Bad Games 2 - Vengeful Games (33 page)

“
What is it?
” Patrick blurted.

“Allan’s dead.” He showed Patrick the photo on his cell.

Dan Briggs appeared in the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

Domino said: “Allan’s dead. They’ve got Amy.”

“
Fuck,
” Briggs muttered. He dropped his head towards the floor and made the sign of the cross on his chest.

Domino flicked his chin towards the den. “Get back in there with the kids. I’ll let you know what the next move is.”

Briggs nodded and re-joined Carrie and Caleb. Domino sneaked a peak at the two children from the kitchen—both of them laying on their stomachs, hands propping up their chins, eyes stuck on the television, feet swaying back and forth like cats’ tails. Not a care in the world. Their mother was in the hands of psychopaths, one of them the nightmare-man their innocent young minds might finally be starting to forget. And they watched television, blissfully ignorant to it all, as if it were any other day. As if Mommy would be walking in the door at any moment.

Domino glanced down at the photo of Allan again, swallowed bile, hit the send button. The phone started to ring.

“
We Kill and Kidnap Stupid People
, Miss Smith speaking,” a woman said in a cheery tone.

“So how’s it gonna be?” Domino asked.

“Nice—direct and to the point. I like that,” the woman said. “Well, for now, I will be taking the lovely Mrs. Lambert to a reunion of sorts.”

“And where might that be?”

“Direct and to the point, but a bit naïve if you think I’m going to tell you that.”

Domino breathed fire through his nose. “Just tell me the part when we get involved.”

“Well it seems to me like you’ve been involved for some time now. Bang-up job, sir. The Lamberts might have been better off just buying another dog.”

Domino was capable of exhibiting the professional discipline of a thousand pacifists, yet with every word this woman spoke he found himself unavoidably drifting towards demolition mode. He bit the inside of his cheek, tasted blood. “Just talk,” he said.

“I don’t feel much like talking right now—I’ve got
sooo
much to do. But please do me a favor and tell Patrick that Arthur will be in touch with him soon … after he gets reacquainted with Amy of course. Ciao!”

The woman hung up.

“What’d they say?” Patrick said. “It sounded like a woman. Was it a woman? What’d she say?”

Domino didn’t answer right away. Dozens of possibilities and objectives raced through his mind. If these bastards wanted Amy dead, she’d
be
dead, right? So that makes her bait. Problem was, what would these sick sons of bitches
do
with the bait while his team— (
one good man down now, God damn it
)

—figured out a way to rescue her? They had to find her fast. Because a thought suddenly occurred to Domino. A thought that tested his earlier logic and made his blood run like ice water:

Bait doesn’t necessarily have to be alive.

“It
was
a woman,” Domino eventually said. He could not look his friend in the eye when he added: “She said she was taking Amy to see Arthur for a reunion of sorts. Said Arthur would be calling soon.”

Patrick dropped his head.

Domino had never felt so awful in his life. For the first time ever, he felt both failure and helplessness. He glanced at his friend. “I’m sorry, man. We
will
get her back.”

Patrick lifted his head. There were no tears, no anger. Instead there was an odd look of revelation. “The lady on the phone said
reunion
?” he asked.

Domino nodded.

Patrick said, “I think I know where they’re taking her.”

Chapter 70

Patrick headed West on the Pennsylvania Turnpike in the silver Toyota Highlander. Domino followed close behind in a black Ford SUV with Briggs bringing up the rear in a black Mustang. Patrick’s cell phone was between his legs, waiting for the call. He didn’t have to wait long.

“This is Patrick.”

“Hey, hey now,” a man said.

“Arty.”

“Wow, first guess. I guess it hasn’t been as long as I thought.”

“What do you want?”

“No small talk first? No ‘
How ya doin?’, ‘How ya been?’
”

“Fuck you. What do you want?”

Arty laughed. “Okay, I can take a hint. I want
you
, buddy boy. You
and
your little rug rats. I want a big old family reunion. I recently had one of my own. It was downright titillating.”

“Keep my kids out of it.”

“Well that’s not gonna happen. You’ve got no bargaining power here, buddy boy—I’ve got Amy.”

“How do I know she’s still alive?”

“You don’t. Dare I say you’ll just have to trust me?”

“Dare I say you can lick the sweat off my sack?”

Arty chuckled. “I can see you’re still the same old wannabe tough guy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Arty. I’m still the same guy who killed your brother and put your scrawny ass in the hospital for months.”

There was a brief silence before Arty said, “You know, you really should use at least
some
discretion here. I promise that you’ll see Amy alive, but if you piss me off, then I can’t promise what kind of condition she’ll be in when you
do
see her. When Jim and I were kids, we used to pull the arms and legs off of insects and see how long they could live without them. It was amazing—some of them would wriggle around for hours. I wonder if Amy could manage the same? Would you still love her if she was just a torso and a head? You’d still be able to fuck her, you know.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I told you—I want a reunion. Any idea where that reunion might be?”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

“Are you heading there now?”

“Soon.”

“And will the kids be with you?”

A deliberate pause.

“Patrick … ?”

“
What?
”

“Will the kids be with you?”

“I told you to keep my kids out of it.”

“And I told you, that wasn’t going to happen. I suggest you think about your wife’s situation.”

“Motherfucker. You
motherfucker.
”

“Can I take that as a yes then? The kiddies will be accompanying you?”

Patrick hissed: “
Yes.
”

“Excellent.”

“How do I know Amy will be at Crescent Lake when we get there?”

Arty’s voice rose with excitement. “You
do
know where to go! I’m impressed.”

“
How do I know Amy will be there?
”

“I give you my word you’ll see her when you get here.”

“Your word means dick to me.”

Another chuckle. “What choice do you have, buddy boy?”

Patrick said nothing.

“Exactly,” Arty said. “I’ll make sure you see your wife, Patrick, but I do have a condition or two.”

“Like what?”

“You come alone. And when I mean alone, I mean
alone.
You and your kids; that’s it. I know you’ve had some hired help, and obviously the Feds are involved. I’ll have eyes everywhere when you get close, Patrick. If I even get the slightest hint that you’re bringing the law with you I promise Amy will die. And you won’t know how. I’ll take her body with me. Imagine living the rest of your life wondering how your wife was killed? The things I did. How long it took. How creative I got. You’ve met me before, you know what kind of imagination I have.”

“I’ll be alone.”

“No Feds.”

“No Feds.”

“No hired goons.”

“No.”

“Just you, Carrie, and Caleb. I’m actually looking forward to seeing those two little buggers again. How have they been? Have they grown? Does Carrie still have that weakness for candy? Still trading dolls for a quick sugar fix?”

“Fuck you.”

Arty laughed. “So then I can expect the three of you tonight? A nice evening at the lake where it all began?”

“You mentioned you just had your own family reunion,” Patrick said.

A pause, and then, “That’s right.”

“So would I be correct in assuming that the help you’ve had thus far hasn’t been from some deranged fan club—it’s been from family?”

“Such a clever boy you are, Patrick.”

“So your
real
family found you then. Or did you find them?”

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.”

“I can tell you this though,” Arty said. “They’re dying to meet you.”

The line went dead.

“I’m dying to meet them too,” Patrick said to himself. He called Domino.

“Talk to me, brother,” Domino said.

“It’s all good,” Patrick said.

“Okay. Don’t call the Feds until we’re close to the lake.”

“I won’t.”

“They’ll notify Allegheny County. Those guys are gonna want vengeance for what happened during the court transfer. That means they’ll wanna be cowboys.”

“You said that could be a good thing, right?”

“In our situation? Yes.”

“You and Briggs good?”

“You don’t need to worry about us.”

A pause.

“They’re family,” Patrick said.

“What?”

“His help. They’re his family. His
real
family.”

“He told you that?”

“Yeah.”

“He confirm how many?”

“No. But I’m guessing it’s just the two—sister and a father. Or maybe he has an older brother. I don’t know.”

“Okay. How you feeling about your kids?”

“I’d feel better if I knew where they were.”

“If you don’t know, they won’t know.”

“
You
know.”

“Your kids are my kids. I hope that’s enough said.”

“It is.”

“Alright then. Hit me up again when we pass Shippensburg. Right now I got a Red Bull with my name on it.”

“Okay.”

Patrick hung up and let out a good five second breath.

Chapter 71

Amy Lambert felt the van slow to a stop. The engine click off. Ever since the last picture of her had been taken she’d been blindfolded—likely a necessary precaution, yet she wondered if the precaution had compensations that delighted her captors. Perhaps they knew that the only thing she would likely see on the black canvas of her blindfold was the last gruesome image that was all but impossible to erase: the image of Christopher Allan’s head being blown open—product of her selfishness for a stupid massage.

Massage.

Oh God, Lana. It only just hit her. Why so long before it resonated, she had no idea, but Lana must certainly be dead. Lana was dead. Because of her. Lana was dead because of her.

The side of Christopher’s head exploding outward.

Lana dead.

How the blood had spackled the walls of the massage room.

Lana dead. Because of her.

Christopher’s lifeless eyes open, his blood on the wall.

Patrick, Carrie, Caleb …

Amy squeezed her eyes tight, shook her head, desperate to will the images away. She was tough. She knew she was. But how much did she have left? How long before she truly snapped? She wondered about people who went crazy. Was it gradual, or did it happen like a switch? She knew there was much more in store for her. Knew she would be seeing Arty again. She only hoped her guess about one’s insanity possibly being decided by a simple flick of a switch was something best left to screenwriters and carried no true merit in the real world. Because if there was anything she wanted more in the real world right now, it was to prevail again. To see Arty dead. Deader than dead. Obliterated. Him and his stupid family.
Fucking dead.
Yes. Yes, this was better. Focus on
this.

Picture Domino breaking Arty’s back with his bare hands.

Picture Dan Briggs snapping the neck of the pretty woman.

Picture you and Patrick kicking a helpless Arty until he stopped breathing.

Picture Domino killing the big guy involved. Shooting him. Stabbing him. Stomping him.

Picture making
sure
everyone was dead. Lighting their bodies on fire. Watching them burn until there was nothing left but bone and ash.

Amy realized she was smiling into her gag as she pictured these things. She was no longer weeping, no longer feeling any remorse—just bloodlust and vengeance. And she wondered if perhaps the aforementioned insanity switch could possibly be a dimmer switch instead. No quick off and on—just a slow, gradual decline into madness. She wondered if her switch was gradually being slid into the abyss.

*

Amy heard the back door of the van open. She flinched when it slammed shut a moment later. Someone was in the van with her.

“How you holding up?”

It was the woman. The pretty woman from her father’s funeral, from the spa. Arty’s supposed sister. Even if Amy didn’t have a gag in her mouth, she likely would have said nothing.

“My father and Arthur are taking a leak. Men have bladders like acorns.”

So the big guy is their father. She was never one hundred percent sure. And Arty was here. Why hadn’t he shown himself yet?

“Do you smoke?”

Amy remained still.

“I’ve never seen you smoke. But if you sneak them from Patrick I’ll let you have one.”

Seen you? How long have you been seeing me?

Amy decided to shake her head.

“Okay—just thought I’d ask. Trying to be a good host and all.”

Amy heard the flick of a lighter, and soon, the smell of cigarette smoke.

“Big night tonight,” the woman said. “It’s taking my brother everything in his power to control himself. He’s wanted to come back here and say hello so many times. But he’s disciplined—like Dad and I. It’s what separates us from the rest of the sheep.” A pause. The sound of inhaling and exhaling. “So are you excited for tonight?”

Amy stayed still.

The woman removed Amy’s blindfold and Amy instantly fixed on the woman. No phony wigs, makeup, or outfits from the spa. The woman had obviously taken the time to clean herself up and was just as stunning as Amy remembered from her father’s funeral. The luxuriant dark hair, the full lips, the shimmering black eyes that now reminded Amy of polished coal behind the rising swirls of smoke from the woman’s cigarette.