CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Unleashing the Beast

George was not, in concept, a fan of bowling. It was pretty much just the same thing over and over, and the best you could hope for in terms of variety was that somebody in the other lane might slip and fall on their ass. Still, he actually found the “sport” kind of fun, and bowling might have been on his future list of ways to detox from the whole miserable Ivan experience.

He had a feeling that bowling was going to be forever tainted for him.

Ivan ran through the front doors of the bowling alley. He was in human form, but though he’d gotten rid of most of the blood, it was a human form covered with cuts and holes, not to mention the fact that he only wore shredded jeans. He clearly wasn’t going inside in an attempt to blend with Uncle Frank’s bowling league.

“What should we take?” Lou asked.

George wasn’t certain. They couldn’t just run in there and start lobbing dynamite. “Okay, give me two of the grenades,” George said. “I’m going in there after him, but you take the van and drive behind the building. My job will be to chase him out one of the back entrances. When you see him, let him have it.”

“Sounds good.”

“Make sure it’s him before you start throwing dynamite.”

“I can handle that.”

“If he kills me, avenge me.” George pulled the van right up in front of the bowling alley. There were no screaming people rushing out of the exit yet, so things still had the potential not to completely lose control. George took two of the grenades from Lou, slipped one into each pocket, then got out of the van and ran inside the building.

He glanced around. Surprisingly decent music played over some speakers. He could die to Guns n’ Roses if he had to. Only about five of the twenty or so lanes looked like they were being used. Obviously it wasn’t League Night. Some guy dropped to his knees and raised his hands, apparently cursing the heavens as he got a gutter ball.

Where was Ivan?

The main desk where you paid for your game and got your shoes was to the right, so Ivan probably would’ve gone in the other direction. George turned to the left and walked, bracing himself for a werewolf attack at any moment.

There he was. In the game room. Seated in a stool in front of Ms. Pac-Man. Facing George and not the video game.

Ivan held up his hands to show that they were empty. His voice sounded tired, resigned. “Why are you still following me, George?”

“We’ve already been over this. You’re a killer.”

“And I’m going to continue to be a killer as long as you follow me. How many people do you think are in this bowling alley?”

“It doesn’t matter. What you did before--it’s never going to happen again.”

“Look, George, we both have the potential to be reasonable men. This is stupid. You don’t want me to kill any more innocent people, and I don’t want you following me trying to blow up my car. Remember when you wanted to cut a deal? I’m ready to cut a deal.”

George shook his head. “We’re not giving you any money.”

“I don’t want money. I want peace. Just a few hours of peace.” He smirked at George. “Oh, by the way, are those grenades in your pocket or your testicles for safekeeping?”

“They’re grenades.”

“So why don’t you throw one at me?”

“I’m here to talk, just like you,” said George. That wasn’t even remotely the truth, but if he was going to successfully use the grenades, he’d have to catch Ivan unaware. The last thing George needed was to throw a grenade and have it batted right back in his face.

Or he could shove one down Ivan’s throat and pull the pin. That idea worked, too.

“We’re two sides of the same coin, you and me,” said Ivan.

“No, we’re not.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Forget I said it. Just trying to connect. However, I really do think we can talk this one out, because you’ve got something I want, and I’ve got something you want. Those are the two elements in a successful deal, my friend.”

“So what is it you want?” George asked. “For me to just let you go? That’s not going to happen.”

“I’m not asking for a permanent treaty. I just want you to tell me where the tracking chip is, and then I’ll leave. Nobody else dies today.”

“It’s in your leg.”

“Wrong. See, I can tell when you’re lying to me. That’s how close we’ve grown. They didn’t tell you where it was, huh?”

“Nope. Sorry.”

“Figures. So my next request is to watch you smash the tracking device. Take all of your frustration out on it. Pretend it’s me. I know Bateman and Dewey can still follow me, but all I want now is to get you off my tail.”

“You don’t have a tail.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m thankful for that.”

George cleared his throat. “Well, Ivan, despite my appearance, I am indeed a businessman. You’re right, we both want something from each other. My question is, how can I trust you? You can watch us stomp on the tracer, but if we’re supposed to let you go, how do I know you won’t turn the corner and start killing people?”

“Well, that’s a tricky one. The answer is that I don’t want to kill anybody else tonight.” Ivan held up his arms, revealing a mostly healed but still hideous gash on each of them. “I’m tired. I’ve got all of those bullets in me that have to be taken out. I’ve murdered a lot of people today, more than you even saw, and it’s like an Olympic athlete setting a world record--they don’t want to jump right back in the pool and try for another one.”

“I’m not sure that metaphor is correct, but continue.”

“All I want to do is hide out and rest for a while. My promise to you is that I won’t kill anybody else. I’m not even planning to stay in the country.”

“Neither are we.”

“Well, shit, let’s just make sure we’re fleeing to different countries and everything will be fine.”

“Sorry.”

“Then how about we settle this over a game of Ms. Pac-Man? You get high score, I’ll surrender myself to you. I get high score, you leave me alone. Fair?”

“Now I feel like you’re stalling.”

“You know, George, I’ve tried to be friendly during this little discussion. Make a deal, go our separate ways, and end this in a reasonably pleasant manner. But I don’t get the impression that you want to work with me.”

“I wonder why?”

“Because you’re a fucking idiot. If they can find me wherever I go, then I have nothing to lose. Do you think I want them to hunt me down in a cheap motel and take me out while I sleep? Fuck that. If you’re not going to cut a deal, then I’m just going to go out in a big-ass blaze of glory and kill every fucking person in this place.”

“All right,” said George. “We’ll destroy the tracer.”

“Thank you. Call Lou.”

“You don’t want to see it in person?”

“I’m sure he’s got video capability on his phone. Tell him to video himself stomping the tracer to pieces and then send it to you.”

A little kid, maybe seven or eight years old, walked into the game room.

“The arcade is closed,” Ivan informed him.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Are you really going to argue this with me? It’s closed. Get out of here.”

The little kid gave Ivan the finger and left.

“You know,” said Ivan, “there was a time when kids would respect their elders. They don’t even respect their parents anymore. If I’d flipped off an adult when I was that age, my middle finger would be in a cast.”

“Mine, too.”

“It’s really sad where society has fallen. I mean, I’m not going to sit here and try to convince you that I’m helping society in any way, but compare the impact of me killing a few people to the overall damage done by the fact that our nation’s youth no longer has any shred of respect for their elders. If you could trade my killings for a generation that doesn’t give adults the finger in arcades, wouldn’t that be a good deal?”