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Some visitors are new, first timers, some are regulars. They enter the first gate, agree to the presented terms, and then step through the interior gate. Few ever walk away from a meal/entertainment. They produce, in some form, the payment. They all grin, thumbs up, willing to oblige. Expectations clarified still, in today’s confrontational world, handing over your weapon to strangers, awkward. All the same, a room of testosterone driven paranoids taking part in competitive endeavors, mingling in a tight space will undoubtedly lead to a miscalculation on someone’s part and… misfire. It was just a matter of time. The mortician and his staff on call. Just hoping it’s not on my watch.
John Smith, according to the ‘paperwork’, cleared the hoops leading to his admission. Young, gregarious, escorted to the eatery. He stepped into the dimly lit space, eyed the room, the participants, slowly approaching the table. Smiling, “evening.”
Collection time. Joshua requested he surrender his gun, including the holster, repeating politely, calmly the policy. John hesitated, then looked at me as if I was a long-lost friend. Smiled, nodding. The tenor of the room changed. It felt as if I should know him, recognize him, should extend some respect induced by fear or a reputation of which I was unaware. He stepped back, and said calmly, “only if you can take it off my person.”
“I’m sorry, but you will need to leave all weapons in our vault whereupon leaving, we will return them at the close of the evening or whenever you leave. Whichever takes place first.”
“Not mine.”
Silence, I pause, eying this threat. Weapon hung low, hand at the ready, confident, showing no fear. Clean-shaven, clothes immaculate, boots new, someone who has a steady income, a professional, and now I slowly realize I’m the notch. His payday.
“Yes, yours.”
From his pocket, he pulled out an egg timer. Déjà vu as I look about for Addison. He placed it on the table near a lantern, adjusted his stance, and focused his gaze in my direction.
“Three minutes,” he stated. “You were warned.”
“What?”
“When the timer empties, I will not hesitate to drop you where you sit… or stand, your choice, and if anyone intervenes, (looking at Cord and Addison), not a problem, I will still end you and anyone interfering. Simple. Time is running out, move or get out of my way. I’m hungry.”
This entire scene felt familiar, like something I would do, or I had actually done in the past. What was hard to understand? Did he not realized this was a suicide mission? Did he really think I would fold? Then again…
…I might.
Joshua stepped back, readied, evaluating what was unfolding. Cord and Addison nearby, somewhere.
I was confident my skills were lacking, and as they say in Texas Hold’em, he was playing the better hand. And surely, he would call any bluff.
The room behind me cleared as players collected their plates and slipped out of the line of fire. Perhaps wondering if this was the evening’s entertainment. Sand timer continued to empty. The room, cold, heated by two wood-burning stoves, lit by lanterns placed on half a dozen tables, with the sound of rain tapping on the windows felt forbidding. Beyond that, silent. My heart pounding.
With two minutes remaining images flickered through my mind, pastime, events, images of family gone, promises unfulfilled, and the note. My life was winding down. Could he be bluffing? The last grains of sand dropping. He was not bluffing. Crazy but…
He pulled his weapon well before I could respond, everything in slow motion now. As his barrel cleared the leather, I wondered if in death I would find peace? What I was leaving behind was brutal, filled with grief, heartache, despair.
Survival of the fittest? The last man standing. As a child, I thought if I closed my eyes no one could see me, maybe now I would disappear.
My hand has yet to move. I hear the shot as it echoes through the room. I felt no pain. Was there no pain in death? Was it over?
I open my eyes to observe John, his smile now replaced with bewilderment. Looking down viewed blood as it slowly soaked through his shirt, surely wondering how. Our eyes met as he dropped to his knees, falling forward, slumped to the floor. Voices quietly filled the room, asking the same question.
As if she materialized at my side, she pull my weapon, then heard Addison whisper, “leave, without a word, the room, now.”
“Now!” she repeated, nudging me aside.
I forced myself to walk without looking at the guests, exited through the supply room, climbed up the ladder, crossed the roof, and went into my corner. I felt dizzy and bewildered as I reflected on recent events. Recalled the words, “you were warned.”
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