. Maraud and one of the men, who has still not changed out of his bloodstained jumpsuit, walk inside the small room.
"We're all set," says Maraud.
I sit up so quickly that I bang my head on the top of the cage. "Really?"
"Yep. Had to kidnap the dog, but it's all good."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The still-sweaty unshaven guy who'd taken our admission fee tosses some cards onto the desk. It's our driver's licenses and credit cards. Then he tosses Harriett's passport onto the desk, followed by our cell phones.
"That's all you get," he says.
"What about my shirt?" I ask.
"Nope."
"My shirt doesn't have any resale value. Why be needlessly crappy?"
The sweaty guy grins. "Why does it surprise you that people who run to-the-death cage matches are sadistic?"
"Come on, there's a picture of my wife in my wallet, and it's the only copy of that picture I have. I'm a widower. Show some heart."
"Sorry. Already burned it."
"What about my scroll?" Harriett asks.
"No scroll for you, babe."
"Did you burn it?"
"Maybe."
"If you didn't burn it, I'd very much like it back. This is for your benefit as well as mine, because not returning it will work out poorly for you."
The sweaty guy gives her the finger. I'm not sure if Harriett knows what that means.
"We're giving you back the bare minimum you need to get home. You're lucky we did that. When you walk out of here, you're going to forget all about tonight, or it won't just be the picture of his dead wife that gets set on fire. Got it?"
"I completely understand," says Harriett. "But I'd still like my scroll returned."
"You want your scroll back?"
"Yes, please."
The sweaty guy opens his desk drawer and takes it out. "I was going to have it appraised at an antiques place, but if you want it back..."
He holds up the scroll, then slowly tears it in half. He holds those two pieces together and tears them in half. He rips those four pieces into eight, and then the eight into sixteen, and then the sixteen into thirty-two. Harriett's face is expressionless. He lets the pieces sprinkle onto the desk, then pushes them toward her.
"Here you go."
"Thank you," Harriett says, gathering the pieces.
"Now get out of here. Tell anybody, and terrible things will happen. Have a nice day."
* * *
Harriett, Seth, Maraud, and I walk down the sidewalk. We're all in a lot of pain, except for Seth, and though we're happy to be alive, we're not in a particularly cheery mood.
Our cell phone batteries have been drained, presumably to discourage us from immediately calling the police. But Maraud insists that "terrible things will happen" is a promise that they are very much capable of keeping. Forgetting about the past few hours is the best course of action.
I'm angry about the entire situation, but I have to admit that the scroll thing pissed me off the most. Enough that I almost want to continue the journey just out of spite over their attempt to screw us over.
"May I speak to you as if you were the man who tore up my scroll?" Harriett asks me.
"Excuse me?"
"I wished to say something to him, but since the dangerous situation had been resolved, I didn't want to create a complication. Therefore, I was more polite than I desired to be. I would like to
recreate what I would have said with you in his role."
"Uh, sure."
Harriett holds up the handful of scroll pieces. "I don't need these," she hisses at me. "I memorized the contents long ago, and I've already shown the scroll to everybody who needs to see it. I simply don't want it to remain in the filthy, sweaty, greasy, repugnant hands of a disgusting and morally compromised wretch such as yourself. I wish you nothing but the worst." She lowers her hand. "Thank you, Evan. I needed to get that out. I feel better now."
"This is where I say goodbye," says Maraud. "Wasn't good to meet you. Hope our paths don't cross again. Good night."
"You're leaving us?" asks Harriett.
"Of course I am."
"What about your dreams?"
"I assume I talk in my sleep, and it got picked up by my cell phone, which I stupidly keep too close to my bed. You hacked in, and this is some sort of con game."
"You really believe that?" I ask.
"Compared to what? That you want me to go with you to a magical land and knock off a Cyclops?"
"It's not a magical land," says Seth. "It's Arizona."
"Sorry, everyone. You got my attention for sure, but I'm not that gullible."
"I was in a fight to the death," I say. "Why would I do that as part of a con game?"
"You didn't know it was a fight to the death."
"All right. Good point. But I swear to you, there's no con here. I'm not saying that we're correct or even sane, but we're not trying to scam you."
"Even if you're not, the way things have gone so far, you're not people I should be hanging out with. Lucky I didn't leave you in the cage. If the deal was to trade Bacon for only my life, I assure you, I would've taken it."
"We have sacrificed a great deal to find you," says Harriett. "Many lives are at stake. We desperately need your help. We can't offer much, or anything at this point, but it's imperative that you join us. Please, Maurice."
"I don't hurt women, so if you call me Maurice again," he points to me, "I'll break his neck."
"I apologize," says Harriett. "Please, Maraud."
"Nope. But I wish you luck."
"Can I tell him the truth?" I ask Seth, because I'm not entirely sure that Harriett will play along.
Seth gives me a solemn nod.
