John Locke - Wish List

“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.

According to my watch, I’ve got about twenty minutes. I wonder if I should have another drink, to fortify myself for the grave digging, but decide that between what I consumed at dinner, and the wine just now, I’ve had enough. I turn out the bedroom lights and stand by the window that faces the front yard. I’m worried about the meeting for several reasons. One, Rudy scares the shit out of me. Two, though it’s hard to imagine, the guy Rudy’s bringing might be worse. Three, what if I get caught? Four, poor Mr. Oglethorpe. Sure, he was a bastard of a boss, but he has a wife and kids who probably care for him. Now he’s dead, and for no better reason than I wished it—and I wasn’t even referring to him in the first place! If anyone from work should die a horrible death, it’s Hilda. Five, digging a grave is bound to be strenuous work. I wonder how long it’s going to take. Six, I wonder if maybe the grave I’m digging is really for me. I never saw Oglethorpe’s body in my trunk. I wanted to open the trunk and look when I got home, but I also wanted to hide my money in the garage, and jump in the shower before Lissie could pick up Jinny’s scent on me.