I USED TO WORK WITH THIS LAWYER WHO WAS ALL “THE END JUSTIFIES THE MEANS.” SHE’D DO WHATEVER SHE HAD TO DO TO WIN A CASE, AND I SORT OF LOVED IT. LIKE, I WANTED TO PUT HER ON TV AS A PATTY HEWES–TYPE CHARACTER. I WANTED TO LEARN HER SECRETS. I TALKED A BIG GAME BECAUSE WHEN YOU WERE AS SMALL AS I WAS, YOU HAD TO HAVE A HUGE MOUTH. BUT I WAS NOT USUALLY VERY RUTHLESS.
TODAY, THOUGH, ALL BETS WERE OFF.
MILES WAS A GOOD GUY, AND I WAS GRATEFUL TO HIM FOR SHOWING ME THE WAY. BUT SOMETIMES, WHEN SOMEBODY HAS TINY DOLL HANDS, YOU DON’T NOTICE WHEN HE’S HOLDING ONE OF THOSE HANDS BEHIND HIS BACK AND HAS HIS FINGERS CROSSED WHILE HE’S SHAKING ON YOUR DEAL.
THE MAIN THING I WANTED OUT OF TODAY WAS PUBLICLY GROPING KAMEN WHILE HE WORE PANTIES. BUT THE MORE I THOUGHT ABOUT IT, THE MORE I REALIZED THAT THE WAY THE HUNT WAS SET UP, THE HUNTERS WHO WERE THE BEST MARKSPEOPLE WOULD ACTUALLY SUFFER IF THEY SHOT TOO MANY SLAVES. BECAUSE EACH TIME, THEY’D HAVE TO TRAIPSE ALL THE WAY BACK TO CAMP, TIE THE SLAVE UP, AND THEN GO BACK INTO THE STUPID WOODS. THERE WOULD ALSO BE SOME LESSER SNIPERS WHO WOULDN’T SHOOT ANYONE AT ALL, OR WOULD ONLY NAB ONE SLAVE.
THEREFORE, THE HUNTER WHO WON TODAY MIGHT VERY WELL WIN BY SHOOTING ONLY, SAY, TWO SLAVES.
SEE WHERE I’M GOING WITH THIS?
ONCE MILES GOT ME TO THE OAK TREE WHERE I WAS MEETING KAMEN, I COULD SHOOT MILES AND KAMEN. IF I COULD WIN THE HUNT BY BAGGING TWO SLAVES, I’D LAND A GROPEFEST PLUS A HUNDRED-DOLLAR GIFT CARD TO A SEX SHOP.
BOOM SHAKALAKA.
ALL I HAD TO DO NOW WAS GO ALONG QUIETLY WITH MILES, AND NOT GIVE HIM ANY HINT I PLANNED TO BETRAY HIM.
WE WALKED FOR WHAT SEEMED LIKE HOURS, BUT ACCORDING TO MY WATCH WAS ONLY THREE MINUTES. THE SKY WAS GETTING GRAYER.
“THANK YOU,” HE SAID EVENTUALLY. “FOR MAKING THE DEAL, I MEAN. IT’S IMPERATIVE THAT I WIN TODAY.”
“WHY?”
“DRIX AND I NEED THOSE GIFT CERTIFICATES. WE’VE BEEN SAVING FOR A VAC BED, BUT IT’S STARTING TO SEEM LIKE IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN. KIDS ARE MORE EXPENSIVE THAN I’D IMAGINED.”
IT WAS UNLIKE MILES TO ADMIT TO NOT FORESEEING SOMETHING, SO IT WAS KIND OF LIKE HE WAS LETTING HIS GUARD DOWN WITH ME. WHICH MADE ME FEEL A LITTLE BAD ABOUT MY PLAN TO SHOOT HIM. BUT NOT REALLY.
“WELL,” I SAID. “GOOD LUCK. I HOPE YOU GET YOUR VAC BED.” BUT YOU AIN’T GONNA BE GETTING IT WITH A GIFT CARD.
“THANKS.”
I WAS CURIOUS ABOUT WHAT WOULD HAPPEN TO MILES IF HE WAS CAPTURED, SINCE HE WAS INTO HARD-CORE SHIT. I COULDN’T RESIST ASKING: “SO WHAT KIND OF STUFF WOULD YOU LET PEOPLE DO TO YOU ON THE WHIPPING POST?”
“I WON’T BE ON THE POST.”
“BUT IF,” I PRODDED.
“OH, I DON’T KNOW.” HE PULLED HIS CARDIGAN SLEEVES TIGHTER AROUND HIS WAIST. HE LOOKED LIKE A MOM AT DISNEYWORLD; I WANTED TO GIVE HIM A NEON-GREEN VISOR AND SOME TORTOISESHELL SUNGLASSES AND SNAP HIS PICTURE WITH GOOFY. “I’M REALLY NOT MUCH FOR EXHIBITIONISM.”
EXCEPT I COULD SEE HOW HOT AND BOTHERED HE WAS GETTING. SO I HAD THE URGE TO POUR SOME GASOLINE ON THAT FIRE. “NO? YOU DON’T WANT TO BE UP THERE AND HAVE PEOPLE MESSING AROUND WITH YOU?” I’D ALWAYS THOUGHT IT WAS WEIRD AS HELL HOW KAMEN TALKED TO HIS FRIENDS ABOUT SEX. BUT I DUNNO. I WAS STARTING TO SEE THE FUN SIDE OF GETTING PERSONAL.
“I FAIL TO SEE HOW IT WOULD BE OF INTEREST TO ME.” HE WAS WALKING PRETTY MINCING-ISHLY, LIKE HE WAS CLENCHING HIS ASS.
“WHAT IF IT WAS SOMEONE YOU WERE REALLY INTO? DRIX, OR BOWSER?”
MILES HAD BEEN WATCHING THE GROUND, BUT NOW HIS HEAD SNAPPED UP. “I AM NOT A DISPLAY PIECE. I AM NOT A CLOWN.”
“I NEVER SAID YOU WERE. I’M JUST SAYING, IF I WERE A SLAVE, I’D BE ALL ABOUT HAVING SOME GIANT HUNTER LIKE BOWSER CAPTURE ME, AND, LIKE, MAKE ME BLOW A LOAD IN FRONT OF—”
“WELL, IT’S NO FANTASY OF MINE,” HE SAID SHORTLY.
WE WALKED ON IN SILENCE.
SUDDENLY, HE GRABBED MY SLEEVE. “SHH!”
I HADN’T EVEN SAID ANYTHING. ALSO, I WASN’T THE ONE WHO HAD TO WORRY ABOUT GETTING CAUGHT. BUT I STOOD STILL AND LISTENED. PEOPLE WERE TROMPING TOWARD US, LAUGHING. MILES DARTED BEHIND A TREE, PULLING ME WITH HIM. THE TROMPING STOPPED.
“HARK!” CALLED A WOMAN. ENGLISH ACCENT. “WHO’S THERE?”
“SHOW YOURSELVES,” ORDERED HER COMPANION, SOUNDING EQUALLY GAME OF THRONES.
MILES TURNED TO ME AND WHISPERED, “WHY ARE THEY TALKING LIKE THAT?”
I SHOOK MY HEAD. “I DON’T KNOW.”
THE WOMAN CALLED, “I CAN SEE YOU, WOODWOSE!”
I STEPPED OUT OF THE TREES.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” MILES DEMANDED.
“LEAVE THIS TO ME.” I RAISED A HAND TO THE NEWCOMERS IN GREETING. THE TWO HUNTERS WERE DRESSED IN EARTH-TONED ROBES CINCHED WITH THEIR POD BELTS. “HOLD YOUR FIRE, FRIENDS!”
“WHY ARE YOU DOING THAT VOICE TOO?” MILES WHISPERED.
“I DON’T KNOW,” I SAID OUT THE SIDE OF MY MOUTH. “THEY STARTED IT, AND NOW IT’S JUST HAPPENING.”
THE WOMAN SHIELDED HER EYES. “HAVE YOU SEEN A SLAVE PASS THROUGH THESE PARTS? SHE’S CALLED FARRAH. ABOUT YAY HIGH. YELLOW-HAIRED. SHE ESCAPED US JUST A FEW HUNDRED YARDS NORTH OF HERE.”
“I’VE NOT SEEN HER,” I REPLIED GRAVELY.
THE MAN COCKED HIS HEAD, PEERING AROUND ME. “IS THAT A CAPTIVE THERE?”
“YES. HE IS MY CAPTIVE. WE ARE ON OUR WAY TO CAMP.”
THE MAN BOWED. “YOU ARE FORTUNATE TO FIND PREY. WE HAVE FOUND THESE WOODS QUITE BARREN.”
“EXCEPT FOR FARRAH,” THE WOMAN ADDED.
“YES,” THE MAN REPLIED. “BUT SHE ESCAPED.”
THE WOMAN NODDED. “CLEVER WENCH.”
“LUCKY, MORE LIKE,” THE MAN MUTTERED.
I BOWED BACK. “I WISH YOU LUCK ON YOUR HUNT, FELLOW TRAVELERS.”
“THANK YOU, KIND WOODWOSE.”
THEY SALUTED, AND THEN WALKED AWAY.
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” MILES ASKED WHEN THEY WERE GONE.
I PICKED BURS FROM MY KHAKIS. “I’M NOT SURE. BUT YOU’D BETTER GET ME TO THAT OAK TREE STAT. I CAN’T AFFORD MORE DELAYS.”
HE GLANCED AROUND, LOOKING NOT PARTICULARLY CONFIDENT. AND THAT WAS WHEN IT HIT ME. I’M NOT SURE HOW I KNEW, EXACTLY. BUT I WAS AS CERTAIN ABOUT THIS AS I’D BEEN ABOUT ANYTHING: HE DIDN’T KNOW WHERE WE WERE. AND HE NEVER HAD.
“SO,” I SAID, DRUMMING MY FINGERS ON MY GUN. “YOU DO KNOW WHICH WAY WE’RE GOING. RIGHT?”
HE HESITATED JUST A LITTLE TOO LONG. “OF COURSE.”
I RAISED MY GUN. “LIAR!”
HE BOLTED.
I MEAN SERIOUSLY, JUST TOOK OFF RUNNING. THE FUCKING TRAITOR.
I WAITED UNTIL HE LOOKED LIKE HE WAS AT LEAST TWENTY FEET AWAY, AND THEN I FIRED.
AND MISSED.
“DAMN IT!” I RAN AFTER HIM. “COME BACK HERE, TURNCOAT!”
I LOST HIM IN SOME TREES WITH LOW-HANGING BRANCHES THAT KEPT SMACKING AGAINST MY PROTECTIVE EYE GEAR, BUT I FOLLOWED THE SOUND OF HIS FOOTSTEPS AND THE FLASHES OF HIS GRAY UNDERSHIRT. WHEN WE REACHED A CLEARING, I STOPPED AND AIMED.
BUT BEFORE I COULD FIRE, SOMEONE STEPPED DIRECTLY INTO MILES’ PATH.
THERE WAS A THUD AND AN “OOF!” AS MILES COLLIDED WITH THE PERSON. MILES STAGGERED BACKWARD AND SORT OF HALF TURNED IN MY DIRECTION, ONE HAND ON HIS STOMACH. UNDER HIS PALM, I COULD SEE A PATCH OF RED PAINT ON GRAY FABRIC.
“I’M SO SORRY,” SAID A DEEP VOICE. “GOD, I’M SORRY. I DIDN’T MEAN TO FIRE AT CLOSE RANGE. YOU SCARED ME, AND IT WENT OFF . . .”
MILES LOOKED UP AT THE MAN, AND LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I’LL TELL YOU, IT WAS PRETTY FUCKIN’ ADULT NALA AND ADULT SIMBA, CAN-YOU-FEEL-THE-FUCKING-CLOVER-CLAMPS-TONIGHT. I HAD NO DOUBT WHATSOEVER THAT MILES LOVED DRIX AND ONLY DRIX. BUT HE ALSO HAD A SIGNIF PLAY HISTORY WITH THE MASSIVE REDHEAD BEFORE HIM. AND IT SHOWED.
BOWSER GRINNED AT MILES, LOOKING HIM UP AND DOWN. “HELLO, MILES,” HE SAID. “I WAS HOPING I’D RUN INTO YOU.”