Actually, it wasn’t that hard. Callie’s hopelessly in love with her girlfriend, Eva LeSage, but I expect she’d seduce a rabid grizzly bear for a billion dollars.
I know I would.
Which brings us to the present, where Sam, Rachel, and I are in our containers, and Rachel has just chosen me to live and sentenced her husband to die. I’m dressed in a business suit, pretending to be Kevin Vaughn, and Sam is pretending he doesn’t know I’m Donovan Creed.
Chapter 37
I admit Rachel’s attitude toward Sam is giving me pause.
I’ve always said the way to really know a woman is to lock her in a cage and poke her with a stick. This isn’t quite the same, but it’s close. And what I’ve learned about my girlfriend, Rachel, during this short period of captivity is revealing and more than a little disturbing. Starting with the obvious, she doesn’t appear to be an overly compassionate person. Her colorful vocabulary could benefit from a makeover. The fact that she was entirely convincing when begging Sam to choose her over Karen tells me she’s not just a capable liar but probably a pathological one as well. Her ability to be completely sensual and loving one moment and capable of murdering her sister or husband the next suggests an undiagnosed schizophrenic personality disorder.
Then again, I kill people for a living, so which of us is perfect?
I’m crazy about Rachel. And while crazy might be the operative word, I’m already looking forward to seeing how we click when it’s just the two of us living in her attic.
Okay, so let me catch you up in real time: Lou Kelly (the voice) has just said, “Sorry for the delay. We’re good to go. Make your peace, Sam. I’ll give you ten seconds.” Sam said, “You get nine billion dollars, and I get ten seconds, huh?” Lou: “Doesn’t hardly seem fair, does it?” Sam: “When does the countdown begin?” Lou: “Now … unless anyone has a final comment … No? In that case—” I clear my throat and say, “Actually, if I may, I’d like to ask Sam a quick question.”
Sam looks up at me. So does Rachel. She looks worried and says, “Kevin, we’re so close. Please, hon, let’s just end this and go home.” Sam says to me, “What’s your question?” I answer, “Did you type my code last?” Rachel says, “What?” “It was all happening so fast,” Sam says, “but yes. I entered your code last, like we discussed.” “Good man.”
Rachel begins screaming incoherently, something about, “You know him? What the hell is going on here? What the fuck does this mean? Answer me! Answer me, you son of a bitch—” That sort of thing.
I turn to her, knowing what to look for. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about dating relationships, it’s that being able to predict your partner’s moods is of paramount importance. In Rachel’s case (pardon the play on words), her face is her barometer, so I am reassured to see her neck, ears, and face gaining color quickly. I’ve noticed her face only turns crimson when she’s furious or craving sex, and I’ve been teaching myself to know which is which. It’s these little things you learn about the people you’re dating that mean so much down the road. I let her yammer on awhile before focusing on her husband. “Sam,” I say, “There’s no way to dance around the issue. I’m in love with your wife.” Rachel immediately stops screaming. “What? Wait—did you just say you’re in love with me?” I smile. “I am. Hopelessly.”
She settles down and places her hand on the glass in a loving manner, while her face remains bright red. See what I mean? From furious to sensual in nothing flat—what a woman! Sam says, “I find that impossible to believe.” Rachel says, “Shut up, Sam. Shut up and die.” Like I said, Rachel ain’t perfect. Sam says, “Rachel, you might want to ask Kevin what his real name is.” I say, “Sam, with all due respect, that’s a matter between Rachel and me.” “Fuck you both,” he says. “Sam, I was hoping we could all leave here as friends.” He looks at me as if I come from another dimension, a place where we all look normal, but nothing we say makes sense. “Friends? You want to be friends?” I nod.
“Let’s see if I’ve got this right,” he says. “I agreed to protect your blood money. In return, you broke into my house, hacked into my computer, monitored my every move, fucked my wife, set me up with a hooker, drugged and kidnapped me twice, murdered my wife’s sister and at least one innocent man, kept me and my wife imprisoned for two days, nearly killing Rachel in the process, forced me to sentence Karen to die, stole more than nine billion dollars from my clients—which means even if you let me go, my life expectancy is now what, three days? Wait, don’t answer. I’m not finished. You put me out of business, put me through mental and physical anguish, forced me to learn my wife has been having a six-month affair with my own client, made me endure the humiliation of having my own wife sentence me to die, and now you tell me you’re in love with my wife and plan to take her away from me, but you want us to be friends?” “Yes, that’s it,” I say. “Except for the part about physical anguish. I think that’s a bit hyperbolic.” “You do,” he says. I nod. “But other than that?” “I’d say you have a good grasp on it. Except for one thing.” “What’s that?” “I’m going to give you a quarter billion of the take.” “Big deal. I’ll be dead within days.” “I’ll help you get a new face, new identity, and a new life.” “With Karen Vogel?” “Get real, son.” “Okay,” he says. “I’ll take it.” “Lou,” I say, “open the containers and let’s wrap things up. Rachel and I have a lot to talk about.” Nothing happens. “Lou?”
Chapter 38
Some time goes by. Too much time. Finally, Lou says, “Uh, Donovan? We never talked about Sam getting a quarter billion dollars.” “I’m giving it to him out of my part. I’m giving Rachel twenty-five million as well.” Rachel looks at me and smiles. “Thank you, Kevin,” she says. I smile back. Lou says, “We haven’t really discussed this, but do you think you could get out of that cage without my help?” I say, “Lou, we’ve been together a long time.”
“True,” he says. “But your share is weighing heavy on me right now. Not saying I’m ungrateful or anything, but five hundred million dollars seemed a lot bigger to me when this plan was first hatched.” “Half a billion dollars seems small to you?” “Compared to you getting six times as much, and Sam getting half as much, and both of you being in a cage and all.” “You figure to kill me and take my three billion?”
“I feel terrible about it,” Lou says. “You know I’ve always been a team player, but I’ve got two monitors in front of me. One shows three containers with helpless people inside. The other shows more than nine billion dollars sitting in a bank account, waiting to be accessed. I can’t help but notice that two clicks would change everything. One click and the vacuum pumps kill you in five minutes. A click on the bank account and your share—three billion dollars—goes into my personal account, along with the half billion we talked about.”
“Lou, I’m disappointed in you.”
“I was disappointed in you a couple years back, when you killed your best friend. I can only wonder how quickly you’d put a bullet in my head if I ever displeased you.”
“That’s totally unrelated, and you know it. You’re rationalizing.”
“Maybe so, but I guess it takes a certain amount of rationalizing to turn my back on the man who’s saved my life several times.” “Don’t let that part weigh on you,” I say. “You’ve saved my life too.” “Thanks for acknowledging it.” I keep my voice even. “Lou, if it helps you decide, I guarantee I can get out of this cage in less than five minutes.”