Page 20 of Ship Happens
“Table two, not all serial killers are created equal,” Jim says into the mic. “The most notorious killers are not even of our ilk. One of the most disgusting and vile monsters to ever don the title of serial killer was known as the Werewolf of Wysteria. What was his actual name?”
“Albert Fish!” Frankie opens her mouth and blurts the answer before I can stop her. That glazed look in her eyes tells me she’s entirely unaware of what’s about to happen.
“That is correct!” Jim shouts. “Get up here and spin the wheel!”
She looks to me for help, but the girls encourage her to get up. There’s no telling what that wheel entails, but I can bet it’s murder. I stand, half-expecting the girls to yank me back into my chair, but Jim is the one who stops me from approaching the stage.
“Now, now, Maverick. Frankie answered the question, so Frankie gets to spin the wheel.” His eyes glint with the pleasure of his mischief as he motions her toward doom.
And I can only sit here and watch.
Chapter Nine
Frankie
Well, fuck. My cover is about to be blown, and I have no one to blame but myself. Is it too late to hope that a new car is on the prize wheel? Ugh, fuck me for being such a smarty pants. The answer just came out of me, and I was still shocked from witnessing a brutal murder. I didn’t consider what my prize might entail.
On shaking legs, I rise and head toward the stage. I risk one backward glance toward Maverick, who clearly knows more than he’s letting on. He has me pegged as a fed, that much is clear.
So why hasn’t he killed me?
“Come on, come on.” Jim waves his hand through the air, encouraging me to move my legs. “No need to be shy, Frankie. Everyone will get a chance to make a kill, so you don’t have to feel bad about earning this one.”
The room falls silent as I grip the narrow metal railing and climb the first step. I steel my nerves as Jim clutches my arm and hauls me toward the wheel of disaster. As we draw closer, my brain tries to understand the words written within eachglittering triangle, but it’s as if I’ve forgotten how to read. The letters jumble together.
This isn’t who I was trained to be. I have nerves of fucking steel. I was chosen for this mission for a reason, and that reason is my skill. Since arriving on this ship, I’ve gotten everything incorrect, and that shook my confidence. If I want to survive the next few days, I need to find that confidence again.
I step up to the wheel and grip the edge for one hell of a spin, but Jim places his hand over mine and smiles down at me.
“This one’s a little eager to make the kill, isn’t she?”
The crowd offers an obligatory chuckle in response to his weak-ass joke.
I smile at the crowd and fake a laugh, then lean closer to the mic. “We came here to kill these assholes, didn’t we?”
A few cheers rise from the tables, including the women seated at mine. But Maverick doesn’t cheer. He doesn’t even smile. He just sits there with his arms folded over his chest, watching me with a straight face. I’m glad I’ve gotten the girls back on my side, but something tells me Maverick is far too suspicious now.
“Very well. Spin the wheel, my dear.” Jim takes a step back and stretches his arm toward the monstrous circle.
With an entirely falsified grin, I step forward and grip the side of the wheel once more, then give it a spin with all my weight. The metal tines poking from the center of each slice slap against the plastic arrow that points to the words I can’t read. The ticking sound slows, and the wheel comes to a stop on a glittering red sliver.
“Russian roulette! How exciting!” Jim shouts into the mic, and now we’re deaf. “Please bring a red Cattle and the revolver to the stage.”
The curtain behind us rustles, and two men with orange wristbands wrestle a man in a red jumpsuit onto the platform onwhich we stand. Another staff member appears with a chair, and the three of them set to work. Within only a few minutes, they’ve strapped the man down.
Metal bindings secure his wrists, ankles, and neck to the thick wooden beams that make up his death throne. The seat looks suspiciously similar to an antique electric chair, minus the metal cap. One of the workers scurries behind the curtain, then returns with a revolver, which they place into my hands. I study the worker’s face and notice tiny scars around his lips, almost as if his mouth had been sewn shut at some point.
Do they allow some of their victim pool to become workers? I file this question away for later. If there is a later. Maverick is cute, but he’s going to throw a big wrench into my plans if he tries to kill me.
Which means I’ll have to take him out before he can take me out.
I test the heft of the gun in my hand, then step toward the Cattle.It isn’t Castle.That’s what I keep repeating in my mind as I press the gun’s barrel against the man’s temple.
He pulls his head away and screams through his nose. His lips have been glued shut instead of sewn shut, but the effect is essentially the same. Sweat gathers on his forehead and drips into his eyes.
“What did he do?” I ask Jim.
He waggles his eyebrows and looks into the crowd. “Oh, do we have another Confessor in our midst? She wants to know what this vile creature has done.” Jim walks around the seated man. “This monster kidnapped his sixteen-year-old niece and assaulted her for three weeks before police discovered her body. He’s been in prison for ten years, and he’s up for parole in twenty. Thirty years for taking a life and abusing a corpse. Do you think that’s fair, Frankie? Our government certainly does.”
