The Zero Game

me…!”

Without a word, Janos lowered the gun, sliding it back in his pocket.

As the gun left his forehead, Sauls opened his eyes. “I’m sorry, Janos… I’m so sorry…” he continued to beg.

“Catch your breath,” Janos demanded, handing Sauls the glass of cranberry juice.

Sauls desperately downed the drink, but it didn’t bring the calm he was searching for. His hands were trembling as he lowered the glass, which clinked against the counter.

Shaking his head, Janos pivoted on his good leg and turned to leave. “Good-bye, Sauls,” he said as he made his way out of the kitchen.

“S-So you’re not gonna kill me?” Sauls asked, forcing a petrified smile.

Janos turned and held him with a midnight stare. “Who said that?”

A long, pregnant pause passed between the two men. Then Sauls started to cough. Slightly at first. Then harder. Within seconds, his throat exploded with a wet, hacking wheeze. It was like a backfire from an old car. Sauls grasped at his neck. It felt like his windpipe had collapsed.

Janos stared at the empty glass of cranberry juice and didn’t say a thing.

Between coughs, Sauls could barely get the words out. “You little motherf-”

Again, Janos just stood there. At this point, a black-box-induced heart attack was too much of a calling card. A temporarily swollen windpipe, however, was just another choking accident in the kitchen.

Clawing at his own throat, then clutching at the counter to stand up, Sauls fell to his knees. The juice glass shattered across the black and white floor. Janos left before the convulsions started.

It was time for a vacation anyway.

Epilogue

“Here he comes,” the guard by the door calls out to me.

As he says the words, every visitor in the room, from the black woman with blond hair to the well-dressed man holding the Bible in his lap, imperceptibly turns their head to the left. This is still Washington, D.C. They all want to know if it’s someone worth looking at. To me, it is.

With both his arms and legs in shackles, Barry shuffles forward, his cane replaced by the guard who holds his biceps and guides him toward the orange plastic seat across from me.

“Who?” Barry asks as I read his lips.

His guard mouths my name.

The moment Barry hears it, he pauses, then quickly covers it up with a perfect grin. It’s a classic lobbying trick — pretend you’re happy to see everyone. Even when you can’t see.

The guard lowers Barry into the seat and hands him the receiver that’s hanging on the glass. Around his wrist, there’s a nametag that looks like a hospital bracelet. There’re no shoelaces in his sneakers. Barry doesn’t seem to be bothered by any of it. Crossing one leg over the other, he tugs on the pant leg of his orange jumpsuit like it’s his regular two-thousand-dollar suit.

“Pick up,” the guard yells through the glass, motioning for me to grab the receiver.

An ocean of acid churns through my stomach as I lift the chipped receiver to my ear. I’ve been waiting two weeks for this call, but it doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to it.

“Hey,” I whisper into the mouthpiece.

“Man, you sound like crap,” Barry sings back, already trying to act like he’s inside my brain. He tilts his head as if he can see my every expression. “Really, though — like someone kicked you in the face.”

“Someone did,” I say, staring straight at him.

“Is that all you’re here for?” he asks. “One last potshot?”

I continue to stay silent.

“I don’t even know how you can complain,” he adds. “You seen a newspaper recently? The way the press is reading it, you’re coming through just fine.”

“That’ll change when the gambling part gets released.”

“Maybe yes, maybe no. Sure, you won’t get another government job — and you’ll probably be a pariah for a few years, but that’ll pass.”

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” I volley back, trying to keep him engaged. Anything to keep him talking.

“What about Senator Stevens?” Barry asks. “He feeling the regret yet for giving you the boot?”

“He didn’t have a choice.”

“Spoken like a true staffer,” Barry says.

“You telling me I’m wrong?”

“You’re definitely wrong. He knew you’d make a deal with the government — that’s all the cover he needed. Instead, you spend over a decade slaving away for the man, and he drop-kicks you when you need him most? Know how bad that looks for him? Mark it right now — that’s gonna cost him reelection.”

“He’ll be fine.”

“As I said, spoken like a true staffer.”

“Ex-staffer,” I shoot back.

“Don’t bitch to me,” Barry says. “I mean, look at it this way… at least you have your shoelaces.” He twirls the ankle that’s up on his knee. He’s trying to play it cool, but back by his waist, he’s picking at his wristband.

“By the way, did you see the piece in today’s Post?” he adds. He smiles wider, but he’s scratching even harder at the wristband. There’s only so long he can wear the brave face. “They actually called me a terrorist.”

I once again stay quiet. He’s definitely taking the public fall. Even though Lowell ’s office was able to find Sauls’s name and trace it back to Wendell, it took weeks to prove what really went on. Today, with Sauls dead and Janos missing, they need a neck for the noose — and right now, Barry’s it.

“I heard you hired Richie Rubin. He’s a good lawyer,” I point out.

He smells the small talk a mile away — he used to be in the business of it. Now he’s annoyed. The smile disappears fast.

“What do you want, Harris?”

There we go… a full two minutes to get back to reality. The man’s no dummy. He knows how I feel — I wouldn’t piss down his throat if his lungs were on fire. If I’m sitting here, I need something.

“Let me guess,” Barry says. “You’re dying to know why I did it…”

“I know why you did it,” I shoot back. “When you have no loyalty, and you’re so damn paranoid, you think the world’s against you-”

“The world is against me!” he shouts, leaning toward the glass. “Look where I’m sitting! You’re telling me I’m wrong?!”

I shake my head, refusing to get into it. Whatever perceived slights he thinks he’s the victim of, they’ve clearly whittled away at his reality.

“Don’t judge me, Harris. Not all of us are lucky enough to lead your charmed life.”

“So now it’s my fault?”

“I asked you for help over the years. You never gave it. Not once.”

“So I made you do all this?”

“Just tell me why you’re here. If it’s not me, and it’s not to catch up-”

“Pasternak,” I blurt.

A wide smile creeps up his cheeks. Sitting back in his seat, Barry crosses his arms and tucks the receiver between his chin and shoulder. Like he’s putting the Barry mask back on. He’s no longer fidgeting with his wristband. “It’s gnawing at you, isn’t it?” he asks. “You and I… we always had the competitive friendship. But you and Pasternak…? He was supposed to be your mentor. The one person you turned to when you had an emergency and had to break the glass. Is that what’s got you tossing and turning all night — wondering how your personal radar could be so completely wrong?”

“I just want to know why he did it.”