Bad Games 2 - Vengeful Games (24 page)

“Tell me what you think happened. You don’t imply, you
say
, right? So say what you think happened. Say what you think happened to the presentation I
killed
myself over for
months.
You wanna have those guys come back in and check the security system again? Have them check and see how late I’ve been staying here every night? How much time I invested into this project, only to put a
giant fucking cock
up on-screen—”

“Patrick!”

Patrick stopped, his breath ragged, pulse hammering his skull.

There was a moment of pause as both men collected themselves.

“Okay,” Patrick eventually said. “So I need some time off. What—two, three weeks?”

“More like
months
, Patrick.”

“Months.” Patrick flashed a contemptuous smile. “If you’re going to fire me, Jon—”

“You’re not fired, Patrick. But you
will
take some considerable time off.”

Patrick looked away.

“You’ll be compensated of course,” Miles said. “No change in benefits.”

Patrick wanted to scream. To punch holes in all four walls. Instead he swallowed bile, turned back to Miles and said, “Okay.”

They both stood and shook hands. Miles usually patted Patrick on his broad shoulders after a handshake. Not this time.

*

Patrick shoved the glass doors of the office building open as he made his way outside, a cardboard box of certain belongings tucked under one arm. The winter air bit into his nose and watered his eyes, and he believed it happened on purpose.

Patrick moved quickly through the lot towards his car, the cardboard box nearly slipping out from under his arm. He caught it just in time, but a stapler still fell and hit the concrete. Patrick believed this happened on purpose too. He kicked the stapler across the lot, sending it skidding beneath a car. He spotted a man and a woman watching him in the distance.

“
What the fuck are you two looking at?!
” he yelled.

The couple turned their backs to him and began a huddled chat as though they’d never dared look at him in the first place.

Patrick opened the Highlander, chucked the box into the passenger seat, then screeched out of the lot and sped for home.

*

“Here he comes,” Monica whispered to her father.

They stared as Patrick kicked the stapler across the lot.

“
What the fuck are you two looking at?!
”

They turned away from Patrick and huddled together, giggling silently like kids. When the Highlander was gone they erupted in laughter.

When they stopped, Monica lit a cigarette, inhaled deep and said, “I wonder how bad my lover-boy Steve is.”

John smiled. “He didn’t look so hot when they wheeled him out.” John’s smile changed to a sly smirk as he eyed his daughter. “You knew he’d snap and throw him a beating right then and there didn’t you?”

Monica exhaled a long stream accentuated by the cold, then batted her eyes. “I’d hoped. Call it a pleasant bonus.”

He grinned. “Have I ever told you how proud of you I am?”

“Not today.”

“Apple of my eye, baby girl.”

Chapter 50

Patrick and Amy were on the sofa. Patrick had told her everything.

“Something’s going on, Amy.” He shook his head, flustered. “
Something.
”

Amy had been prepared for two basic outcomes after her husband’s presentation: pass or fail. She was confident in pass, and was prepared for a hearty celebration. Fail was of course a possibility, but even if you took away her bias and optimism and laid out simple truths, it seemed unlikely Patrick
could
fail given the time and work he had invested in Megablast. Not to mention his consistent rise within the company since the day he’d signed on. And even if he did fail, so what? It wasn’t for lack of trying. There would be other accounts.

Except Patrick
had
failed. And all of the rationale Amy had gathered to cushion such potential bad news was immediately tossed when it was revealed exactly
why
Patrick had failed. Sympathy and compassion and reassurance had been replaced with
what
and
the
and
fuck?
as Amy struggled to digest such an outlandish tale. She believed her husband’s story though. Never once doubted him. Truth, as the old saying goes (and after what her family had been through, she sure-as-shit believed it), was stranger than fiction.

Amy rubbed his leg. “What do you mean? Something like what?”

“This is no longer bad luck,” Patrick said. “Oscar? Your dad? Bad luck, I can admit that. But this? No fucking way.”

Amy steadied herself. “Well what do you think happened?”

“I would have sworn it was Steve Lucas. Would have sworn on anything. But now …”

Amy really didn’t know what to say. She shared her husband’s sentiments—Oscar and her father had been bad luck. These new events were deliberate. There was no other explanation. “So now you’re not sure it was Steve?”

Patrick laid his head back against the sofa and sighed. “I don’t know. Who else could it have been?”

“Is there anyone else at the office you suspect?”

“No. Besides, how could they have done it? How could they have gotten into the system with Lucas’ identity? Cracked my files and altered my presentation as smooth as they did? As far as I know, Jason Bourne doesn’t work at the office.”

Amy smiled even though she knew the quip had no intention of producing one. “Maybe you should go see Lucas.”

Patrick lifted his head off the sofa. “
What?
What makes you think he’s gonna want to see
me
? Shit, I’m still praying he doesn’t press charges.”

Amy knew her husband too well not to suggest it again. She knew the idea had crossed his mind. “Do you really believe it was him?”

Patrick stared at the ceiling for a silent moment. “No,” he eventually said, dejected. “Jon was right. Lucas is a pain in the ass, but he doesn’t have it in him.”

Amy continued to stare at Patrick, her look repeating her previous suggestion.

“What would I say?” he asked.

“You could start with ‘I’m sorry.’”

“Fine—I go say I’m sorry and kiss his ass so he won’t press charges. Then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I can’t just let this drop. I have to find out who did this.” Patrick stopped, his fist tightened. “I swear that son of a bitch is behind it somehow.”

“You just said—”

“Not Lucas.”

Amy read his mind. “Patrick …”

“
What?
”

“You know that’s impossible.”

“So who was it? His asshole-brother’s ghost?”

“Go see Lucas,” she said. “And then after that, I think you should go see Dr. Bogan.”

“
Dr. Bogan?
”

“You respect him. You’ve told me a dozen times you think the guy is a genius.”

“He works with
kids,
Amy. Besides, we’ve got Dr. Stone.”

“So then just talk to him. Invite him over for a chat. Nothing official.”

“What about Dr. Stone?”

“Dr. Stone is great—but she’s for us. This is for you. It wouldn’t hurt to call and ask. Tell him what happened. Ask him to drop by for a man-to-man chat. Tell him you value his insight.”

“I don’t know.” Patrick’s eyes scanned Amy’s face. “Doesn’t this bother you? You know I didn’t do it. Don’t you want to know who
did
?”

“Of course I do, baby.” And then a sudden voice in her head asked:
Could
it be Arty? Amy’s paranoia since the moment they’d arrived home from the hospital was no less severe than Patrick’s, perhaps more so, but the possibility that Arty was somehow behind this, locked up hundreds of miles away in Pittsburgh, seemed impossible. She buried the thought instantly and continued. “And ultimately I think we’ll find out who’s responsible. In the meantime, I think it might be wise to make amends with Steve Lucas. We’ve already got one court hearing coming up, the last thing we need is to look forward to another. Besides, maybe he’ll have a few theories of his own about what happened. It might shed some light on a possibility you haven’t considered yet.”

“I’ve considered everything.”

“You’re also upset. Your anger’s probably clouding your mind.”

Patrick sunk into the sofa and rubbed his eyes. “Okay, fine.”

“And you’ll call Dr. Bogan?”

“I don’t know if they can do that—make house calls.”

“You can still try. Again, nothing official—just someone you can vent to. How many times did you tell me you wished he was
our
therapist?”

“Okay, I’ll try.”

Chapter 51

Steve Lucas had been released from Chester County hospital the same day he’d arrived. He had a broken nose, two broken ribs, and a jacket of bruises.

To Patrick’s surprise, Lucas let Patrick into his home and offered him a seat without a fuss. Lucas’ nose was plastered with a white dressing and both eyes were already black. He winced as he took a spot on his sofa. Patrick sat in a chair to Lucas’ left.

“I’m not pressing charges, Patrick, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said. “I thought about it, believe me I did, but you were the only one who came to check on me after … you know.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. I have no excuse for my actions.” This wasn’t exactly true. At the time, Patrick felt he’d had a damn good excuse. “I had just worked so goddamned hard on that account. What happened … what happened was … Jesus, I don’t even know what to call it.”

Lucas nodded. “It was fucked up.”

Try,
Patrick thought.
What have you got to lose?
“Can you think of anyone at work who might have been capable?”

Lucas shook his head. “No. And I especially can’t think of anyone who could get hold of my key card, use it, then slip it back into my wallet hours later without my knowing it.”

That was a big piece of the puzzle. If the key card was missing, then they’d be scratching the surface—someone had stolen his card and they’d be off to some kind of start. Problem was, the card wasn’t missing—Lucas still had it; apparently always did.

Someone could have hacked into the security system in order to frame Lucas, Patrick supposed. It was possible. But it raised some questions. The first being why frame Steve Lucas? Because Lucas can be an asshole. That was easy enough. The second question was not so easy. Why sabotage Patrick’s account in one’s efforts to frame Lucas? What was the connection? Someone with the know-how on hacking into a high-tech security system could almost certainly think of better ways to mess with Steve Lucas than ruining Patrick’s account in the process. Perhaps Lucas and Patrick shared a common enemy at work? Who, though? Patrick liked to believe he got along well with everyone. And he was more than confident that if he had done something to upset someone in the past, it certainly didn’t warrant a retaliation in the vein of what he’d received. No. It didn’t add up. None of it added up.

“Who do
you
think it might be?” Lucas asked. “Besides me of course.”

Patrick gave a little smile, grateful Lucas had already resorted to levity. “I have no idea, man.”

They sat in silence. Patrick looked around the room and saw that the big hole in Lucas’ wall had not yet been fixed. Should he change gears and mention it? He knew Lucas didn’t like to talk about it, but perhaps if Patrick expressed more interest in the debacle that had ensued with the girl Lucas had been seeing, it would cement Patrick’s status as the caring individual who’d checked up on him, lest the man ever change his mind about pressing charges.

“Any updates on …” Patrick pointed to the hole in the wall.

Lucas didn’t have to turn around and look. “No, thank God.”

“You really don’t remember anything about that night?”

Lucas shook his head. “I remember meeting her at the bar. The rest is a blank.”

“Maybe someone slipped you something.”

Lucas shrugged. “Too late to check now—if they did it would already be out of my system. I can tell you one thing though, Patrick: you can think whatever you like of me, but I have never laid a finger on a woman in my life. I’m no angel, I’ll admit to that, but even at my worst, I have never,
ever
…” He dropped his head and ran a hand through his hair. “Something weird happened that night. Something I had nothing to do with.” He brought his head back up and locked eyes with Patrick. “I’d bet my life on it.”

Patrick looked at the coffee table and spotted Lucas’ cell phone. “Did you go through your phone? Look for any numbers dialed? Weird text messages? Pictures?”

Lucas nodded. “Yeah—nothing. Just the one photo I took of us when we first got to the bar.
That
I remember taking.”

“Let me see,” Patrick said.

Lucas held his ribs and winced as he leaned forward and grabbed his phone. He punched a few buttons then handed it to Patrick.

It was a picture of Lucas, grinning in all his glory, his arm out of the frame, holding the camera phone. His other arm was around a gorgeous blonde. She looked familiar.

“Huh,” Patrick said.

“What?”

“She looks familiar.”

“She does?”

“Yeah,” Patrick said, frowning at the phone. “Where though?”

Lucas said nothing.

“Where did you meet her?”

“At a bar around the corner. Bravo’s.”

“What’s her name?”

“Samantha.”

Patrick stared at the image until it fuzzed. He blinked hard and continued looking. Where had he seen her? It had been recent. He knew it was recent. Maybe he had seen her at Bravo’s too. Except he had only been to Bravo’s once—a long time ago.

Recent. Recent. Where? Whe—

Patrick’s heart skipped. Bob’s funeral. He was looking at a picture of the gorgeous woman from Bob’s funeral.

“
Can’t be,
” he whispered.

Lucas said, “Huh?”

Patrick ignored him. It couldn’t be. He remembered that woman as having dark hair, dark eyes. This woman was blonde with (he squinted) green eyes. Besides, Bob’s funeral was in
Harrisburg.
That woman claimed she was a local, knew Bob from Gilley’s Tavern. Steve’s photo was taken
here
.