face had been getting redder and redder, and somewhere at the back of HP’s mind a little alarm-bell started to ring.
‘So, for example, that lawyer you told me about. At a guess, he’s managed to seriously upset someone, but instead of contacting the Law Society, that person contacted the Game. And in a flash the Game Master conjures up a wheel-spanner and a Player desperate for cred who hates Stureplan lawyers. The customer gets his revenge documented on video, and if you fucked up and got caught and were stupid enough to break rule number one, there wouldn’t be much to tell – at least nothing that anyone would believe. It’s just like Verbal says in The Usual Suspects:
‘The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist. You’re just an ordinary nobody, with no connection whatsoever with the person who actually commissioned the assignment. Lee Harvey fucking Oswald, man! You have to admit, it’s a stroke of genius, but at the same time it’s pretty fucking creepy!’
Erman flew up and started pacing round the little kitchen impatiently.
‘Erm … sure!’ HP agreed, as he tried to squeeze this latest information into his already overloaded brain. This all sounded pretty weird, which was probably understatement of the year …
‘So you mean …?’ he began, mostly out of politeness.
Erman flashed him an impatient look and sat down again at the table. Evidently he wasn’t completely happy with HP’s hesitant response.
‘Obviously, the problem is that there aren’t any boundaries. Okay, so the Game Master can’t actually force a Player to do something, that’s one of the main points of the Game. The Player must always have a choice, you know that yourself. Red or blue, right or wrong, in the end it’s up to you Players to decide, and that’s the way it has to be. Even if the Game would naturally prefer a particular outcome, there have to be different alternatives, there has to be an opening for the unexpected, for surprises. Otherwise there wouldn’t be anything to bet on, and thus no Game!’
Erman’s voice was cracking into falsetto.
‘But what the Game does is to keep shifting the boundary of how far a Player is prepared to go. Just look at what happened to you! We’re talking arson, sabotage, GBH, even murder! You only need to look at the paper to see what goes on every day!’
HP was getting more and more convinced that Erman was well on the way to losing it completely. You only had to look at the colour of his face to realize that Eyjafjallajökull was about to erupt.
Not to mention all that creepy staring …
‘You can look at any media outlet you like, and you’ll be able to find the Game in an instant. All you have to do is keep an eye out for phrases like inexplicable, unknown reasons and no obvious motive, and you’ve stumbled across the Game …’
Erman got up suddenly and ran over to one of the windows. He peered anxiously at the trees, as if he’d heard someone coming.
When he didn’t manage to see any danger he took two quick strides back to the kitchen table and leaned over HP.
‘They’ll take pretty much any job as long as you can pay!’ he snarled into HP’s face, giving him a close-up of a row of yellowing teeth.
‘There’s always some dumb fuck who’s prepared to do it. Some willing patsy who’s already crossed the line. It goes on all the time, in a whole load of different places all round the world. Check it out for yourself if you don’t believe me!’
Erman’s voice cracked again and HP sighed in disappointment. Fuck it, this had all started out so promisingly … Up to about five minutes ago his weird host had seemed more or less kosher. After all, who wouldn’t be a bit weird, out here in the middle of nowhere. But now he’d crossed the line, big-time.
The evil organization, the global conspiracy behind all the shit that ever happened in the world! The CIA, Opus Dei, ZOG or the Freemasons, it just depended which lunatic you asked. A placard on your chest and a regular spot in the town square.
I’m the only one who’s worked out the truth! Yippikayee mothafucker! Game over, thanks for the coffee, time to go now …
‘Well, thanks very much, Erman, this is all good information, but right now I should probably …’ he muttered, standing up.
‘… a cigarette, no problem, but you’ll have to go outside. I’ll blag one off you.’
Looking confused, as if the comment had interrupted his train of thought and made him lose his thread, Erman shepherded HP out onto the front step before the astonished HP had time to protest.
It was nice to get a bit of fresh air, at least, he thought as he pulled out his cigarettes.
He offered one to Erman, then lit it and his own with his trusty old Zippo. He took a couple of deep drags and tried to stop his head spinning.
Okay, so Erman might have a few screws loose, but on the other hand he clearly possessed loads of useful information about the Game. Even if it had seriously messed with his own ideas, he couldn’t deny that a lot of what Erman had said actually made sense, and even seemed logical, if that word could actually be applied in this context.
But the theory of the Global Conspiracy was a bit hard to digest. Serious pulp fiction stuff, all it needed was a couple of serial killers and a dysfunctional cop to tick all the boxes. But what was the line between hard fact and wild fantasy?
They stood there smoking in silence while HP tried to work out his next move.
Really he felt like leaving. That crazy stare Erman had flashed at him a while back had scared him and he suddenly remembered that they were completely alone out here in the bush, with no way of calling for help.
But Erman seemed to have calmed down again now. The mad look had gone and where his face was visible behind the beard it had resumed a normal colour. Probably it wouldn’t be that risky to hang about a bit longer.
Besides, he had a feeling there was more he needed to find out.
‘So how did you get dragged into all this, Erman?’ HP began tentatively.
Erman took a long, final drag and then flicked the butt into the nettles.
‘I was the one who installed their farm up here.’
He glanced quickly at HP and discovered that he was looking lost again.
‘Server-farm,’ he explained slowly, as if he were talking to a child.
‘The Game has five in total, or at least they did when I got out.’
He counted on his fingers again:
‘North America, South America, Africa, Asia and Europe/Middle East. Seriously massive giant farms that handle all the data in the Game. The servers in there control all the mobile phones, image files, they send out the assignments, gather it all together and store the information, and handle the cash flow. They also control all communication between the Players, the Game Master and the Circle. No farms, no Game, get it?’
HP nodded eagerly, he got it, and more importantly: this was seriously useful information!
