Game (Jasper Dent #2)(122)

He’s gonna shoot me. He’s totally gonna shoot me. Jazz tensed, ready to roll to one side. Anything to give himself an advantage. “But I want to learn!” he protested, buying time. “I want to hear more!”

“Enough talk,” Hat said. “It’s time for me to go. To claim my reward and move on.” He stepped into the unit and took the battery-powered lantern. If Jazz hadn’t been shot, he could have run like hell or tackled the guy. But right now all he could do was stare at the…

At the ceiling…

Looking straight up, he realized that he might be seeing his salvation. Maybe.

He had to time it just right.

Still shivering, his body definitely sinking into shock, Jazz forced himself into a sitting position.

Hershey walked past with the lantern, the only source of light in the storage unit. He was going to kill Jazz and leave the bodies here, and who knew when they would be found?

With an agonized shriek of pain, Jazz levered himself up from the floor, pushing off with his hands. He tried to keep weight off his left side, but it was impossible, and a fresh wave of hell erupted along that side of his body as he reached out for the rope he’d noticed hanging from the ceiling. Hershey, distracted for a moment, almost dropped the lantern. Raised the gun.

Pulled the trigger.

Just an instant too late.

Jazz had grabbed the rope and pulled with all his might, collapsing to the floor again to add his body weight to the tug he hoped would save his life. The corrugated steel door to unit 83F came crashing down between him and Hershey lightning-fast. It was so loud that Jazz didn’t hear the sound of the gun going off again, but in the last instant of light before the door slammed down, he saw tiny dimples erupt in its steelhide.

Despite the pain plastered to his side like lava, Jazz found the strength to throw himself at the door. There was a metal lip inside the unit where the door met the floor and Jazz pressed down on it and leaned into it. Outside, Hershey cursed and pulled at the door, trying to raise it again, but Jazz refused to budge, holding it down.

No way. No way in hell. You are not getting in here. Not a chance. At least now there’s a door between that gun and me.

Cold comfort, as the blackness surged around him.

Finally, Hershey stopped tugging at the door. Even though every muscle and nerve in his body begged Jazz to relax, he couldn’t. He knew that it would be a trick, that as soon as he let up, Hershey would fling the door back up and open fire.

Still, the silence on the other side of the door was maddening. Was Hershey even still out there? Had he left?

That’s what he wants you to think. And then you open up the door and the last thing you see is the barrel of Morales’s gun.

Another wave of pain slammed at Jazz, bringing with it nausea. He realized someone was laughing and then realized that that person was him.

“There’s nothing funny about your situation,” Hershey said from outside.

Jazz agreed, but couldn’t stop giggling for some reason. “Do you know who I am?” he asked. “Do you have any idea what my father—”

“I know exactly who you are. You’re Jasper Dent. Crowson. And I don’t care. You’re not a part of the game. The dog creature was. Now he’s lost. The whoreslut was because all whoresluts are.”

Jazz closed his eyes. There was no light in the unit, so there was nothing to see, anyway. Then he forced them back open. Keep them open. Keep looking. You’re alive as long as you’re looking.

It was a standoff. For now. Jazz couldn’t get out and Hershey couldn’t get in. How long would that last? How long before Hershey decided to switch guns and just perforate the whole door—and Jazz—with the bigger-caliber gun? How long before—

Just then, he heard something scratching at the door.

What is—

And a tiny click!

No more standoff. He suddenly knew exactly what Hat planned to do to him.

Oh, hell no. This guy is not going to Cask of Amontillado me. No way.

“What are you doing?” He tried to keep the panic out of his voice, but he didn’t do a very good job. The pain, the shock—they wrecked all his control, all his skills built up over a lifetime.

“I’ll be back when you’re more compliant,” Hershey said through the door. “Or maybe I’ll just come back when you’re dead. Or maybe I’ll just leave you here forever. Whichever. It no longer matters.”

Jazz pounded at the door. It rattled and shook, but stayed in place. Hershey had locked him in. Locked him in the darkness with nothing but two corpses for company and a bullet wound that was slowly bleeding the life from him.

“Maybe we can make some kind of deal—” Jazz began, though what kind eluded him.

“No deals,” Hershey said. “You die. I live. Simple as that.”

“You left the message for me!” Jazz cried. “You were the one who welcomed me to the game! That was a Hat kill. You can’t just—”

“I was told to do that. I was just following the rules.”

A killer who followed the rules. Now Jazz had heard everything. He reached down to probe his leg, carefully feeling along as the pain increased.

He found a hole in his jeans.

And one in his thigh.

Still bleeding. Of course. All this moving around. Stupid.

Grimacing, he stuck his thumb in the bullet hole.