© Justin Cumberland 2007

Chapter Two

On the following night, they had a couple of beers and started watching the show together. As luck would have it there were three new replacements; and one of them, as Garth put it, was a dark-haired beauty.

‘Now, look at him,’ Garth said. The guy’s name was Aaron. ‘He’ll do well. He might not win but he’ll last four nights at least. He’s too good looking – not as good looking as you – but he’s too much of a hunk to get wasted straight away.’

‘Yeah right. He’ll be done before the ad break.’

‘You wanna bet on it?’

‘What?’

‘Ten percent towards it being a hundred percent safe if he gets to the break – no, if he gets through till tomorrow.’

‘Ten percent? Till tomorrow?’

‘Yeah, ten percent. Shake?’

Jason reached out his hand. ‘This is just ten percent, right? That means it’s still eighty percent unsafe even if he does make it through tonight.’

‘Of course,’ Garth said. ‘Stop worrying. Ninety percent. It doesn’t mean you’re going on the show.’

Jason took his hand.

‘Ten percent for tonight,’ Garth said. ‘And for every night he gets through.’

Jason threw his head back. ‘Bullshit. I never said that, Garth.’

‘So you think he’ll win?’

‘No, I know he won’t win.’

‘You’ve got nothing to lose then, have you? Even if he does win – I’ve only fifty percent convinced you.’

Jason smiled. ‘Okay, fair enough. I know he’s not gonna win. Someone won last week.’

‘That blond guy?’

‘Yeah.’

‘So this guy can’t win, right?’

‘No way.’

‘But if he does, I’ve fifty percent convinced you that it’s safe.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘Man’s honor?’

‘Man’s honor.’

Jason shook his head. ‘He’s not gonna win.’

But he did. He won easily. ‘Didn’t even lose a nut!’ Garth said. ‘You see what I mean?’

Jason frowned. ‘Yeah. Well, how would they rig the show in his favor? It wouldn’t be possible to rig it. There’s too much going on.’

‘Like at the end there?’ Garth asked. ‘When they’re on the ropes?’

‘Exactly. Two guys swinging around on some elastic trying to waste each other. How would they know who’s gonna win?’

‘What are the variables?’

‘Variables? I don’t know. Shit, Garth, I don’t even know what a variable is.’

‘Things they can change. How did they choose the guy he fought with?’

‘The computer chose him.’

‘Yeah. Exactly. The computer. Have you seen this computer? It’s a screen with a few names flashing around on it.’

‘Yeah – but he presses the button.’

‘So what? Can you tell which name was on screen when he pressed it?’

Jason thought about it. It was pretty quick. ‘Fair enough. They could control that. But what about the weapons? There’s what? Eight, no – ten boxes to choose from. How do they know who’s gonna choose what?’

‘Andy and Sam know.’

‘They know?’

‘Of course they know.’

Andy and Sam were victims of the show’s first season when the age limit was twelve. This had proved, in practice, to be unworkable. The kids seemed to have a fair enough chance at some of the games; but when it came to hand to hand combat, or a jerk-off, they didn’t have a chance in hell. On a couple of occasions a kid won at these things; and it was particularly humiliating for the poor guy who got his gear wasted by a kid; but usually, the kids got beaten – and badly.

The tapes of all but the first few weeks were shelved, never to be shown, but kept, as though they might one day be posted to some ancient civilization where beauty and horror walked hand in hand.

Andy and Sam had been nullified in the show’s first week. They were cute kids and had been offered roles as the host’s offsiders. It was the third season now and they were fourteen. They were part and parcel of the show’s popularity.

Dressed (if you could call it that) with a piece of string around their waists. They had a short and narrow rectangle of cloth dangling at the front and rear. It didn’t cover anything; and as it swung from side to side, or when the camera angle changed, it was possible to see the smooth expanse of skin between their legs or the crack of their butts.

They seemed unworried about what had happened to them; but they were cute kids and Jason couldn’t help feeling sorry for them. He remembered watching Andy in that first week of the show. The show wasn’t a slick operation back then and the poor kid had had a pretty bad time with the needle box. It had torn him up pretty badly and he had obviously felt something. It didn’t seem to worry him anymore. He seemed as happy as any other kid and was often smiling and joking around with Sam. But still, Jason couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. He had seen his kit in tatters; and there was no way he was gonna let his own gear get ripped to shreds by a box of needles – or worse. The thought of it was more than he could bear.

Andy and Sam partnered up with a contestant when it came to a combat round. They would offer advice on what weapon to choose. The weapons were concealed in boxes; and it was never clear whether the boys knew what was in the boxes or not. They sometimes seemed to know – but they often got it wrong. They got confused about which weapon was in which box, or perhaps they gave bad advice if they didn’t like a guy and wanted to see him done. It sometimes seemed like they took a wicked little pleasure in steering a guy towards a bad choice. At other times, their advice seemed genuine; and sometimes, when a guy decided not to trust the advice, he ended up getting something really useless. It was part of the joke – that one of these innocent kids would tell a guy to choose a box that ended all his hopes. The impression though, really, was that the kids didn’t have any idea what was in the boxes; and that their advice, ultimately, was useless. It had never occurred to Jason that they might actually know.

‘They know!’ Garth said. ‘They’ve seen the boxes before the show; but sometimes they’re told what to say; and sometimes the producer switches weapons on them. Not all the time. He wants to maintain the impression that the kids don’t know. And when it suits the show – when it suits the ratings – he switches things. And you only ever get to see two boxes anyway – the ones that are chosen.’

‘So?’

‘Well, how do you know what’s in the others?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Of course it matters. Say tonight, with this Aaron guy. Andy told him to choose box three, right? He uses his sweet voice and says ‘It’s got exactly what you want, Aaron.’ This guy’s been paired up with Andy before and the kid’s always given him good advice. So the guy trusts him – and what does he get – a hunting knife. A goddam fucking hunting knife! Now the other guy, Brett – he’s already lost his sack. And he’s got second choice. The dark-haired beauty with everything still intact has just got a fucking hunting knife; and Brett’s gonna lose his dick. He knows it. You can see it on his face. Sam says to him, ‘Choose box seven, Brett. It’s your only hope.’ And the guy decides to trust him. He’s worried – but he goes with the kid’s advice, his ‘only hope,’ and chooses box seven.’

‘And gets a rubber duck!’ Jason smiled at the memory. The look on the guy’s face! He can’t bust someone with a rubber duck. It’s not even a weapon. He’s left with his hands – but has to carry the fucking rubber duck in his mouth!

‘Exactly. So he should have chosen a different box, right?’

‘Well, it would have been better. It would have to have been better.’

‘Why? What else do you think there was?’

‘I don’t know. Pliers, a garrote, a hacksaw – that steel brush thing.’

‘Rubber ducks.’

‘What?’

‘Eight fucking rubber ducks. Every single box except for box three had a rubber duck in it – or something equally useless. The guy didn’t have a chance. They let the dark-haired guy win – because he’s beautiful – because the crowd wanted him to win. It’s all about the ratings. Which is why you’ll win, when you stop being so stupid about the whole thing and just go on the show.’

Would he really win? Would it really be that easy? Jason smiled at the thought. Could he wear one of those too-short gladiator skirts, a helmet and a pair of sandals while he was suspended from bungee cords at the wrists and ankles. His arse and dick and balls would be on show for everyone to see. But then, if he was the one with the hunting knife and the crowd was cheering him on. If they wanted him to win. If it really was rigged and the other poor fuck had let himself in for it, he supposed he could cut the guy’s dick off. He wouldn’t really want to would he? He didn’t think so. But the guy, after all, had made the decision to go on the show. He knew the odds against winning. Almost everyone got wasted. You couldn’t go on the show and not be prepared to lose something.

But what if it was different for Jason? What if they really did let him win and let him walk away with a million bucks – just because he was good looking? He smiled at the thought and then shook his head. The thought of those other guys getting wasted because they were too stupid to see how things worked! And then the thought of his own gear! What if that happened to him? His put his hands between his thighs, closed his eyes and swallowed.

When he opened his eyes Garth was smiling at him.

‘Are you convinced?’

Jason smiled. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m not convinced.’

‘But you will be.’

He shook his blond hair and stared at his friend.