Bad Games 2 - Vengeful Games (21 page)

“Yeah, Friday I think.”

Todd said, “I’d have to be on death’s door to keep me outta here if my presentation was at the end of the week.”

Patrick nodded lazily in agreement. He had fallen into a daze, recalling the incident with Steve Lucas from the previous Friday. Lucas was going to see his new girl. He seemed excited. Maybe they ran off to Vegas and eloped?

Patrick said: “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing, I’m just … Lucas invited me to happy hour last Friday. Wanted me to meet his new girl. I was thinking maybe they eloped or something.”

Todd snorted. “Well if they did, then I hope for his sake the girl’s got some money—’cause if he doesn’t explain his whereabouts soon, he’s gonna lose that account.”

Patrick nodded in agreement again.

Todd Hartnett left. Patrick gave recent events a few more seconds of consideration, then discarded the issue and went back to work.

*

Patrick sipped from a bottle of warm Coke and looked at his watch. It was 4 p.m. Steve Lucas had yet to show today. Why the hell should he care? After what the prick said to him on Friday he’s lucky he didn’t crack him one.

Patrick took the last swallow of his warm Coke, tossed it in the trash, and spun back to his PC. He stared at the screen. It may as well have been blank. He
did
care. Damn it, for some reason, he did.

Patrick picked up his phone and punched two numbers. “Suzy, can you get me Steve Lucas at home?”

“It’s just voicemail,” his secretary said. “People have been trying all day.”

“What about his cell?”

“We’ve been trying both.”

Patrick sighed. “What about an address? Do you have his home address?”

A pause.

“Suzy?”

“I’m looking … here it is.”

She read it to him and Patrick jotted it down.

“Are you going to see him?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I might. Thanks, Suzy.”

*

Patrick double checked the address he had written down, looked at the house, then tossed the address onto the passenger seat and stepped out of the Highlander. He walked the path towards Steve Lucas’ front door and rang the bell.

No answer.

He knocked hard. “Steve? You in there? It’s Patrick Lambert.”

The door opened a crack, the chain still on. Patrick took in a slice of Steve Lucas’ face.

“Steve? You alright, man?”

“You alone?” Lucas asked.

Patrick looked behind him, then back at Lucas with an odd look. “Uh … yeah. What the hell’s going on, man?”

Lucas slid the chain and opened the door a little more. “Come in. Hurry up.”

Patrick stepped inside. Lucas locked the door behind him and slid the chain back home.

“Steve, what the hell? You’re acting like aliens are watching you or something.”

Lucas shuffled into his living room and flopped onto his sofa. He was dressed in sweats and a white undershirt. His stubble looked to have several days’ growth.

Patrick took a few cautious steps forward. He saw a hole in Lucas’ dry wall the size of a small melon.

“Steve?”

Lucas looked up.

“Lots of people were asking about you at work today,” Patrick said. “They tried calling you.”

“I know.”

Patrick made a face. “Okay
…
any reason you didn’t answer? Call back?”

Lucas massaged his temples, opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing.

Patrick stepped further into his living room. “Are you sick?”

Lucas shook his head.

Patrick walked further towards the kitchen to his left. “So what’s up then, man? Are you gonna say something or what?”

Lucas kept quiet on the sofa. Patrick was in the kitchen now. He opened a cabinet and spotted a bottle of vodka. A drink. Maybe a drink would relax him and loosen his tongue.

Patrick took the bottle from the cabinet and called: “How about I fix us a drink?”

“
NO.
” Lucas’ voice was strong and firm. And then a few seconds later, soft and weak: “I’m never touching the stuff again.”

Ah,
Patrick thought.
Now we’re getting somewhere.
He stepped out of the kitchen and sat on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “What happened?”

*

Patrick pulled into his garage two hours late. Not a big deal with the Megablast account looming, except that he’d told Amy he’d be home on time. When he walked into the kitchen she was already doing dishes. She didn’t look at him.

“It’s in the microwave if you want it,” she said.

He walked up behind her at the sink and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry I’m late. But trust me, I’ve got a good reason.”

*

They sat on the sofa together, Amy lengthwise with her feet in Patrick’s lap, he upright and massaging her feet—good for a couple of points after being late for dinner.

“How bad was it?” Amy asked.

“He didn’t really go into detail,” Patrick said. “He claims she showed up with a shiner. That’s bad enough I suppose.”

Amy nodded. “I remember him from your work parties. He seemed annoying, but hardly violent.”

“He claims he doesn’t remember anything. Not even a blur.” He tugged one of her toes, cracking it.

She slapped his hand. “I hate that.”

He smiled knowingly.

“So did this lady call the police?”

“I don’t think so,” Patrick said. “I think she would have done so by now. Besides, from the size of the hole in his wall, and from what Lucas told me, the lady’s brother seems a far scarier threat than the police.”

“So then what … ? Is the guy just going to hide in his house forever? What about work?”

“That’s what
I
asked him. He’s got this big account coming up. If it doesn’t pan out due to sheer bad luck, then oh well, it happens to the best of us I guess. But if it doesn’t pan out because he became an unproductive recluse a few days before the presentation …”

Amy slit her own throat with her thumb and made a gurgling noise.

Patrick said, “Exactly.”

“And you were worried he was trying to horn in on Megablast.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

She flicked her foot up and nicked his chin.

“I
wasn’t
,” he insisted. “I just worried he would … muddle things for me.”

“
Muddle
things?”

Patrick tried for another toe, but she jerked her foot away in time and shot him a look. “Yeah, you know—the guy’s a distraction,” he said. “I didn’t want him watching my every move, maybe dropping a dime on me here and there if I didn’t do something he thought I should.”

“Well who the hell is he to judge how you handle your accounts?” she asked.

“Nobody, I’m just saying.” Patrick then groaned, trying to find the right words. “He’s like that annoying friend at the bar who could ruin your chances at getting laid that night.”

Amy cocked her head, arched both eyebrows. “Interesting analogy.”

“Oh stop—you know what I mean.”

Her expression remained fixed on him.

“Look, I’ve been massaging your smelly feet now for over ten minutes. You can forgive me one questionable analogy.”

She shoved her foot in his face, grinding it into his nose. Patrick turned away and pretended to gag.

“Dick,” she said.

“I have a big
what
?”

“You wish.” She shoved her foot in his face again. Patrick laughed, snatched her ankle, and started attacking more toes.

Chapter 43

Steve Lucas eventually showed up for work on Wednesday looking as if he’d just come from a funeral. On Friday, the presentation for the foreign language software company came and went—and went hard. Although Patrick heard it second-hand, the prospective clients had stayed for all of twenty minutes before packing their things and heading out. Lucas apparently crumbled right after, breaking down in tears. Whether it was this pathetic display or not, something tugged on the heartstrings of the powers above and Steve Lucas was kept on board. Granted, his next account was something a sophomore in high school could handle, but it was still work. He still had a job.

Lucas knocked lightly on Patrick’s office window the following Monday. Usually, Lucas would just walk on in without an invite. Apparently his reprieve had knocked his bombastic nature down a peg, and that was just fine with Patrick. He waved him in.

“Hey, Patrick,” Lucas said softly. “Can I sit?”

Wow,
Patrick thought,
the man’s been reborn.
“Sure,” he said. “Have a seat.” And then once they settled, “What’s up?”

“Couple of things really. First, I wanted to thank you for coming by to check on me.” He looked over his shoulder despite the closed office door, then lowered his voice.
“I trust you didn’t tell anybody anything?
”

Patrick shook his head. “No—I didn’t say anything.”

Lucas sighed as though he’d been holding his breath. “Thanks.”

Patrick nodded once. “No problem, man. I’m glad they decided to keep you on board.”

Lucas didn’t acknowledge the comment; he appeared preoccupied with things already spoken. He looked up at Patrick with soulful eyes. “You won’t say anything, will you, Patrick?”

Patrick gave a thin smile. “No, Steve, I won’t. What’s done is done, okay? Let’s just focus on the future.”

Steve Lucas’ face started to brighten. He stood and extended his hand. “That’s great. Thanks so much, man.”

Patrick shook his hand. “Not a problem. Let’s get back to work now, yeah?”

Lucas’ face continued to brighten, to change, as if all truly
had
been forgotten. Could that be possible? Patrick wondered. Was the old Steve Lucas back just like that? Patrick felt a twinge of something. Jealousy maybe?

“Got the big Megablast presentation soon, right?” Lucas said, taking a seat again. “Wednesday?”

Patrick nodded slowly and reluctantly. “Yup. Two days.”

Lucas leaned back and put his feet up on Patrick’s desk. “You feel good?”

“Fine,” he said, his eyes on the souls of Lucas’ shoes.

“Nervous?”

Patrick’s toes bunched together like fists, his jaw clenched until he was aware of it. Again he wondered, why? The presentation was all but done. He was more than prepared—a fighter who had trained harder than he’d ever done his entire life. All there was left to do was step into the ring and do his job. So why was this twerp stressing him? After recent events, Steve Lucas was anything but a threat to his account now. Yet perhaps Patrick’s analogy to Amy the other night, no matter how crude, wasn’t too far off: He was about to get laid, and he didn’t want some cock-blocking idiot like Steve Lucas to ruin it somehow.

“Not nervous at all,” Patrick said, his tone flat. “Why would I be?”

“No reason.” Steve unwrapped a stick of gum and folded it into his mouth. He chewed and clicked like someone without a care in the world. “It’s a big deal is all. Want to make sure you’re up to the challenge, feeling good.”

Patrick felt his face getting hot, his jaw beginning to ache.

You beat the shit out of some poor woman, blew a huge account, nearly lost your job, and now you’re sitting here with your feet on my desk, clicking your gum without a fucking care in the world, as if nothing happened.

Patrick decided right then and there that Steve Lucas wasn’t just someone he deemed mildly annoying. He hated him. And as much as it dented his ego, Patrick was now certain jealousy was indeed the primary reason. Steve Lucas had somehow came out of his debacle a rosebud, with only a matter of memory-suppressing time before he flourished again. For Patrick and his family, each passing day felt like a long drive through a dark tunnel—a constant journey of heartache that teased his family with a small square of light in the distance when things seemed to be getting better, only to see that square shrink to nothing without warning, placing them right back into darkness no matter how fast or determinedly they drove on. Steve Lucas was everything bad that was happening to Patrick and his family. Steve Lucas was the unrelenting hand of bad luck that prodded him without mercy whenever that tunnel seemed it might have a bright end.

(Crescent Lake)

(weeks of healing in cold hospitals)

(months of psychotherapy)

… prodding him with his goddamned feet on his desk while popping his gum and smiling …

(Caleb and the tacks)

(endless nightmares)

(the infamous trial looming)

… as though nothing had ever happened …

(Oscar dying)

(Bob dying)

(Amy drinking and driving)

“Yeah, I feel good, Steve.” Patrick stood, and with a giant swing, swiped Lucas’ feet off his desk with such force, he nearly tipped the man over in his chair. “Why the fuck shouldn’t I?”

Steve Lucas stared back at Patrick like a frightened boy, his mouth hanging open in shock, the chewed gum visible.

“How the fuck can you sit there and talk to me like that after what you did?” Patrick said. “You think you get some kind of free pass? You think you’re different than everyone else? You were like a little bitch when I went to see you last week. You were like a little bitch a few
hours
ago when you thought your career was fucked. And now you act like it’s all okay? You act like I couldn’t go out there and tell everyone what really happened? What you did?”

Lucas’ lips trembled as he tried for words.

“Why the
fuck
do you care so much about my account, Steve? What the fuck does it have to do with you?”

Any flash of the old Steve Lucas had reverted back to the terrified version Patrick had seen that night in the man’s home. He leaned into Patrick’s desk and whispered fast and desperate. “
Patrick, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any harm, man, I was just talking, you know? Just talking. Please don’t say anything, man
.
Please.
I was just talking.”
He hurried towards the office door. “
I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.
”