Jax contemplates the idea. “It’s risky.”
“No,” Joey says, “it’s dumb.”
“It’s brave,” Manny offers.
“No. Dumb.” Joey’s not budging on this.
“What if we get Marcus involved in this?” Jax says.
“You’re actually considering this?” Joey exclaims, his eyes wild with disbelief.
“Yeah,” Jax says. “I am. It’s risky, sure. Maybe even dumb. But it’s still better than having no plan and living in constant fear. We can’t just sit around and wait for this asshole to blow us up.”
Joey shakes his head.
Dennis sits down. “We could have Marcus put eyes on the venue. If Evan wants to set up a bomb, he’s gotta do it himself, right? Marcus can lie in wait, with a pair of handcuffs at the ready. It works on paper.”
I’m not sure which way I want this vote to go. It’sa risky plan. But Jax is right about one thing: living in fear is no way to live. “We could put it on Facebook.”
Manny shoots me a look of amazement.
“What?” I say.
“Dude, did you just suggest something involving modern technology?”
“It’s actually a pretty good idea,” Dennis cuts in. “If we’re gonna try and lure this guy out of the shadows, we might as well dangle the bait in his face.”
Well, dumb or not, we decide to go through with it. It’s time to plan a fake birthday party for Manny.
* * *
Me and theguys find ourselves in a depressing, two-story stucco office block in Evanston, in a part of the building that must’ve housed a roller skating rink back in the 90s. Now, the space is used as a cheap venue for weddings and other types of gatherings, including fake birthday parties aimed at attracting murderous pyromaniacs.
We’ve got our gear stashed behind the bar/skate-rental counter. Jax told the guy on the phone we didn’t need lights or music. Somehow he only got half of the message; a strobe light scatters its seizure-inducing patterns, but the place is deathly silent. Makes for a pretty creepy and surreal ambiance.
Marcus and some of his guys are parked in the lot. Waiting. Watching. It’s been a little over four days since we made a Facebook post about the party.
There’s been no sign of Evan.
“Who wants to do a keg stand?” Joey says. He’s sitting on top of a table, on the edge of the dance-floor/skating rink. The strobe light passes across his face, making his grin look sort of crazed, like a guy telling a ghost story by a campfire.
“I’ll pass,” says Manny. “I don’t think I can handle much more cranberry juice.”
“Yeah, it’s too bad the keg company didn’t offer any other non-alcoholic options,” Dennis says, wincing as he takes a sip from his red plastic cup.
“We could’ve just told him to leave it empty,” probie says.
“But then we wouldn’t’ have gotten to watch you struggle carrying it all by yourself,” Joey says.
Chase sulks. “I swear I got a hernia from that.”
“Well,” Joey says, “I’m doing a shot of ‘wad-ka’.”
That’s what we call the juice we’re all drinking.
“I’ll do one with you,” Jax says.
Dennis raises his hand. “Me too,” .
