Play Time
Nobody found poor little Rosie the Hooker’s body for a long time. Almost three months passed before a hiker discovered her bones and various tufts of russet-red hair that had not been dragged away by wild animals. But that was okay. The news of the murder hit all the Los Angeles newspapers, and Junior and Lucky bought up all the editions and pored over the articles and photos. Turned out Rosie was a runaway from Ada, Oklahoma. Her real name was Mary Sue Johnston. She was twenty-nine, a wannabe actress, and a UCLA film student. The newspapers said her life’s ambition was to join the cast of Grey’s Anatomy. The papers had printed her senior picture, in which she looked a lot younger and fresh-faced.
No clues found with the body, however, and no mention made of the candlestick token they’d left glued to her palm. Police were probably keeping that information secret in case a confession came in. Junior and Lucky hadn’t made a single mistake, and that boded well for the next round of their lethal little game. They hadn’t committed murder again, hadn’t had the urge all that much. It had been a bloody affair, after all. Instead, they’d spent time in the basement, sitting at the table and remembering the shivery thrill of it all. They burned the bloodstained rug where Rosie had landed and mopped up all the spilled blood on the big white tiles with concentrated bleach water. Then they got serious about their game. For weeks, they sat and figured out the all the complicated rules of Live or Die, using elements from several other board games and eventually ironing out every detail that bothered them. They could not be careless or reckless. One thing for certain: In the future, they would kill their victims elsewhere so they wouldn’t have to clean up such a big mess. That nasty task had not been pleasant, and the game room still smelled like blood. Cleaning up a murder scene sucked.
Months after Rosie had been located, Junior and Lucky huddled together one night at the game table. They were both ready—time to choose victim number two. Since they’d made the decision to kill again they’d been beside themselves with excitement. That was the best part about the act of murder, they had found: the intricate planning and burgeoning anticipation and nerves and fear, but, most of all, the ultimate high of taking a life. They talked a lot about watching a person die, watching a life end for good. How the light left their eyes. They liked that. The finality. The power they possessed. So they spread out the new game board they’d designed on the table and let the fun begin.
“Okay, first off: Career or College or Travel.” Junior looked up at Lucky. Lucky’s eyes absolutely shone with eagerness. He was really into the game now. “You know what, Lucky?”
“What?”
“I think we oughta make this one a contest. Show off our own personal skills and techniques. See who’s better at the game of murder. See who can get the least blood spatter, stuff like that. We can make up a point system. That would be fun.”
Lucky scoffed. “I’m better at killing, and I always will be. I killed lots of people before you even thought about it, if you’ll recall? It’s your turn.”
“If this is a game, we need to treat it as a game. We’ll choose our victims, and then we’ll see who does the murder the fastest and the best, and maybe with the most imagination. Ten points for each of those, at least.”
“You mean you really want to off two people at the same time?”
“Precisely.”
“That’ll just end up posing more chances for us to get caught. We don’t need to go overboard and start pushing the envelope like this. No, you kill one. Then later, I’ll kill one. Maybe later, as we improve with all this, we can go after two at a time. Don’t get greedy, dude.”
Junior was too jacked up on the idea to heed Lucky’s fears. “Bullshit. Think about it: Maybe we could tag along with each other, but only to watch. Maybe one of us could film the other guy’s murder. We’d be at the scene together, if that’s what you really want to do. But the rule is that the guy with the camera can’t help do the killing. That wouldn’t be fair. No competition in that.”
“We’ll throw dice for who gets to go first.”
“Awesome, man. Whatever.”
“Man, do I love this game! My favorite thing ever. We are such badasses to do this and get away with it.”
Junior grinned. He had always wanted to be called a badass. “Don’t get so carried away. You’ve got to stop that or you’re gonna make some careless mistake and get yourself caught.”
It appeared Lucky didn’t like Junior’s criticism. He frowned and crossed his arms over his chest like he always did when he was ticked off. He had become so much more cautious than Junior. Who would have thought that? Lucky was the daredevil in the house. He was the one who took all the risks.
“Okay, c’mon, Lucky, let’s just get this done. Forget the dice. I’ll go first because this was my idea.” He spun and smiled. “Okay, I’m gonna go with a professional person this time. Now for the weapon. Hand me the tokens.”
Lucky picked up the small cloth pouch and handed it over. Junior pulled open the drawstring and reached inside. He pulled out a piece of coiled rope. “Ah, lookee here: I get to hang my first guy. I’ve been working on how to tie a hangman’s noose. Pretty good at it now.”
“Or you could use the rope as a garrote. That’d probably be less trouble for the kill. Hanging takes a lot of planning and finesse.”
“Maybe if it’s a big guy, I’ll use it as a garrote. A girl or a little guy? I want to hang them high, watch their feet kick.”
Lucky shook his head. “Why?”
“Because I’m not as strong as you are. I’ll have trouble lifting somebody heavy. And you’re not allowed to help, just watch. You’ve got to promise me.”
“Okay. Unless you get yourself in a jam. Then all bets are off. But if you’re going to do this alone, you need to hit the gym and get some strength in your arms. Some of these guys we pick out are bound to fight back. They’ll be fighting for their lives, and they’ll tear you up in about ten seconds.”
“Shut up, Lucky. I can get the job done, so don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself when you pick your own victim. Remember, sometimes you’re too careless and reckless and don’t plan things out. Just hand me the mags.”
Junior decided to choose a college student like Rosie. He chose a magazine out of the latest stack: Sports Illustrated. The photo he chose at random was an advertisement depicting a heavyset plumber wearing a ball cap and holding a plunger as he fixed a toilet. The guy looked Hispanic, pretty sturdy and strong, and wore his cap backwards.
“He probably didn’t go to college, Junior.”
“Yeah, but he probably went to school to learn his trade, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Piece of cake. He’s not all that big. He’s not gonna be a problem for you. Unless he’s armed. We have to consider that, you know. Lots of people concealed carry now.”
“Nah, I’m not worried. I’ll just sneak up when he’s least expecting it and knock him out. Or I’ll get him while he’s asleep. Then I can do whatever I want to him.”
“My turn to pick my victim,” said Lucky.
Lucky picked up a copy of Fortune magazine. He closed his eyes and stabbed his finger down on a page. It landed near a picture of a lawyer, a man sitting at the defense table in a courtroom. “Well, this ought to be fun. Lots of slick lawyers right here in L.A.”
“Better watch it. An attorney might outthink you.”
“Not if he’s already unconscious. Let me pick a weapon.”
Smiling at Junior, Lucky shook the bag and drew out the toy revolver. “Okay, good deal. I’ve got a gun I won in a poker game with the serial number already scraped off. And I’ve got a silencer I bought off a guy when we were down in Houston at that big gun show. Maybe I’ll just shoot him with his own weapon, if he’s carrying one. Make it look like suicide. That would be something new and different.”
Junior leaned back and gazed at him. “Okay, then we’re all set. Let’s do this thing. Me first. I end the plumber.”
“Game on,” said Lucky.
“Game on,” said Junior.
They both smiled.