The Getaway God (Sandman Slim 6)

As hard as Mason is to read, this time his pupils constrict a millimeter or two, so I know he’s lying. He wants to play something else.

Two upside-­down plastic cups sit on his side of the table. He pushes them into the middle and lifts them. A ­couple of scorpions make a break for it, but he corrals them back under the cups, laughing as he does it.

I look at him.

“Where the hell did you get scorpions?”

“What’s the scarier answer? That I had them all along or that someone snuck them in to me?”

Neither one’s a comfort, but this is Mason. Nothing about him is comfortable.

“What are we playing?”

“Lady Sonqah’s Wedding Night. Have you heard of it? The Luderes can’t get enough of it.”

“I’ve seen them playing at Bamboo House of Dolls. I don’t know how it works.”

“Give me your hand.”

I put out my right hand. Mason bites off part of the scab over the sigil he cut into his hand yesterday. He squeezes his palm so that a few drops of blood fall onto my fingers.

“I’m glad this isn’t our first date,” I say. “What’s the blood for?”

“It excites the scorpions.”

“There’s still time to switch to Candy Land. I’ll even let you go first.”

“Maybe next time.”

Mason doesn’t wipe the blood off his own hand, so if the game is what he says it is, at least so far he’s playing fair.

He lifts one of the cups, but before the scorpion can run out, he recites some hoodoo and it freezes in place.

“As you see, I’ve tied a slip of paper to this scorpion’s tail. The other one has a similar note. Your job is to get the note off your scorpion without getting stung. Each time you’re stung you get a point. At the end, we add up the points. Low score wins.”

Mason snaps his fingers, releasing the scorpion from the hex. He puts the cup down over the bug and pushes it to my side of the table. I tap the cup with my finger, listening to the scorpion scrabble around inside.

“What if I just squash the damned thing and take the note when it’s dead?”

“That’s an automatic loss and I get to hurt you.”

“Who poisoned Candy?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking about the Angra instead of trying to fix your love life?”

When I don’t make to pick up the cup, Mason reaches across the table and raises it.

“You might want to concentrate on the game.”

The scorpion sits there for a minute, looking as pissed as I feel.

“You made her crazy and almost got some poor street slob killed for nothing.”

“I got a lot more than nothing out of it. I got you to play with me. Just like old times. Your little friend is moving. Play or forfeit.”

Now that the scorpion has decided to move, it’s all over the place. Darting in one direction, then another. I try to follow it, but it never goes in a straight line for very long. Finally, I catch the rhythm of its turns. Get my hand hovering right over its stinger. I’m fast when I want to be. I snap my hand down to the bug, then back again before it can sting me. But I miss the paper. I do it again. And miss again. The third time I come really close, but still miss.

I see the problem. While I’m fast enough to outrun the scorpion, if