Game Theory (22 page)

‘The thing is, it's so true,' she continued, urgency in her voice. ‘I mean, it's true. Even with old Mrs Morris. The last thing I said to her – hell, I can't remember the exact words, but they were full of hate. And she died. You know that? She had a heart attack the following year and that was it. And the last thing she heard from me was hate.'

‘She probably didn't think about it, Summer,' I said. ‘Lots of kids were horrible to her.'

‘That's not the point,' said Summer. She was really intense, as if this was something I
had
to understand. She took another deep drag on her cigarette. ‘I had a choice and hatred was what I chose. Now there's no time to take it back.'

‘You were never hateful to Phoebe,' I said. ‘You love her.'

‘They were your numbers, Jamie,' said Summer. ‘You know it. I know it. They were
your
numbers.'

‘It's not important. None of that's important.'

‘Yeah, it is.' Summer looked down at the kitchen table, brushed ash onto the floor. ‘And I'm sorry. While there's still time, I wanted to say I'm sorry.'

I reached over and put my hand on hers, but she pulled away as if scalded. I took a drink from the beer. The house was silent, apart from a gentle thrum of rain on the roof.

‘I need a favour from you, Summer,' I said finally. ‘Well, from you and Spider.'

‘Name it.'

So I did. Summer listened. I thought she'd laugh at my plan, but she didn't, and when I was done, she stubbed out her cigarette.

‘I hate to be the one to break it to ya, Jamie,' she said, ‘but you're not James Bond, little brother, you're a fuckin' nerd.'

‘I know, Summer,' I replied. ‘Trust me, I know. But that's the whole point. The kidnapper, he thinks he knows me, he's done his research and he has me classified as a nerd as well. Someone who can think but can't take physical action. So I need to make decisions he won't have anticipated. It's basic game theory.
Do whatever the other player isn't expecting. And he won't expect this.'

‘Because it's fucking dumb.'

I didn't say anything. I wasn't going to convince Summer with words, but I knew she liked my idea, despite her objections. Sometimes a fantasy is extremely attractive, and I just needed to let it work its magic. She took another cigarette from the pack, but then slid it back and stood.

‘Okay,' she said. ‘But if this puts Mouse in greater danger, I'll hold you responsible, Jamie. And then
you'd
better watch your back. Do you follow?'

I nodded.

Summer turned towards the door. ‘I'll wake Spider up now.'

‘Hey,' I said. ‘That's not necessary. If he can help me it can't be until later.'

‘I'll get him up anyway,' said Summer. She had one hand on the door handle when she turned back to me. ‘Spider. He's a dick, Jamie. I know he's a dick and I know you guys can't stand him.'

I shrugged.

‘But he's been kind to me, you know? Spider's been kind to me, even before the money. That's gotta count for something.' She left, and all I could hear was the whisper of the rain.

CHAPTER 21

Spider said he would pick me up later, about eleven.
I told him I would come round to their place, assuming the media wasn't lying in ambush. One thing I could guarantee – it would be a total disaster if anyone followed me and Spider.

Summer offered to let me sleep at her place, even though it was six in the morning. She could probably read in my face and the way I moved that I hadn't slept for . . . God knows how long. But I turned her down. I'd only been there a few hours but already the fabric of the building seemed to be contracting. No matter where I was, claustrophobia stalked me. So I walked. The rain had stopped, though I really didn't care about that. Dawn was bleeding over the horizon and birds sang. Summer, not surprisingly, lived in the best suburb. Huge houses with imposing facades and beautifully kept lawns. I wondered what the neighbours thought about having Summer and Spider move in, thereby reducing property prices at a stroke. Then again, each house was
so insular, so tucked up in its own exclusive world, that maybe they didn't notice.

I passed a woman walking two Dalmatians and she nodded at me as our paths crossed. I said good morning. The dogs were entirely in keeping with the neighbourhood, classy and elegant. I was far from classy and nowhere near elegant. I couldn't remember the last time I'd showered or changed my clothes. I also couldn't find it in myself to care. The dogs didn't seem to notice. They walked past, heads high, assured of their superiority.

I walked through a section of the city that was coming to life. People were out and moving, performing their early morning rituals and full of purpose. I had none myself, but I walked briskly, giving the illusion of it. My phone was tucked into my top pocket. It was like carrying around a cancer. I was obsessed with its presence, even when it gave no signs of activity.
Especially
then. I bought myself a takeaway coffee from a place that catered for business types coming to work early. It was scalding hot and bitter, but I felt slightly better with it inside me. I also stopped for thirty minutes in a park and watched joggers passing. Most had music plugged into their ears and shirts damp with sweat. No one paid me any attention.

I hadn't been aware of heading there, but I found myself on the boundaries of my school just as the students were arriving for the first lesson of the day. I stood and watched. Kids played basketball on the courts. Some performed tricky manoeuvres on skateboards. Most just stood around in groups, chatting.
I felt curiously detached from it all. It was a familiar world, but irrelevant now.

Gutless was dropped off by his mum. I recognised her car as it turned into the gates and I certainly recognised his bulk as he eased out of the passenger seat. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder and was wearing his baseball cap, the peak turned to the back. I'd told him about that before, that the peak at the back made him look like a wannabe dick, but he hadn't listened.
You wouldn't understand, man
, he'd said.
It's called style
. I picked my way around the knots of kids and headed towards him. I think some of the students called out to me, but I didn't respond. Many fell silent as I passed. The news must have been full of Phoebe this morning. Gutless himself didn't see me until I tapped him on the shoulder. He had his back to me. His baseball cap had some logo I didn't recognise. Almost certainly something to do with a computer game. It swung away from me as Gutless turned.

‘Hey, Jamie, man,' he said. ‘How are you, dude?'

I tried to say something. I opened my mouth, but there weren't any words there, so I closed it again. He put a hand on my shoulder.

‘Jesus, man. You look like shit,' he said. ‘Any news?'

I might have shaken my head. I'm not sure. Suddenly, I was spent. Whatever energy store I was functioning on had suddenly run dry. My left leg started to tremble and I felt the world move away from me.

‘Say something, man,' said Gutless. ‘You're starting to freak me out.'

I tried again, but my mouth wasn't obeying instructions. It twisted and the muscles in my face twitched and jumped. My skin was slick, with sweat or tears or both. There was a thudding in my ears.

‘I'm scared, Gutless,' I whispered. ‘I'm so scared.'

And he hugged me. He put his arms around me and drew me into his chest. I imagine we were the focus of everyone's stares, but I was beyond caring. I sobbed and it all came out, the hurt, the fear, the guilt. It washed through me and Gutless hugged me, there in the schoolyard. He hugged me.

The call came half an hour later.

Gutless had wanted me to come into the school, maybe see the nurse or, at the very least, get someone to take me home, but I couldn't bear it. So I'd gone to Phoebe's school. The kids were in class by then, so I had the yard to myself. I sat on the low-slung swing and didn't care if I looked like a paedophile. The grounds had been recently mown and the air smelled of freshness and innocence. My ringtone dispelled all of that.

‘Listen carefully, Jamie,' said the voice. ‘In twenty-four hours you will have Phoebe back. I want you to arrange for the money to be delivered to your home today. Two million dollars in cash, in one-hundred-dollar bills. I also want you to buy a backpack large enough and strong enough to carry the money, which will weigh in excess of twenty kilos. Keep the money in the backpack at all times and wait for my call arranging the drop-off, the exchange.
I will ring again at six o'clock. I strongly suggest you do not let the police listen to our conversation then, since what I have to say is for your ears only. Tell me you understand.'

‘I understand.'

The phone went dead.

Here is something remarkable, something powerful. All of my tension, my tiredness and my fear drifted away on the grass-scented breeze. Maybe living in a kind of suspended animation had leached my spirit, dissolved my spine, but I had things to do now. I rang Gardner and told him the call had come. He wanted to talk but I hung up. Then I rang Mum and gave her the same information. She wanted to know when I would be home, but I couldn't tell her.
Later
, was all I said before cutting her off, too.

I pushed up from the swing and my legs were solid. I walked back to the city and found a camping store. I went for a top-of-the-range backpack. The assistant assured me it could easily cope with a weight in excess of twenty kilos.

‘This is a serious piece of equipment,' he said. ‘Check the stitching and the zips. Built for a lifetime of heavy use. The lightweight frame is designed to spread the weight and . . .'

‘I'll take two,' I said. ‘As long as they're identical.'

They cost a fortune and I worried for a moment that there wouldn't be enough in my account, and I'd have to call Summerlee. But the eftpos machine gave a large green tick. Then I went to a cafe and bought myself the special breakfast with my last twenty-dollar note. Sausages, bacon, hash browns and two fried
eggs with doorstop slices of toast. I finished all of it. I looked at my watch. Ten-thirty. Time to get to Summer's place.

Gardner rang me a couple of times on the way, but I didn't pick up. I'd decided that the only use he could be to me now was to arrange for the money delivery, and he didn't need to talk to me to do that. But I did ring Summer. She told me a number of things. First, there was no sign of the media; second, Gardner was coming round immediately to take her to the bank, and she wouldn't be there when I arrived. Finally, she said that Spider had made some phone calls and was ready to go. I asked her not to mention this call to Gardner and she agreed without asking why.

I picked up my pace. It was a beautiful day and I almost felt good.

CHAPTER 22

Spider took me to see his Spider.

To be strictly accurate, his Ferrari Testarossa Spider. It was a monument to rampant consumerism – low-slung, all streamlined contours and bright red. An engorged penis on wheels. I tried to look impressed, but I'm not sure I succeeded.

‘Wow. Cool wheels,' I said, but only because I couldn't think of anything else to say. A few alternatives sprang to mind.
Awesome
, was one.
What are you, some kind of dick?
was another, but I needed this favour, so I kept quiet. Of one thing I was sure, however. It was a cast-iron certainty he was about to tell me how much it cost.

‘Any idea how much this baby cost?' he said.

‘A lot?' I hazarded.

He told me. I whistled.

‘I was thinking of just getting a Ferrari, you know? But then I saw this Spider and I thought, hey, that's my name. It was kinda
fate, man, you know what I'm saying? Calling to me. Like it literally had my name on it. Cool, huh?'

‘Absolutely,' I lied.

‘Some bastard pissed in it,' he informed me, mournfully. I adopted an expression of horror. ‘Yeah,' he continued. ‘Me and Summer parked up at the local mall and when we come back, the seats are wringing wet. The stench was fuckin' disgusting, man. Can you believe that? It's just jealousy. I know that. But to stand there, in a car park and whip out your trouser snake to piss in someone's Ferrari Testarossa Spider. I mean, what's the world coming to?'

‘It's the downfall of western civilisation,' I replied.

‘Too right. Cost me four thousand bucks to get it cleaned and detailed.'

‘Well, you can afford it,' I said. ‘Or should I say, Summer can afford it.'

Spider shook his head, lost in despair at the evil in the world. I felt cheated. If I'd known they were going to park up at the local mall, I would have pissed in it first. Well, probably not, but the concept was really appealing.

‘Did they put that huge scrape along the side at the same time?' I asked.

‘Nah,' said Spider. ‘I did that. Took a bend too fast. I was doin' about a hundred and eighty and it slid a tad. Hit these fuckin' barriers. Tellya, man. You should've seen the sparks.'

I thought that if I had hit barriers at a hundred and eighty
I would have pissed in the car with no help from jealous passersby at local shopping malls. Time was moving on, however, so I opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. The man himself strolled around and vaulted into the driver's side, one hand on the windscreen, the other on the plush leather headrest.

I hate Spider. Despite Summer's heartfelt testimonial, I can't express how much I hate Spider.

He turned the ignition key and the car growled into life. Whatever the engine was – I couldn't say, I'm not into cars – it exuded an air of being unhappy in a state of rest. The whole car shook with pent-up energy, a validation of Newton's laws of physics. Potential momentum demanded conversion into actual momentum. Spider slipped the car into first and took off with a wail of wheels and the smell of burning rubber. My back pressed into the seat.