Wish List - John Locke

The thing is, I do believe it. But I’m busy trying not to be sick. The contents of my stomach are swirling, and there’s a weird ringing in my ears.

“You killed my boss?”

“No, you killed him. By wishing it.”

“But…I was just kidding around! I didn’t expect someone to actually kill him!”

“Oh, really? Gee, you should have said.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“You think?”

“What if I refuse?”

He smiles a fierce, terrifying smile. “There’s no refusing. Ask Pete.”

“Who’s Pete?”

“The guy you been with since noon.”

“You mean Thomas Jefferson?”

“Oh, and that didn’t give you a clue?”

“That’s not his name?”

“Try Pete Rossman.”

“I don’t believe you. Jefferson’s paperwork checked out. I Googled the guy, for Chrissakes!”

“Oh, well, if you Googled him.”

“You’re saying Thomas Jefferson, or Pete Rossman, or whatever his name is—doesn’t work for you?”

“Yes and no.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s in it the same way as you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Pete Rossman. Name doesn’t ring a bell?”

“No. What’s his claim to fame?”

“Pete’s a wealthy businessman, likes to keep a low profile. He’s hardly ever seen in public.”

“So?”

“His wife, on the other hand, is quite well known.”

“Who’s his wife?”

“Jinny Kidwell.”

Chapter 19

Though my car is parked near the entrance to Louis Challa’s, the limo pulls to a stop some fifty feet away. We’re at the far corner of the parking lot, facing the second curb cut.

“Your cell phone no longer works,” he says. “And we’ve tapped your home phone. Your computer, too.”

“Why?”

“We’re a controlling bunch, at least until we get what we want.”

I don’t like the sound of that. Up to now, I’ve been waiting for Perkins to open my door, but he’s still in the front seat, probably scared to move without being told. I shrug and let myself out the door and fish the keys from my pocket. I’ve got the briefcase in my left hand, but it’s feeling ten times heavier than the last time I lifted it. My head is reeling. Why would Rossman set up a line of credit in a phony name and fly me all the way to Hannibal to have sex with his wife? And why would he let her give me a million dollars for the privilege? The whole thing is completely insane.

I lean my head back in the limo and say, “I never caught your name.”

“Pete and Jinny call me Rudy.”

“Why would Rossman let me have sex with his wife?”

“That’s their business.”

“Fine, don’t tell me. I already know.”

He rolls his eyes in an exaggerated manner, like a teenage girl being lectured by her father. “I sincerely doubt that.”

“Somehow you guys turned Jinny Kidwell into a mega star. She’s paying you back by granting my wish.”

He laughs. It starts as a chuckle, but keeps building. It isn’t a fake laugh. Finally he says, “Pete said that?”

“Jinny told me,” I say, indignantly.

“Yeah? Well, she lied.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What, two hours in the sack, you think you know her character?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“I hate to burst your bubble, Chachi, but she’s an actress, remember?”

“If Jinny lied, then what’s the real wish you granted her?”

“Maybe she put fucking you at the top of her list.”

“Right. Look, I’m serious. What was Jinny’s wish?”

“It’s not my job to tell you.”

“And just what is your job, Rudy?”

His eyebrows arch, but his voice remains even. “Collecting payments.”

“Payments for what?”

“The wishes you get.”

I’m standing in Louis Challa’s restaurant parking lot, leaning into a limo, talking to a guy who is as far from a fairy godmother as a choirboy is to a congressman. There are people milling about the parking lot, so I straighten up and look around to make sure no one can hear our absurd conversation.

I lean my head back in the car and ask Rudy, “What did you do to her?”

“Who?”

“Jinny. To make her have sex with me.”

“It’s not like you think. I don’t force people to do a certain thing.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“You’re telling me Jinny didn’t have to sleep with me? She chose to?”

“Yeah, more like that. See, I give people two choices, sometimes three. We try to be accommodating.”

“And of all the choices you gave Jinny, having sex with me was the least objectionable?”

He made a gun out of his thumb and index finger, pointed at me, and pretended to shoot.

“So she’s paid up?” I say.

“Her payment has four parts.”

“Sleeping with me was one, right? She paid me a million dollars, that’s two. What are the other two?”

“That’s between her and us.”

“She’s rich, so the money was no big deal. Sleeping with me probably wasn’t that huge of a sacrifice…”

“Says you. But remember, her husband had to sit in the car and wait while she had sex with you. Can you imagine how hard that must have been for him?”

No. I couldn’t imagine it. Didn’t want to, didn’t try to imagine it.

“So that was her third thing?”

“No. That was one of his things.”

“Holy shit!”

“Exactly.”

“Am I involved in her other repayments?”

He shrugs.

“When will you tell me? After I help you bury the body?”

Rudy gestures at the open air around me. “I wouldn’t speak so loud, if I were you.”

I look around again, but no one is within hearing distance.

“Are you riding home with me?”

“No. Perkins will drop me off before picking you guys up for dinner.”

“How do you know I won’t drive straight to the cops?”

“It wouldn’t be prudent.”

“Why’s that?”

“There’s a dead body in your trunk.”

Chapter 20

I look at my car. I want to run to it, open the trunk and prove him a liar. But customers have started arriving at the restaurant, and I can’t take the chance someone might see. Then I think of something.

“The car keys,” I say, holding them up, jingling them in my hand.

“What about them?”

I show him a smug smile. “You couldn’t have put anything in my trunk. I had the keys with me the whole time.”

He reaches into his pants pocket and tosses me a set of keys on a key ring that looks exactly like mine. I hold them next to each other, starting with my car key.

Identical.

I try my house key.

Identical.

My office key.

Identical.

“Where did you get these?”

“You’d better get moving. Don’t want to be late for the concert.”

“You’ve been inside my house?”

“I’ll see you later tonight, in your garage. One a.m. Don’t be late.”

“What if I refuse? You can’t just make me bury a body.”

“Climb back in a minute, and close the door.” He sees the look on my face and adds, “Relax, we’re just going to have a little chat.”

I do as he says. When I’m settled in, he says, “I didn’t kill your boss.”

“What?”

“I didn’t kill Oglethorpe.”

“So what, this was all a joke?”

“No, he’s dead. It’s just that I didn’t kill him.”

“Who did?”

“A housewife from New Albany.”

“Indiana?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“She wanted to commit a perfect crime.”

“She wished it?”

“There’s a guy from Kansas City, name of Jansen. You don’t wanna know his first name, trust me. Guy’s a sick degenerate, violent, done some prison time at ADX.”

“What’s that?”

“Toughest prison in America. Anyway, we’re in the middle of granting his wishes.”

“So?”

“He wants to barbecue a living man, and eat him.”

I can’t see my face, but I’m sure he can tell I’m concerned. He continues: “We’ve already picked out a victim for him, a homeless guy in St. Louis. But we can easily make it you.”

I’m shuddering as I speak, so my voice comes out weird, and stuttering: “A-a-all I’ve g-g-got to do is b-bury a b-body?”

“Yeah, that’s all,” he says. Then adds, “For now.”

Chapter 21

Lissie’s enjoying the dinner more than me.

I’m trying to make it a special night, but all I can think about is the fine print and what I have to do in a few hours. I keep looking around the restaurant for Rudy, or Pete Rossman, or even Perkins, the limo driver. But if anyone’s watching us, it’s no one I know. Hell, maybe it’s everyone in the room. For all I know, there could be hundreds of people involved. If the fine folks at Wish List can grant all these wishes and force people like Rossman and Jinny Kidwell to participate, they must be incredibly well-funded and staffed.

They might be invincible.

“Cheers,” Lissie says, clinking my glass with hers. “This is amazing! Dinner at Guiseppi’s, the limo, the concert��tell me the truth: how big was the raise?”

“Huge.”

Her eyes are sparkling. “I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks.”

“No, seriously, Buddy, this is a dream come true. After all this time, you’ve finally made it!”

I wonder if I’ve made it. Specifically, I wonder if the hundred dollar bills in my pocket are counterfeit.

They’re not, I learn, after paying the bill.

Much as I dread the idea of burying my boss in a few hours, I like giving my beautiful wife a well-deserved night on the town, and watching her eyes light up when I pay the tab with hundred dollar bills. I like the way I’ve suddenly become more powerful in her eyes, proving the adage that nothing hides a man’s flaws like success.

In the limo, after the concert, her hands are all over me. She wants to put up the partition, but earlier, when I went to meet Perkins in our driveway to tell him Lissie was running a few minutes late, he’d said, “No hanky panky in the limo tonight,” so I tell Lissie she’ll have to ravage me when we get home.

“Don’t think I won’t,” she says.

We pull up in the driveway and Perkins lets us out, saying, “Lissie, it’s been a pleasure. Might I escort you to the door?”

Tipsy, giggly and adorable, she turns to me and tries to adopt a dignified, snobbish accent: “Perkins wishes to escort me to our abode, Charles. Does that meet with your approval?”

Perkins signals me to stay behind. “Of course, dahling,” I say, attempting to match her accent. “Go on in. I’ll settle up with the good man and join you momentarily.”

They walk to the front door and Perkins waits for her to enter. As she does, Lissie gushes, “Perkins, this has been the most wonderful night ever. Thank you for driving us. It’s been such a pleasure to meet you!”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Miss.”

She looks at me, standing by the car. “I’ve got the greatest husband in the whole world! What do you think, Perkins? Is he a keeper?”

“He’s certainly one of a kind, Miss.”

Perkins watches her enter the house and close the door. Then he approaches me.

“You think I’m scum, don’t you?” I say.

“We’re all scum,” he says. Then he points at the front door. “Except for her. A girl like that? She deserves better.”

“What happens now?”

He reaches into his pocket and removes a white capsule and hands it to me. “You’re going to pull the capsule apart and empty the contents into her drink. You’re going to stand over her and make sure she drinks every last drop.”

“What is it?”

“A sedative.”

“Is it safe?”

“Of course it’s safe. A word to the wise, make sure she’s in bed when you give it to her.”

“Why’s that?”

“Look, you’re running out of time, so don’t screw this up, okay? No long-winded toasts, no love talk, no sex. Get this into her system immediately. You do that, she’ll be zonked by one o’clock, and she’ll stay that way until you return.”

“You going to be here when Rudy comes?”

“No.”

“He said there’d be another guy here.”

“So?”

“You know who it is?”

“No.”

“You seem a nice guy, Perkins. Why are you involved with a guy like Rudy?”

He pauses a moment, then says, “Buddy, look at me.”

I look into his impassive face.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t make the mistake of thinking you and I are friends, because we’re not. Personally, I don’t give a shit what happens to you.”

“Okay. It just seemed like you were trying to help.”

He gestures to the house. “Her, not you.”

“Story of my life,” I say.

“She deserves better.”

I can’t argue the point, so I look at the capsule in my hand, and say, “Lissie doesn’t really drink at home.”

“You better hope she does tonight.”

“Why’s that?”

“If she’s awake, Rudy will make her participate.”

Chapter 22

Lissie says she’ll be happy to toast to our new success after slipping into something more comfortable, which turns out to be a sexy nightie she’d purchased for the occasion.

“You like it?”

“Love it!”

We’re in the bedroom. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, holding two glasses of wine. She’s standing in front of me, lifting the nightie, offering me a peek at her matching see-through panties.

“Wanna test drive?”

I do, but I remember what Perkins said about getting the drug into her system immediately. He made a good point about not giving Rudy an excuse to involve Lissie in the whole Jinny Kidwell and Ed Oglethorpe situations. Jinny said Lissie would never believe what we did, but Rudy strikes me as the type of guy who’d have proof. Lissie might also wonder what type of monster could escort her to dinner and a concert while knowing he had a dead body in the trunk of his car the whole time.

It takes some urging, but I finally get her to sit beside me and drain her glass. Perkins was right about making sure she was in bed first, because the minute I get our empty glasses on the night stand, Lissie falls sideways and slides off the bed. Fortunately, I’m within three feet of her, so I’m able to catch her before she hits the floor. She seems twice as heavy as she should, and I remember reading a novel once about how carrying “dead weight” is much harder than people think.

In any event, I manage to get her on the bed, and push her far enough toward the middle to keep her from rolling off again. She’s snoring lightly, so I put a pillow under her head and turn her sideways. I kiss her cheek and change into some clothes I hope are appropriate for burying a body.