The Killing Game. J. Kerley A.

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       Chapter 11

      Gregory was sleeping when his cell rang from the bedside table. He tried to ignore it until his eyes caught the clock: 10.17 a.m. He never slept past eight … why did I …

      The horrors of his night flooded into his head.

      You fart while you screw, little ones that leak out.

      The goddamn woman, the slut who’d insulted him. It was all her fault, making him need a whore, leading to getting stopped by the goddamn cops. Then the filth, shame, humiliation.

      Step out of the car please …

      The smell of shit was everywhere.

      Officer—

      … no not here no not now …

      What happened after that?

      GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE GODDAMN CAR.

      My pants—

      Officer, please, I can’t—

      What happened next?

      It’s one of them pervert magazines, Horse. Something called Women in Agony.

      Gregory moaned. The phone rang a third time.

      If you jam rubber balls in their mouths, it doesn’t leave room for your dick.

      You stink like a sewage factory, poopy. Go home and learn how to use a toilet.

      What happened next? What happened next?

      The phone rang again. The answering machine came on. “Leave a number and I’ll get back to you.”

      “Gregory?” a voice said, worried. “Gregory? Are you all right?”

      Ema.

      “Gregory? Are you there? Please pick up if you are. I’m so worried that you—”

      He grabbed the phone. Pushed the thoughts of last night from his head. Ema was the current problem.

      What happened next?

      “I’m here, Ema. What the hell’s wrong now?”

      A pause as his sister swallowed hard. She hated it when he cursed. “I’ve been … worried about you. We had breakfast scheduled for nine-thirty. I waited a half-hour and left.”

      “Why didn’t you call from the restaurant?”

      “I was afraid you might be ill. I didn’t want to wake you.”

      “I simply forgot to set my alarm, Ema. I’m fine.”

      “You never oversleep.”

      Gregory felt his guts cinch up. “I never tell you when I oversleep because you’ll fucking think I have sleeping sickness.”

      “I couldn’t eat at the restaurant,” she said. “I just had coffee. Why don’t you come over and I’ll fix us a healthy breakfast.”

      “I can’t, Ema. I have so much to do today and—”

      “Grigor, you have to eat. And you know you won’t unless I—”

      “It’s Gregory, Ema. G-r-e—”

      “It pops out when I get worried. I’m sorry, Gregory. I worry about my little brother too much; it’s stupid.”

      Christ, Gregory thought, Grigor. The fucking name was a dozen years gone, but poor addled Ema still used it several times a year.

      “You’re not stupid, Ema, you have a big heart,” Gregory said, wishing she had a brain to match. He did a high-speed inventory of his systems, finding hunger: if he didn’t eat he’d get a headache. And if he didn’t see Ema this morning, she’d want to make up the missed meal tomorrow at one of her goddamn restaurants. If he ran over now he’d be free of her for days.

      “Let me get dressed,” he said. “I don’t want a big breakfast, Ema. Toast and honey, right?”

      He went to the garage. His car stank of shit. And the brown stains were soaked into the fabric of his seat. He went back in the house and called a cab.

      Fifteen minutes later Gregory’s taxi was winding past brick and wood structures with large front windows and decorative plastic doors, Ema’s suburban housing complex.

      Ema lived but two miles distant from Gregory. When he had received his inheritance, she had tried to get him to buy a home on her street, but he had shot that idea down immediately, knowing Ema would be visiting every day, plates of cookies or stuffed cabbage rolls in hand.

      She was at the door as he arrived – probably watching for me since I hung up the phone – and he submitted to another crushing, smelly hug, her pendant pressing against his belly. But he endured, smiling through every second.

      “Why did you come in a cab?” she asked. “You weren’t in a wreck, were you?”

      “Just some mechanical problem.”

      Ema’s living room was a warehouse of girly-type things overlaying the simple Colonial furniture; rag dolls on the couch, a throw pillow on a rocking chair, the words LOVE CHANGES EVERYTHING embroidered on its multicolored surface, a dozen kinds of cutesy magazines. There was a pink bookshelf of mysteries, biographies of Hollywood celebrities, and several running feet of true-life crime books. The television was on, though muted, Ema incapable of life without TV. She had a set in every room, an endless display of talent competitions, cop dramas, cooking programs and home-shopping options.

      “I’m so happy you’re all right,” Ema said. “I was worried when you didn’t show.”

      “You worry too much. I’m a grown-up.”

      “I know. But it’s like I always told Dr Szekely: Even when Gregory’s fifty, he’ll still be my baby brother.”

      Gregory fought to keep from rolling his eyes. Ema nodded toward the rear of the house. “Let’s eat in the kitchen as it’s so sunny.”

      “Just toast СКАЧАТЬ