Chapter 20
AT THREE THAT afternoon, Jason Pilser was in his office at Howard Public Relations, waiting for the advisory board meeting to start, when he got a text message that catapulted his mood.
The message was from Steemcleena himself, posting particulars of the next “night on the town.” The notice addressed him by his screen name, “Scylla,” and said, “Get ready. You’re IT.”
Holy crap, it was actually happening, his baptism by fire. He’d been thinking about this night for weeks. In fact, he’d thought of little else. He’d originally met “Morbid” on Commandos of Doom, an online real-time war game. As allies, they had fought dozens of successful battles over the past two years.
But when Morbid recruited him into a much more select group of gamers, it had floored him. His introduction to Steemcleena had been virtual, and he’d had to wait until Morbid locked it up. Now Steemcleena was on board. And soon Jason as Scylla would step out from behind the computer screen and see some real-life action.
Pilser worked like a robot for the next three hours. He didn’t flinch when the head bitch blamed him for screwing up a proposal he hadn’t even compiled. Screw her. At six, he put on his jacket and left for the day.
He drove straight to a hardware store in West Hollywood.
He walked the narrow stocked-to-the-ceiling aisles and picked out a six-foot-long extension cord, a roll of duct tape, and a pair of cotton jersey gloves. Nothing very unusual. He paid cash for his purchases, keeping his head down so the security camera over the cash register didn’t catch his face.
He was so pumped that his hands were sweating.
The big night was only three days away. And he was “it.” On Saturday he was going to kill a girl somewhere in LA.