The Zero Game

with Matthew.” She’s silent as I say the words. “You know I’m right. Now that Janos knows who you are — you saw what he’s like; he doesn’t care if you’re seventeen or seventy. You think he’s just gonna let you go back to refilling Senators’ water glasses?”

She tries to respond, but nothing comes out. Her brow unfurrows, and her hands start to shake. Like before, she starts to pick anxiously at the back of her ID. “I–I need to make a call,” she insists, rushing for the pay phone in the ice cream parlor. I’m a step behind her. She won’t say it, but I see the way she’s clutching her ID. She wants Mom.

“Viv, don’t call her…”

“This isn’t about you, Harris.”

She thinks I’m only looking out for myself. She’s wrong. The guilt’s been swirling through my gut since the moment I first asked her for that one little favor. I was terrified it’d come to this.

“I wish I could take it back… I really do,” I tell her. “But if you’re not careful-”

“I was careful! Remember, I’m not the one who caused this!”

“Please, just stop for a minute,” I beg as she once again takes off. “Janos is probably drilling through your life right now.”

“Maybe he’s not. Ever think of that?”

She’s getting too riled. It breaks my heart to do this, but it’s the only way to keep her safe. As she’s about the enter the ice-cream store, I cut in front of her. “Viv, you make that call and you’re putting your whole family at risk.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I don’t? Out of thirty pages, you’re the only five-foot-ten black girl. He’ll find your name in two seconds. That’s what he does. Now, I know you hate me right now — and you should — but please… just listen… If you go in there and call your parents, that’s two more people Janos has to clean up to make this mess go away.”

That’s all it takes. Her shoulders rise, revealing her full height, while the tears in her eyes give away her age. It’s so easy to forget how young she is.

On my left, I catch our reflection in a nearby exhibit case: me in a black suit, Viv in her navy one. So professional and put together. Behind the glass are Mr. Rogers’s red sweater and an Oscar the Grouch puppet. Oscar’s frozen in his garbage can with his mouth wide open. Following my gaze, Viv stares at the Grouch, whose empty black and white eyes stare hauntingly back.

“I’m sorry, Viv.” It’s the second time I’ve said those words. But this time, she needs them.

“I–I was just doing you a favor,” she stutters, her voice breaking.

“I shouldn’t have asked you, Viv — I never thought…”

“My mom… if she-” She cuts herself off, trying not to think about it. “What about my aunt in Philly? Maybe she can-”

“Don’t put your family at risk.”

“I shouldn’t put them at risk? How could… how could you do this to me?!” She stumbles backwards, once again scanning each passing tourist. I thought it was because she was scared, nervous — forever the outsider trying to fit in — but the longer I watch her, the more I realize that’s only part of the picture. People who look for help tend to be the type of people who’re used to getting it. Her hand continues to clutch her ID. Her mom… her dad… her aunt — they’ve been there her whole life, pushing, aiding, cheering. Now they’re gone. And Viv’s feeling it.

She’s not the only one. As she nervously searches the crowd, a sharp, nauseous pain continues to slice through my belly. No matter what else happens, I’ll never forgive myself for hurting her like this.

“Whatta I do now?” she asks.

“It’s okay,” I promise, hoping to soothe. “I have plenty of cash — maybe we can… I can hide you in a hotel.”

“By myself?”

The way she asks the question, I can already tell it’s a bad idea. Especially if she panics and doesn’t stay put. I made her a sitting duck once. I’m not abandoning her and doing it again. “Okay… forget the hotel. What if we-?”

“You wrecked my life,” she blurts.

“Viv…”

“Don’t Viv. You wrecked it, Harris, and then you — oh, God… do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“It was supposed to be one little favor — I swear, if I thought this would happen…”

“Please don’t say that. Don’t say you didn’t know…”

She’s absolutely right. I should’ve known — I spend every day calculating political permutations — but when it came to this, the only thing I was worried about was myself.

“Viv, I swear, if I could undo it…”

“But you can’t!”

In the last three minutes, she’s hit all the stages of emotional response: from anger to denial, to despair, to acceptance, and now back to anger. It’s all in reaction to one unchangeable fact: Now that I’ve gotten her involved, Janos isn’t giving up until we’re both dead.

“Viv, I need you to focus — we have to get out of here.”

“… and I made it worse,” she mumbles. “I did this to myself.”

“That’s not true,” I insist. “This has nothing to do with you. I did this. To both of us.”

She’s still in shock, struggling to process everything that’s happened. She looks at me, then down at herself. It’s not just me anymore. We. From here on in, we’re chained at the wrist.

“We should call the police…” she stutters.

“After what happened with Lowell?”

She’s quick enough to see the big picture instantly. If Janos got to the number two person at Justice, all paths to law enforcement take us straight back to him.

“What about going to someone else…? Don’t you have any friends?”

The question backhands me across the face. The two people I’m closest to are already dead, Lowell’s turned, and there’s no way to tell who else Janos has gotten to. All the politicians and staffers I’ve worked with over the years — sure they’re friends, but in this town, well… that doesn’t mean I trust them. “Besides,” I explain, “anyone we talk to — we’re painting a target on their chest. Should we do to someone else what I did to you?”

She stares me down, knowing I’m right. But it doesn’t stop her from searching for a way out.

“What about any of the other pages?” she asks. “Maybe they can tell us who they made drop-offs to… y’know, who else was playing the game.”

“That’s why I wanted the delivery records from the cloakroom. But there’s nothing there from any of the game days.”

“So all of us — all the pages — we were being used without even knowing it?”

“Maybe for the other bets, but not for the gold mine.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“That kid who hit Matthew — Toolie Williams — he’s the one who had your nametag. He was dressed up to look like a page.”

“Why would someone want to look like a page?”

“I’m guessing Janos paid him to do it… and that Janos is acting on behalf of someone else who had a vested interest in the outcome.”

“You think it goes back to the gold mine?”

“Hard to say, but they’re the only ones who benefit.”

“I still don’t understand,” Viv says. “How does Wendell Mining benefit if there’s supposedly no gold in the mine?”

“Or more specifically,” I add, “why does a company that has no mining experience spend two years trying to buy a gold mine with no gold in it?”

We both stare at each other, but Viv quickly looks away. We may be stuck together, but she’s not forgiving