Nightlife: Hazardous Material by Matthew Quinn Martin

Author:Matthew Quinn Martin [Martin, Matthew Quinn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pocket Star
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

SIX

Sure you don’t want a smoke?” Ludwig asked as they drove into the night.

“Stop asking me that.”

“Sorreee,” he whined, lighting one for himself. “Just thought it might help. Just figured you had one hell of a night is all.”

“I know.” Jarrod cracked the pickup’s passenger window to let in some fresh air. “And thanks, but I don’t think it’d be a good idea.”

“Said the guy the cops just pulled off the top of the Brooklyn Bridge.” Ludwig exhaled. A cloud of smoke broke across the windshield.

Jarrod clenched his fist tight, so tight he could almost feel the nails drawing blood. “Thanks for coming out this late.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I picked up one of my guys from the pokey. Know why they call it the pokey, right? Right?” Ludwig hit Jarrod with a couple of jabs. “Just joshin’. Gotta ask, though, Jare? You sure you don’t do drugs?”

Jarrod shook his head.

“It’s cool. I don’t pass judgment. That’s the Lord’s job.”

“I’m not on drugs, Ludwig. Not even grass. You can check my tox screen with the guys at the pokey, okay?”

Ludwig nodded. “Fair enough. Had to ask. Can’t blame a guy.” He turned off Houston, heading downtown toward Jarrod’s Lower East Side apartment.

Jarrod rubbed his arms. His head throbbed. All he wanted was more aspirin, more water, and his bed. No. That was a lie. He wanted to play the game again. He wanted to stand in front of the Polybius and get lost in it. He needed to play. It was insane. It was beyond insane. Why? Why? WHY?

“Hey, you still got that game I gave ya?” Ludwig asked, almost as if he could read Jarrod’s thoughts. “You know, that game, what was it called, Polybius?”

“No,” he lied quickly, surprised at the words even as they formed on his lips. “Sold it on eBay. Got a hunderd beans for it.”

“Sold it, huh? That was awful quick. Too bad. Figured if you still had it, I’d take it off your hands.” Ludwig slowed the pickup, almost as if he wanted time to draw the conversation out. “Don’t have it no more, huh?”

“No. Why?”

“Some guys were asking about it.” Ludwig stared off into the night, avoiding Jarrod’s gaze.

Sure they were. Just some random guys showed up asking about a game that neither of us is supposed to own. One that’s been rotting in a welded-shut arcade in an abandoned roller rink for thirty years. That was a line of bullshit they could smell in Jersey City. Ludwig must have run across a collector looking for rare games when he was unloading the eleven others. He must have found somebody looking to pay big and now wanted to welch on the deal.

“Too bad you didn’t hang on to it,” Ludwig added. “Would have given you more than a hunderd beans. Heck, I’d have given you at least a grand.”

“Well, I don’t have it anymore,” he said. Case closed. That game’s worth more than a measly grand, something inside his head screamed. It was worth more than a bullshit story about “some guys.

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