John Locke - Wish List

I drive back to my place and put the car in the garage. I go inside and race up the stairs to our bedroom to check on Lissie, and find her sleeping on her side, just the way I left her. I look for her cell phone, find it, and try to place a call. But there’s no dial tone. I pick up my home phone and hear a click. Rudy wasn’t lying, they’ve tapped our phone.

I go back down the steps, out to the garage, and check the places where I hid random bricks of cash. They’re all there. I go back inside the house, pour myself a shot of whiskey, down it in one gulp, head back up the stairs, and climb into bed with Lissie.

Chapter 27

“Jesus, Buddy, how much did we drink last night?”

I wake up, startled.

“What?”

“I’m so groggy. Are you?”

According to the clock on the end table, it’s nearly eleven. “Yeah, I feel like I’m in a fog. We were pretty lit.”

“My God, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

“I should have made you stop.”

She sat up, tried to focus. “Oh, shit.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m still wearing my nightie.”

“So?”

“We didn’t make love.”

“Oh. You’re right. We must have passed out.”

She smiles and kisses me on the cheek. “Well, we’re not used to so much excitement. But Buddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Congratulations, superstar. I’m really proud of you.”

“Thanks, hon.”

Lissie gets out of the bed and stumbles slightly on her way to the bathroom, reminding me of Jinny, and how she stumbled when heading to the closet to fetch my money. God, was that just yesterday?

“Oh, God,” Lissie moans from inside the bathroom. “Sorry, but I’m going to be in here awhile.”

“Okay, I understand.”

“I feel like a beanbag that’s been tossed one time too many.”

I hear her retch, and then throw up. I run to the door. “You okay, baby?”

“Not feeling so good. I must have been plastered last night. I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”

“No, you were great. You remember dinner, right? And the concert?”

“Oh, my God, yes! And Perkins! I remember him walking me to the door.”

“Right.”

She vomits again. “God, I’m sorry, Buddy. I hate for you to see me like this.”

I feel guilty as hell about the sedative and ask, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No. Please, just go downstairs or somewhere you can’t hear me. I really don’t want to gross you out.”

“Okay, honey. I hope you feel better soon.”

I feel like a complete shit heel. I’m happy about the million dollars in the garage, but I keep remembering Pete Rossman in the jet yesterday, telling me what was in the fine print of the Wish List Agreement:

“Your life.”

I rush downstairs to the kitchen and fire up my computer, get online, and type in www.wishlist.bz. When the website loads, I look for the Agreement.

I find the little box that lets you read the fine print, and click it. I scroll up, down, reading the words, searching for loopholes. Specifically, I wonder if I can make new wishes to cancel out the old ones. But I’m no attorney. I can’t make sense of all the legalese in the agreement. I start a new list and type the words Never Harm Lissie , and a message comes on the screen:

BUDDY, YOUR FOUR WISHES HAVE BEEN GRANTED.IF YOU’D LIKE TO CREATE FOUR WISHES FOR LISSIE,PLEASE CONTINUE. IF NOT, DELETE THIS WISH, ANDLEAVE THE SITE IMMEDIATELY.

Holy shit! I erase the wish and back myself off the website. I don’t want Lissie involved with these bastards any more than she already is. Nor do I want more wishes that have to be repaid! I just want to be left alone with my wife and our life and our million dollars. I don’t want to get arrested for killing my boss, and I don’t want to be linked in the killing of Sally and Tom, and I don’t want to know what made Jinny Kidwell agree to have sex with me. I wonder what the chances are that Rudy and the company will let me do my paybacks and leave us alone. It makes sense they would. If I participate, and do everything they ask, they should be willing to let me walk away.

Then I think about Richie and wonder what I’ll do if they ask me to kill someone.

At that precise moment, there’s a knock at the kitchen door. I jump up and look through the peephole.

And see Rudy.

Chapter 28

“What are you doing here? Lissie’s home!”

Rudy and I are on the porch. I’ve got the door closed, hoping Lissie doesn’t come downstairs before I can get rid of him.

“How’s she feeling this morning?” he says.

“You know about the sedative?”

“I know about everything.”

“Then you should know she’s a bit under the weather.”

“No need to bite my head off, Champ, I was just trying to make conversation.”

“Look, I just want out.”

“Out of what?”

“This whole thing. The Wish List. I want out.”

“I feel your pain.”

“No, seriously, Rudy. What can I do to get my life back?”

“Give us two paybacks.”

Hearing him say that reminds me of last night.

“What happened to Richie?”

“You’ll be pleased to know he came through with flying colors.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Amazing what you can do when your life depends on it.”

“Will you really let us go if we do what you ask?”

“Why wouldn’t we? You can’t have an agreement unless both parties fulfill their promises.”

He’s right! For the first time since meeting the guy, I’m beginning to get a glimmer of hope that everything that’s happened can somehow be swept under the rug. Because what he just said is a hundred percent true: if both parties signed an agreement, and we both agreed to fulfill four requests, doing so should terminate the relationship. I’ve received four wishes, paid back two. It’s a simple math equation.

Then he says, “You ever been in a fight?”

“What?”

“A fist fight.”

“You mean, for real? A real fight?”

“Yeah.”

“No, of course not. I don’t know a thing about fighting.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

“Why do you ask?”

“I signed you up to fight a guy tonight.”

“You what ?”

“Tonight at eight. We’ll pick you up at seven.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“You know how you were asking me about the group payback last night?”

“What about it?”

“This is a perfect example. A bunch of people wished to see a fight between two guys with no training or experience.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Who would waste a wish on seeing a crappy fight?”

“It’s not gonna be a crappy fight. It’s gonna be a hell of a fight! And my money’s on you, Champ!”

“I’m totally out of shape. There’s no way I can win a fight. I can barely climb the stairs in my own house.”

“You just need a little confidence.”

“It’s not possible. I can’t fight, and don’t want to.”

“There are three motivations working in your favor,” Rudy says, “and I’ll tell you two of them now.”

I’m staring vacantly. I don’t believe in fighting. I’m terrified of confrontation. I can’t stand the sight of blood. I once signed a petition to ban boxing! Last night, watching Tom punch Richie’s face, I almost threw up. Jesus, it just hit me: Tom and Sally are dead.

Because their daughter’s killer’s mother wished it.

Rudy says, “Pay attention, Champ. Motivation number one is you’ll have your third payback out of the way.”

“You never told me what the second one was.”

“I’ll tell you tonight. The second motivation is even stronger. I can’t wait to tell you.”

“Just say it, okay? Say it and get out of here, before Lissie sees us.”

“Okay, okay! Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I was just trying to build suspense. The second motivation is, this is a fight to the finish.”

“What?”

“Ain’t it great? I mean, two pansies are gonna fight until one of them is pronounced dead.”

“No! You can’t! Please don’t make me do this. Wait—you actually can’t force me!”

“Excuse me?”

“You said so yourself.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Yesterday you said you don’t make people do things they don’t want to do. You give them two, sometimes three choices, like with Jinny.”

“I said that?”

“You did. Look, give me another choice. What’s my alternative?”

He looks confused. “Well, if I said it, I guess I’m bound.”

“Okay, then. So give me something else.”

“I’ll make a deal with you. When we pick you up tonight, I’ll give you an alternative, if you still want one.”

“I’ll want one.”

“We’ll see. But in case you choose to fight, bring a pair of shorts and tennis shoes, unless you want to fight barefoot.”

“Are you listening to me? I’m not gonna fight tonight!”

“I heard you, Champ. Jeez, I’m not deaf. I’m just saying, in case you change your mind, that’s what you should bring to wear.”

“I won’t change my mind.”

“See you at seven, Champ.”

“Stop calling me that!”

Chapter 29

Lissie is still groggy from the sedative, but with each hour that passes, her condition improves. Perkins told me to put the whole capsule in her drink, but half that amount would have been more than enough.

I’ve got a good excuse for going out tonight. I tell her Perkins is coming to pick me up for a meeting with my new client.

“When am I going to meet this Thomas Jefferson?” she says. “Will he be in the car tonight?”

“No, Perkins is taking me to the airport to meet his private jet. I think I’m meeting the CEO, too. But we shouldn’t be out too late.”

“I’m not used to these late night meetings. Is this going to be a regular thing?”

“No. It’s just getting acquainted stuff.”

By four in the afternoon, Lissie has recovered enough to wonder why I’m acting so strangely. “I can’t remember you ever being more attentive, and yet you’re completely distracted. What gives?”

I’m attentive because if worse comes to worse I could get beat to death tonight, in which case I’ll never see her again. I’m distracted for the same reason.

“I’m just worried about you,” I say. “And nervous about my meeting tonight.”

“You’ll be great,” she says.

Actually, distracted isn’t the best word to describe how I’m feeling. What I am is scared shitless. It’s clear to me that Rudy wants me to fight, so the choice he gives me will probably be something worse than killing someone (or being killed) in the boxing ring.

But what could be worse than that?

At seven o’clock Rudy and Perkins pick me up and take me to an abandoned warehouse a half mile behind the airport at Standiford Field. There are two huge luxury busses in the parking lot, and two bouncers guarding the front door.

“What’s in there?” I ask Rudy.

“The cage.”

“What cage?”

“The one you’re fighting in.”

The cold sensation floods my body again. I know I’m pale with fear. I try to speak, but my voice comes out in a whisper. I swallow and try again. “What about our deal?”

“We’ll get you in the dressing room, get your hands wrapped, and then I’m going to show you a quick video of your opponent. After that, if you still don’t want to fight, I’ll give you an alternate choice.”