CHAPTER 12
My voice got stuck in my throat, but eventually, I was able to ask, “What kind of game do you want to play?”
I heard him take in a readying breath, one that seemed to suck the air right out of my lungs. “It’s a game I’ve made up,” Uretsky said.
“You inspired it, in fact. It’s called Criminal. Want to know how to play?”
“You know what? I think this conversation is over,” I said.
“You hang up on me,” Uretsky said quickly, his tone flush with hatred, “and I’ll make sure that bitch wife of yours dies of cancer.”
He essentially spit out the words dies of cancer. A knot built up in my chest. Ruby, who must have heard some or all of Uretsky’s admonition, covered her mouth with her hands. She closed her eyes tightly, perhaps to will this nightmare into nothingness. When she opened them, those blue eyes I loved so dearly were ringed with red. Her lower lip quivered, and I could feel Ruby’s anxiety start to build.
“Do you want to know how to play Criminal?” Uretsky asked again. The calm had returned to his voice. The old Elliot was back. “The answer, by the way, is yes. Yes, Elliot. I’d love to know how to play Criminal. Please, tell me all about it.” Uretsky paused, long enough to let me know that he was awaiting my reply. “Go ahead. Now you say it.”
He was goading me along—take a little drag, walk on the train tracks, make the jump, live on the wild side. “How . . .” I gulped before I could continue. “How do you play . . . Criminal?”
“Well, I’m glad you asked,” Uretsky said, ebullient. “I think the best games are the ones where you improve yourself. Get better, you know? The more experienced you are, the better you do. So my game is all about making you a better criminal. That’s where I got the name. Do you see?”
“Please . . . whatever you want.”
“I want you to play my game,” Uretsky said, the harsh edge to his voice returning. “Now then, at this particular moment in time, I’d say you’re a pretty crappy criminal. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I don’t . . . I don’t know how to respond to that.”
“The correct response is yes,” Uretsky said. “I mean, I caught you. And it was damn easy, too. So, let’s both agree that you’re pretty bad at being a thief and get on with it, shall we?” Uretsky’s breathy voice again raised the hairs on my neck. “So here’s the game in a nutshell. You’ve got to prove to me that you’re worthy of being labeled a real criminal.”
“Okay, this has gone far enough,” I said, a touch of anger in my voice.
“Oh, we haven’t even begun to dance.”
“If this is your way of scaring us—”
“Let me tell you how to play round one.”
“It’s not going to work.”
“Do you know the Giorgio Armani store on Newbury Street?”
“Yes,” I said, exasperated. “What does that have to do with anything? What do you want from us, Elliot?”
“I want you and your wife to go to that store, and I want each of you to shoplift a scarf valued at greater than a hundred dollars.”
“What?”
“I want you to steal two scarves.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Why?” he repeated, as though the answer should be obvious to me. “Because a criminal is a thief, no matter what the crime—a stealer of identities, a taker of lives, a remover of objects. To advance in my game, you must each steal one scarf with a value greater than one hundred dollars.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” I said, sounding indignant. This had to be a prank, some trick intended to scare us. A tick of relief swept over me, as I believed with increasing conviction that this was true. Uretsky wanted to mess with us for what I’d done to him, and I fell for it, hook, line, and stinking sinker. It made sense. He was an avid gamer, maybe even a hacker type, someone who preferred that justice be served outside the usual lines.
I covered the phone with my hand and said to Ruby, “It’s okay, baby. This is a prank. I’ll take care of it.” To Uretsky: “Tell me, Elliot, since you don’t know who we are, how would you even know that we stole the scarves?”
“Good one,” Uretsky said. “You’re thinking. That’s what a smart criminal must always do. I thought of that as well, so I went ahead and marked the price tag of two scarves on display, both of which have the requisite dollar value, with the initials E.U. and T.U. That’s for Elliot Uretsky and my wife, Tanya, your doppelgängers. Those are the scarves you are to steal. Now, I’ve placed a hidden camera in the store, so I’ll know when they’ve been stolen.”
“Sounds logical,” I said, humoring him.
“You have forty-eight hours from this very moment. Forty-eight hours starting right now.”
“Okay. Sounds good. We’re on it.”
Could he pick up on my sarcasm?
I was shaking my head. I wasn’t sure what else I could do to get him off the line.
“I haven’t told you what happens if you lose,” Uretsky said.
I was growing tired of him wasting my time. The tone I took was intended to communicate that. “Why don’t you tell me?” I said.
“If either of you fails in your attempt to steal the scarves,” Uretsky said, “if you get caught trying, or don’t even bother giving it a go, I’m going to murder somebody close to you.”
A shock of electric fear ripped through my body, but I soon recovered. He’s a hacker. He’s a gamer. He’s a prankster. Still, I remembered the growl in his voice when he called my wife a bitch and told me he’d let her die of cancer. Could he be for real?
“Who?” I said, my voice betraying a slight waver.
“Somebody close to you,” Uretsky repeated.
He had just tipped his hand. That’s when I knew this guy wasn’t for real; it was a scare tactic only.
“Nice work trying to freak us out, but you don’t even know who we are.”
“Forty-eight hours,” Uretsky said.
“Or you’re going to go to the police.”
“I told you,” Uretsky said. “I’m not going to report you to the police—no matter what. If you don’t follow through, I’m going to kill somebody close to you. Game on.”
“You’re a sick person. You know that?”
“Game on,” he said again.
I slammed the receiver down and waited, but the phone didn’t ring again.
Ruby hoisted up her hands. The confusion on her face begged for any clarity. “What was that all about?” she asked.
“That was about nothing,” I said, with an edge to my voice. “He’s just pissed off and trying to freak us out. That’s all. Everything’s fine.”
At the time, I believed this to be true.