When he realized I was not about to kill the shit out of him with a house key, he edged closer.
“I’m sorry about all the noise. And, um, the death threat.” I paused, letting him absorb the statement. “It’s been a shitty few weeks.”
“You don’t say,” he murmured.
“But I have to go to the park to help the doctor and I’ll be gone all day. Can you let the dog out? She’s really nice. Golden retriever. I may be an asshole, but she’s not.”
He stared at me, as if not entirely believing I wasn’t actively trying to cut his throat.
“Please?” I asked.
Hesitantly, he stretched out his fingers and took the key.
“Thanks,” I said. “And your gun is gone, so don’t bother looking for it.”
I smiled at him, and then hustled down the front steps to the street, hoping I didn’t look like I was heading into battle.
“Good afternoon, plebeians! It is a beautiful day to fear death!”
Holy shit, they’d invested in an announcer. His voice boomed out through speakers arranged around the stadium, which was already at least eighty percent full. I judged five or six thousand people were in attendance, though not all of them looked thrilled to be there.
Keller had spared no expense with his Execution Extravaganza. Colorful banners were tacked to every available space, advertising defunct pizza places and other pre-apocalyptic good times. He even had people selling crap in the stands; Renati and I, sequestered safely in a row just a few feet away from the old home team dugout, watched as peanuts and popcorn were distributed. No hot dogs, of course. They probably wouldn’t have mixed well with all the pastrami.
All of the medical crews were expected to go dashing into the makeshift arena at a moment’s notice. Which meant, in theory, we were going to have an awesome view of the actual bloodshed once it started.
“Where’s Logan gonna be?” I asked, scanning the stands opposite us.
Renati shrugged. “Wherever he can find a spot.”
Well, I was glad we’d put enough thought into our little scheme.
“He’ll find a spot. Don’t worry.”
“Worried? Who’s worried? And…what the hell are we supposed to before we…you know?”
“We’re only to go in for treatable injuries.”
“What does that even—”
“Oh, come now, Vibeke. If a man gets his throat torn out there’s not much we can do about it anyway.”
So we were supposed to watch people bleed out? This event sounded more enjoyable by the moment.
The announce droned on, outlining the specifics of our upcoming glorious day. “And I’d like to remind you all that should you at any time feel the need to vomit, please aim for the bag.”
I twisted around to look at Renati. “We have bags?”
He pointed to the seat in front of us. The type of barf bag they used to put on airplanes had been crudely taped to it.
How nice. Keller’s party planner really did think of everything.
Our little assassination effort felt woefully under-equipped. I should have had a knife at least; better yet, a pistol, or one of the many, many guns the soldiers toted around. But the rules of the arena were apparently thus: You bring in weapons, you fight. Those who didn’t want to actually channel their inner Spartacus were to be strictly unarmed.
I nudged Renati. Keller and his retinue were climbing to their seats. He had put on a fair approximation of a dress uniform, though his had some interesting gold touches I hadn’t seen on other military outfits. Renati frowned, his gaze tracking the group of men across the stands. “Setting himself up to be king,” he murmured. “Just as I thought.”
“Fucker,” I said.
“Just look at this crowd!” the announcer crowed. “We’ll be bathing in blood together!”
“Can we get the announcer, too?” I asked. “He sounds like a jerk.”
Renati stared out into the stadium, perhaps running through Shakespearian couplets in his head. “If time allows.”
“We’re nearly at capacity,” the announcer informed us. His voice was pretty decent, at least; I was willing to bet he’d at least been on radio before all this went down. “There’s thousands of people who couldn’t get in to see this, my friends. Count yourselves lucky—the lines are wrapping around the block!”
I hadn’t seen huge lines of people waiting to get in, but then again, I’d been quite preoccupied with my own business when I was waved through. For all I knew, the entire city had gone bloodthirsty.
“Are you ready to enjoy our first-ever Super Saturday?” the announcer crowed.
“Sounds like a sale at a discount store,” I said.
“Shh.”
“We’ve got some outstanding shows for you today. Strength will be tested! Wills will be bent! Who will be the victor?”
For fuck’s sake, someone needs to write this guy better lines.
“Come on then! I know you’re here to see the good stuff. But first, a word from the captain.”