“I’m supposed to listen… yell if you try and escape. I don’t know. Maybe making fun.”
“Terry… is that what he plans to do to me?”
“He’s going to make you play the game.”
“Game? What game?”
“Never had a chance,” Terry mumbled. “Why… why’s it so hot in here?”
He’s feverish. The wounds were probably infected, Bob thought. “Concentrate, Terry! What game?”
There was a metal clang from somewhere behind him, a deadbolt being drawn back. A squeaking of hinges followed.
“Terry! What game?!” Bob demanded. “Tell me what you can, before…”
“Before we join you?” The voice came from directly behind him this time, from the direction of the door. “I suspect Terrance has been referring to that old classic, Operation,” Merry Michelsen said.
He walked closer and leaned over Bob. A bodyguard stood to either side. Bob recognized one as Diego, the wannabe MMA fighter from the motel showdown. The other was new, a big, bald side of beef with a spider-web tattoo around his right eye and temple.
“Seriously?” Bob suggested. “Please, for the love of originality, tell me you’re not actually tying me to a table so that you can give me a villain speech. Because I’m all Netflixed out for today.”
Merry glanced at his colleagues. “Will you listen to this feller, boys? He sure got a sack on him, don’t he?” He looked down at Bob. “I kinda like him. I mean, not really. In reality, he’s a pain in my ass that needs to be popped, like a big ol’ pimple. But… you sure got some style, Bob, or whatever your real name is.”
“It’s actually Bob. It’s annoying that nobody ever believes that, for some reason.”
“Well, Bob…”
“The stressing it, like I’m lying? That too,” Bob said.
“Huh. Well now, if you know so much and are feeling so talkative, why don’t you go on ahead and tell me where they got Witty stashed, huh? Then we can get this over with in a more expedient and old-fashioned manner,” Merry suggested.
Bob looked at the man next to him. “What the Hell is he talking about?”
Merry smirked and wagged a finger at him. “Nah! Now… you best be careful how you proceed, vis-à-vis all that bullshit and such. ‘Cos we know what you told my good friend Sergeant Dyche, so we know you got a source and an alibi for your client, or friend, or just whatever the fuck the boy is to you. That’s got to be Officer David Czernowitz. The one who’s missing.”
“I imagine Dyche pretty much always keeps you in front of him,” Bob said. “He may be working for you, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like you. And he sure doesn’t trust you.”
“Is that what you did with Jeb and Witty? Tried to ‘divide and conquer’? Ain’t going to work with me, son. For that to work, a man’s got to care. Now… this is how this here is going to play out. I’m going to ask you one more time for information. Then, we’re going to play a little game called Operation.”
“Okay,” Bob said. “Is that supposed to make me nervous?”
“I mean… It’s Operation. Terry has no eyes. Are the ramifications not entirely clear to you?” Merry wondered aloud.
“Never heard of it,” Bob said, which was true.
“Never…” Merry turned to Diego incredulously. “Did this A-One prime-beef bullshit artist just try to tell me he ain’t never heard of Operation!?”
“Why would I lie about that?” Bob said. “I grew up in the fucking woods, okay? I have no idea what the fuck Operation is, except that it sounds vaguely surgical. Given that Terry’s not going to be reading to blind kids again any time soon, I have to figure that’s close.”
“I wasn’t never disloyal, Merry!” Terry whined. “I told you!”
Bob stayed silent, ignoring the urge to criticize his weakness. He’d known a parade of men who’d needed to belong to something, even at their own expense. Hell, I was one of them. Michelsen had beaten Terry down, like an abused dog, until he welcomed nothing else but a glimmer of hope that Merry would want him around.
You could say he lacked vision… but that would be grim even for you, Bobby.
“Uh huh,” Merry drawled. “Ain’t a problem no more anyhow, Terry. Can’t snitch on what you can’t see, you useless cripple.” He turned back to Bob. “Operation is a board game. Usually, I let the person who owes me play it. Gives them a shot to walk away clean, or, if things go bad, to give me something in return. But for you? We’re going to play for you, ‘cos I don’t trust you on the loose. In fact, I might just have Terry do the honors.”
Diego chuckled at that.
The other bodyguard, the new guy, kept his eyes squarely ahead, swaying in place just enough to make Bob curious. Is he uncomfortable? He looks it.
“I take it this game requires some sort of visual acuity,” Bob said, resting his neck once more by lowering his head back to the granite.
“Oh… it does, it surely does!” Merry said. “Terry’s going to be manipulating a child-sized set of metal tweezers with his teeth, to remove toy organs from an electrified picture of a dude on an operating table. If the tweezers hit the side of the hole as he extracts the organ, the red nose lights up… and you owe me that organ. Just… the real version.”
“You enjoy torturing people and organ theft, in other words,” Bob said. “That’s real original.”
Merry sighed. “See? That kind of big-city, eastern judgment. We’re used to that down here where real people live. I ain’t going to do the deed myself! I’ve got a quack with a habit who handles that for me, former heart surgeon. Which, in your case, is ideal… because that’s the piece Terry’s going to play for first.”
“And I’m guessing you won’t be guiding his hand.”
“Shit, son… I ain’t even going to point him towards the board.”
Diego chuckled once more.
Bob had dealt with his fair share of cruel people while serving and in the CIA. But this guy’s just demented.
“Come on, Terry Perrine, get your lazy blind ass up!” Merry commanded. “Got the board right here. Going to put it down… ah! Don’t you say nothing and help him, or I’ll just go straight to taking out your ticker, okay?”
