Bad Games

57



“Looks like we got ourselves a Mexican stand-off, yeah?” Arty said.

Amy did not expect this. She envisioned Arty sprinting down the stairs the second he looked at the television. She envisioned him helpless and begging for his mother’s life. Instead it appeared as though he was able to keep his wits about him, present his own ace in the guise of her son.

“Let my family go and I won’t kill her,” Amy said.

Arty pressed the gun barrel of the six-shooter into Caleb’s temple and cocked the trigger. “You kill her and I kill him.”

Amy came close to dropping the knife. The sight of her son with a cocked and loaded gun to his head nearly caused her to lose her resolve. She wanted nothing more than to take Caleb into her arms and somehow whisk him far away from the nightmare.

“Mommy,” Caleb said. His brown eyes were wide and glassy. Amy absorbed his fear and it all but drained her.

“Mommy’s here, baby.”

Arty’s free hand released its grip on Caleb’s shoulder. He patted the boy gently on the arm. “There, you see, Caleb? You’ve got nothing to worry about. Mommy’s here. Now go on over to her.” The little boy turned and looked up at Arty. “Go on,” Arty insisted.

Caleb took a step toward his mother and Arty instantly snatched him back by the arm, causing the boy to stumble and fall at Arty’s feet.

Arty laughed and pulled Caleb upright.

Caleb started to cry. Arty made an awww face at Amy, pretended to knuckle away a tear of his own.

Amy felt close to insanity. She wanted the man in front of her dead. No—she wanted him killed, and she wanted to be the one to do it. No apprehension, no struggle with morality. Dead. Killed. By her.

“You won’t win,” Amy said through clenched teeth. “I won’t let you win. I swear on my very soul that my family will live through this and that you’ll rot in hell.”

Arty looked as if he hadn’t heard her. “I saw what you did to Jim,” he said. “It was upsetting. Upsetting, but I have to admit, a little exhilarating too. We’ve never had the game taken to this level before. I think it will be that much sweeter in the end, don’t you?”

“It’ll be sweet when you’re dead.”

Arty chuckled. “When I’m dead? What exactly were you planning to do? Kill everyone in the house? I thought you were just trying to make a deal here; trying to save your family.”

Amy was flustered. It was her move, and she didn’t know how to play it. She could only keep spitting threats and pray Arty would back down first. “Arty, I’m telling you one last time, and I am not f*cking kidding, I will cut your mother’s throat from ear to ear unless you let my family go.”

Arty studied her. He did not appear concerned in the slightest. “Nah,” he eventually said, waving a dismissive hand at her, “you won’t do anything. It’s not in you.”

“I just stuck a nail file into your brother’s ball sack. I think it’s in me to cut an old lady’s throat.”