The October List

returned to the delivery he’d just received and, swollen with joy, lifted out the dark green box of Dom Pérignon champagne.
    He peeled off the note.
     
Dear Frank. Thinking of you. We’ll share this soon! Really looking forward to Tuesday. I’ll call you! XOXO, Gabriela.
     
    He felt like he’d just scratched off the last number in Lotto and won a million dollars. He laughed out loud with pleasure.
    Champagne! And he didn’t think this was the cheap stuff, either.
    He pictured Gabby’s slim waist, her high, spherical breasts, thick, straight, auburn hair that she seemed to wear up in buns or ponytails most of the time. But occasionally she wore it down, which Frank loved.
    God, was she pretty.
    He recalled seeing her in that yellow swimsuit, sunbathing in Central Park. He believed he’d seen a scar on her belly. He wondered if it was a C-section or from an accident.
    He wondered how he could find out.
    Ask her, dummy.
    Their coffee on Friday had been great. He must’ve passed a test of sorts, because look at this! He regarded the green box again. Reread the note. Then again, and once more.
    Hell, Dom Pérignon. He Googled.
    Shit! A hundred fifty bucks!
    Frank began to fantasize about when she came over on Tuesday. He’d have the place spick-and-span.
    Vacuumed. And air-freshened; he sniffed and something smelled off.
    Clean sheets on the bed …
    Frank glanced at his watch. Well, he’d have to think about their date later. Now it was time for the fight.
    Time for death, time for blood.
    His palms began to sweat.
    In his musty bedroom Frank Walsh emptied his pockets onto his dresser: forty-three dollars in crumpled bills, coins, receipts, a Necco Wafer wrapper, a Kit Kat wrapper, and the knife he always carried, a two-inch Swiss Army model with magnifier, toothpick and scissors.
    He opened the closet door. Inside were dozens of shoes, one suit, four combat jackets and a hat rack with a single piece of headgear, a Greek fisherman cap. This he grabbed and pulled over his ruddy hair. He sat down in his creaky office chair and booted up his computer, kicking his shoes off. Squinting at the computer screen, Frank moused up the volume, and music trilled, otherworldly music from a different dimension.
    The familiar logo filled the screen, giving him comfort, like seeing the Now Entering sign of your hometown.
     
    The Clans of Gravias Major
    The Number One Online Role Playing Game
     
    Frank clicked on Resume Game and motioned to life his avatar, a lean, handsome warrior whose appearance was similar to its owner only in hair color. He directed this figure to the armory to select the Daratian knife from his arsenal of weapons. Frank then flew the avatar, via a winged horse, into Prospecia Woods, where he would meet and fight an avatar manned by a young player in Taiwan.
    They’d scheduled this one-on-one battle to settle a dispute between their respective clans, as the rules of the game allowed.
    A few moments later he arrived at the Judgment Circle, which was already surrounded by several dozen avatars from both clans. The people behind those creatures – none of whom Frank had ever met in person, or even had a real conversation with – directed the warriors and wizards to applaud and leap up and down, offering cries of support. The other side, of course, did the same, encouraging their warrior.
    After a moment the opposing avatar appeared, a bizarre-looking creature with a tentacle for a tail. He surveyed the fighting circle and stepped over the barrier.
    Frank instructed his avatar to do the same. The two animated creations faced each other.
    He had a brief memory of Mr Overcoat, but it faded quickly. He had a knife fight to win. He directed his avatar to crouch and, with the wicked blade forward, he advanced on his opponent, who dropped into a defensive position as its snaky face surveyed his enemy.
    Frank feinted to the side and then leapt forward, knife swinging like an airplane propeller, and he clung to his strategy – pretending he was defending Gabby from being raped by the creature.
    Blood flew and screams rose harrowingly, shooting from the Bose speakers, a month’s pay.
    Frank advanced again.
    Stalking, attacking, killing …

III
     

CHAPTER
20
     

10:00 p.m., Saturday
10 hours, 30 minutes earlier
     

 

 
     
    ‘Hal. Sorry to ruin your Saturday night.’
    ‘Never a problem to see you , Pete.’
    The men pumped hands vigorously. Both right wrists, coincidentally, were encircled by gold