The Dead Slam: A Tale of Benevolent Assasination Read Online Free PDF Page B

many computers still in private hands.”
    Thomka winced, and tryed to hide it by saying awkwardly, “How do we know it’s insignificant? We have no idea what this sort of thing is intended to encourage. My eggheads . . .”
    “The sky is falling. The sky is falling,” shouted Murthy. “You’re such an asshole. I’m all over this.”
    Virginia chuckled as Murthy tossed her a big wink and belted down his drink. “What’s so strange about these games, darling?”
    “Something’s missing,” said Petey. “The games were all so dull. Not much action. No competition either. No drama. But we picked one that was starting, sent in one of our guys. A woman actually. And she played it through. Right here in the Times Square district.”
    Petey lifted a sheet of paper from the bar and held it up for all to see.

    Cruel 2 B Kind
    A Game of Benevolent Assassination.

    E veryone gasped , mockingly. Assassination?
    Petey read the instructions:
    “‘At the beginning of the game, you are assigned three secret weapons.’”
    “Weapons?”
    “Yes, and here’s the weird part. ‘To onlookers, these weapons will seem like random acts of kindness. But to the other players, these benevolent gestures are deadly attacks.’”
    “What are these secret weapons?” Thomka asked.
    Murthy remained dismissive. “Random acts of kindness, Al. For you, that really is a secret.”
    “The weapons are all some kind of greeting, or question, or even a song. Those are the secret weapons. Saying something nice.” He went back to the instructions: ‘Some players will be slain by a serenade. Others will be killed by a compliment. You and your partners might be taken down by an innocent group cheer. You will be given no information about your targets. No names, no photos, nothing but the guarantee that they will remain within the outdoor game boundaries during the designated playing time. Anyone you encounter could be your target. The only way to find out is to attack them with your secret weapons.’”
    “What are those secret weapons again, dear?” asked Virginia.
    Petey handed her the instructions. “They send you this the night before the game. It shows the boundaries and gives you your secret weapons.”
    Virginia read aloud, “Number one: Praise your target’s shoes! Oh, I love that one. Number two: Welcome your targets to the city with a jingle. That’s cute. And three: Mistake your targets for celebrities.” A grin wrinkled her chin. “I really like the one about the shoes. That’d be my secret weapon.”
    Murthy lifted his foot, pulled back his pant leg, and modeled his wispy Italian loafers.
    Petey thought for a moment, then gave a cautious summary. “You just walk up to people and say, ‘I like your shoes.’ Perfect strangers. But if they’re playing too, they’re dead and have to join your team. This assimilation of the dead players leads inevitably to two big teams and a climactic showdown. Maybe there is some drama.”
    “Brilliant,” mumbled Thomka.
    “Boringgg!’ slurred Murthy.
    Petey finished the instructions. “‘Watch out! The hunter is also the hunted. Other players have secret weapons, too, and they're coming to get you. Anything out of the ordinary you do to assassinate YOUR targets may reveal your own secret identity to the other players who want YOU dead.
    “‘As targets are successfully assassinated, the dead players join forces with their killers to continue stalking the surviving players. The teams grow bigger and bigger until two final mobs of benevolent assassins descend upon each other for a spectacular, climactic kill.’
    “‘Will innocents be caught in the cross-fire? Oh, yes. But when your secret weapon is a random act of kindness, it’s only cruel to be kind to other players.’”
    Thomka made a final plea. “Is there any doubt? Is this what we want? Benevolent Assassins? Any kind of assassins roaming our streets? Right here in Manhattan? Secret identities? Secret weapons? Innocents