Free The Immortal Game by Mike Miner

game?”
    “I wish.”
    “Who is this?” Christopher said from behind Lonny.
    She squinted at the boy. “ Ah, y que es esto ? Como te llamas, chico ?”
    “Christopher, this is Vilma . Vilma , Christopher. Christopher Scarlotti.”
    The last name caused her eyes to widen. She appeared to be doing some calculations in her head. “How long?”
    Lonny sighed. “A day? Give or take.”
    “Please come in, you two.”
    “I need to use the bathroom,” Christopher said.
    “At the end of the hall my little amigo.”
    When the bathroom door shut, Vilma said, “The boy is in danger?”
    “Yes.”
    “You are in danger?”
    “Yes.”
    “How exciting.”
    “I’m sorry to put you in this position, Vilma .”
    She smiled, then she looked concerned. “How was your fall?”
    “Come again?”
    “Off the wagon?”
    Lonny looked away from her. “Hard.”
    She nodded. “ Esta bien , amigo . Not today and not tomorrow. Okay?”
    He swallowed. “Okay.”
    The toilet flushed.
    “And Vilma ?”
    “Si?”
    “The boy has been through some awful things today.”
    She grimaced. “I understand. You be careful.”
    Christopher came out of the bathroom. His eye caught the wooden chess set on the kitchen table. The pieces reminded Lonny of the Easter Island statues or totem pole faces.
    “Do you play, Christopher?” Vilma asked.
    The boy touched one of the pawns and nodded.
    “Then we will get along just fine.”
    “Christopher,” Lonny said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
    Christopher looked nervously at Lonny. “Does she have a gun?”
    She chuckled. “ Vilma does not need guns to scare people off.”
    Christopher looked skeptical.

20
     

    Kelly thought about calling him all day. What would she say? She wasn’t sure how she felt about what had happened last night. Hadn’t realized how hungry she was for human contact, for intimacy.
    It had stirred up memories, good and bad.
    Still, wasn’t that better than the numbness her life had become? A daily avoidance of feeling. Wasn’t that what Dylan’s drinking was about, numbness? We all chased our demons away, however we could.
    She opened the door to her apartment building, stopped at the mailbox, while an inner debate raged over whether to call him. A list of the things she missed did battle with the list of the things she didn’t. Dylan Thomas Lonagan was a coin and you never knew which side he would land on, Jekyll or Hyde.
    In her apartment, she set the mail on the dining room table, flipped on the light, and froze.
    A man was sitting in her leather chair.
    She screamed.
    He held a silver handgun in his right hand, and casually pointed it at her. He put a finger to his lips. “ Shh .”
    She recognized him. The blond man from the night before, with Dylan. He looked a bit like the new James Bond actor. In this light his eyes appeared colorless, his expression blank, cruel, comfortably numb.
    She was having trouble breathing. “What? What do you want?”
    He blinked and said, “I want you to call Dylan Lonagan.”
    An accent. German?

    Lonny was in the Boston Commons, near the swan boats, when his cell buzzed. He recognized her number.
    “I was kind of hoping you’d call,” he said.
    “Dylan, I don’t know what’s happening.”
    The panic in her voice was like fingers around his heart.
    “What is it?” He knew, but hoped he was wrong.
    At first, he thought he lost the connection. No, she was crying, or trying very hard not to. “There’s a man. With a gun.”
    Lonny stopped walking. “Where are you?”
    “Ah, Herr Lonagan,” a new voice said. The German. The ice in his voice made Lonny shiver. “Never mind about where we are.”
    “What do you want?”
    “The boy.”
    “A trade?”
    “A fair trade, no?”
    “Where?”
    “Quincy Market. The north steps.”
    “When?”
    “One hour.”
    “What if—”
    “Enough. You know the answers to these questions. Bring the boy to the north steps. Leave him. The woman will be at the south steps.