Free Ring Game by Pete Hautman Page A

Chance?” She’d heard the name someplace. The voice was familiar, too. “Yes?”
    “Have you ever been on TV, Polyhymnia DeSimone?”
    Polly frowned and tightened her grip on the steering wheel of her eco-green Range Rover. Her instinct was to look around for the hidden camera—a van with tinted windows, or a helicopter. There was a charter bus crowding her on the right. The car in front of her was some guy in a Saturn and, behind her, two elderly women in a minivan. No aircraft in sight.
    Why would anyone want to film her?
    “Ms. DeSimone? Are you there?”
    “Yes. Who did you say this is?”
    “I’m a reporter with Hard Camera . Is it true that you claim to be immortal?”
    “Where did you get this number?”
    “How old are you claiming to be this week? Are you collecting Social Security yet?”
    “I—” Polly’s brow ridged. She brought the heel of her hand down hard on the steering wheel. “Hy, is that you?”
    “I’m sorry, but I can’t reveal my true identity.”
    “You son-of-a-bitch. How’d you get my number?”
    “I got your number, darling. I got all your numbers.”
    “Good-bye, Hy.” She dropped a hand to the console, disconnected the call, then said, loudly and clearly, “Call Rupe.” The phone dialed itself, rang twice, three times. “Answer the goddamn phone, Rupe,” she muttered.
    “One God.” Rupert Chandra’s creamy voice filled the Range Rover.
    “One Way, One Life. It’s me, Rupe,” Polly said. Her voice, by contrast, was sharp as broken glass.
    Rupe’s voice rose. “Where are you?”
    “Stuck in traffic. I’m sitting in the left lane on the goddamn freeway. Haven’t moved in ten minutes.”
    “Polly, my sweet, the young lady is here, waiting for you.”
    “Listen, Rupe. I just got a call from Hy, pretending to be a reporter.”
    “Oh dear. What did he say?”
    “I hung up on him. We’ve got to do something, Rupe. He’s up to something. I’ve got a feeling.”
    “Please don’t be so negative, my love. He’s just trying to upset you, that’s all. We confiscated all the flyers and destroyed them. In any case, no one would have believed.” The document that had appeared on the windshields of every car in the ACO parking lot during the last Extraction Event had made several outrageous charges against the Amaranthine Elders, accusing them of Satanism, child abuse, consumer fraud, and vampirism. The flyers had also included the obituaries of two former Amaranthines whose immortality had failed them in the worst way.
    Rupe said, “The Faithful are safely in the fold, my dear.”
    Polly could almost see the beatific smile on Rupe’s suntanned features. “I’m not worried about the Faithful. I’m worried about the Pilgrims. We don’t need Hyatt trying to stir things up. I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing, but whatever it is, it’s not for our benefit. We’re in debt up to our ears with Stonecrop. We can’t afford a hit on our cash flow.”
    “Eternity will provide, Angel. In any case, we’ve nothing to hide.”
    “Hide? Eternity? Listen to me, Rupe, I don’t want to spend eternity in court, or talking to reporters, or dealing with the IRS, or in any other variety of hell on earth. If Hyatt is leafletting our parking lot you can bet he’s sending the same materials out to the media. If the spotlight shines our way, it won’t matter if we’ve done anything wrong. They’ll be on us like jackals on a wounded lion. You saw what happened at Waco.”
    “That was another matter entirely.”
    “Was it? I don’t think so, Rupe. If one reporter gets the idea that we’re a bunch of satanic child-abusing vampires, we’ll be preaching to a lot of empty seats.”
    The speaker produced a rushing sound: Rupe sighing into the phone. “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that, my love. Let’s discuss it later. In the meantime, would you please just get here and talk to this young lady? I don’t know what to do with her. I showed her the contract, but she