Runaways

I have absolutely nothing to say. Well, nothing besides the usual crap. So...

Chapter 8: The Gambler's Ruin

David Brooks and Jay Atkinson were walking in the park. It was now a day after the bombing mission had succeeded, and it was 11:09 pm.

David had wanted to talk to Jay about something that he thought could potentially get the entire group killed or arrested; the J.A. killer.

"I still don't know why you're so worked up about this. It's not going to affect the heist," said Jay.

"I'll explain again. This could be, most likely is, going to end badly for us. I searched the population archives on the government's files for Paris. There are hundreds of people with the initials J.A. Like you, for example."

"Hey..."

"But according to the police file, there was some DNA, a hair actually, that came from a fox. So, I searched again, for foxes with those initials."

"And? How many?"

David shook his head. "Only three names came up: Jonathan Atwood, Jade Akio, and Jenny Arden. I could eliminate Jonathan right away, as he's a two-year-old. So the nominees for murderer are Jade and Jenny."

"Great. But why would this get us killed? Or arrested?"

David shot him a look. "It could get us arrested because we're trying to steal a heavily guarded artifact from someone. Plus, remember the car selling ring, where we'd hotwire expensive cars, put them in shipping containers, and send them off to Hong Kong for twenty thousand each? That would put us in the slammer for a while."

"Oh, yeah. But killed?"

David sighed. "Have you ever heard of a phenomenon called the Gambler's Ruin?"

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Lewis King was wide awake in his apartment, watching TV. He was one of the two wolves who were now heading the Hunter's drug empire, now that he was dead.

King had always hated being second best, or having to share the limelight with someone else. So he had a contract killer paid to kill off the other guy, Jeremy Holtz. He hated that self-absorbed, confident little b-----d. Always in his way.

Lewis knew he should be asleep right now, but some habits didn't go away. His insomnia was back again, as well as his addiction to "uppers", a type of drug that kept him wired for several hours each time he injected it in his arm. God, rehab was a waste of his money.

Every time he took uppers, though, he had to take more in order to get the same effect. King now had to take so much drugs that it made him feel sick, which was why he had a bottle of Pepto-Bismol in with his needles.

He heard a knock on the door. "What?" he yelled.

"It's Shirley. Open the door." Shirley was one of the sellers. Probably wanted to know where they'd moved storehouse now.

"Sure. One second." he hollered. Then, quieter, to himself, he muttered, "Retarded b----."

He went for the door.

--------

"The Gambler's Ruin," said David, "is a notorious phenomenon that has huge effects on everyday life. Say you're a gambler, and you're playing a coin-toss game. Every time it's heads, you win a dollar. Tails, you lose a dollar."

"Yeah..." said Jay, ducking a tree branch.

"What will always eventually happen?"

"Well, the chances of getting heads or tails is 50-50, so it's equal chances you'll win or lose. But you'll come out at zero in the end."

"Unfortunately, you don't," said David. "If you gamble long enough, you'll always lose. That's why casinos are still in business. But the question is, what happens over time? What happens in the period before the gambler is ruined?"

Jay gave up. "What happens?"

"If you chart the gambler's progress over time, you'll see that the gambler wins for a while, loses for a while. In other words, everything comes in streaks. Everything. Weather, baseball, stock markets, everything. Once things go bad, they stay bad. Like the old saying 'Bad things come in threes'. It's right. Bad things cluster. Things will go to hell together. And that's why I'm worried."

"Because whoever the killer is might turn on us?" Jay asked. He got it now.

"Will turn on us, Jay. Will. It's only a matter of time."

--------

It wasn't Shirley at the door. It was some 17-year-old vixen. "Who the hell are you?" asked King.

She didn't answer. Instead, she pulled a knife and stabbed him in the arm. He drew his arm back, swearing violently. Then King collapsed onto the floor.

The vixen smiled at him. "Don't think that yelling will help you. This thing is poisoned, it'll paralyze you for a while. You cant even scream."

And with that, she dragged him back into the apartment.

--------

Lewis R. King's body was discovered by a colleague who phoned in anonymously. The scene was something out of a horror movie.

King was lying on his back in his kitchen, his dead eyes staring at the ceiling. His chest had been slashed open, and most of his organs had been removed. They were later found inside his refrigerator.

And written in blood on the wall was the message "Two down, eight left -J.A."

Another slasher Chapter. Lovely, what J.A. is doing to targets, isn't it? Yeah, I don't think so either. REVIEWS!

P.S.- Anyone else want a sequel to Stalkers? hinthint