Page 106 of Tasting Fire
“Great,” Emmy said a little too cheerfully. “We’d like to talk with you about the tournament.”
The kid opened the door wider as if to invite them inside, but Cash waved him outside. “We don’t want to be a bother to your mom. Why don’t we sit out here and talk?” Yeah, it would be easier for the kid to rabbit, but damned if Cash wanted Emmy trapped inside with this guy.
The mom stepped back and closed the front door. Emmy plopped her sweet ass down on the front steps and the kid followed suit. Cash hopped down so he could stand on the sidewalk and face them both.
“So what kinda prize money are we talking?” the kid asked.
The entitled insolence in the kid’s tone made Cash want to pick him up by the neck and shove him up against the house, but Emmy glanced up at Cash and gave a small shake of her head.
“Actually… ah… sorry, we don’t have your name,” she said.
“Windell. Windell Owens.”
“Windell. Great. That’s very helpful. About the prize money—”
“Tell us about streaming a CoD game on March twenty-fourth.”
“Wha… Why?”
It was time to cut the shit. If the kid tried to run, Cash would catch him. “Because we think you were the one who swatted Jesse Giddings.”
As expected, Windell jumped to his feet, stumbling over his open-laced Vans in his haste to get away from the conversation. Cash caught him by the T-shirt collar and pulled the kid back to look directly into his eyes. They were boinging this way and that—like a Newton’s cradle that had been set off a little too hard.
“Talk to us, dude,” Cash said. “It’s either that or I drag your 911-calling ass straight to the sheriff’s office.”
“I… It was just a joke.”
“Until someone died,” Emmy said softly.
“What? Uh-uh,” Windell stammered as he tried to back away from Cash. “I was just supposed to…”
“Supposed to what?” Cash asked, twisting the kid’s shirt a little tighter. “I guess you’re gonna say this was a one-time thing, that you’ve never done this before.”
“How did you know?”
“So this really was the first time you’ve ever swatted another player?” Emmy asked.
“Yeah, yeah. I promise.”
“Then why this time?”
“The money,” he cried.
“Windell, tell us everything,” Emmy said. “It’s the only thing that’s going to get you off the hook for manslaughter, maybe even murder.”
“Murder? Murder, holy fuck.” He shot an abashed glance at Emmy. “Sorry about that, ma’am.”
Cash relaxed his hold slightly. The expression of shock and fear on the kid’s face was real.
“So I play a lot of FPS games. First-person shooter. I’m pretty good. Kinda made a name for myself.”
Emmy had made a good call, dangling the tournament hook.
“Not long ago, I got pinged through a message board on the dark web, someone offering cash for a good player to creep around on a CoD game. All I had to do was watch, wait to see which player was kicking ass, and then do a swat on him.”
“Who offered you the money?”
“Hell if I know.” Windell sent a pleading look toward Emmy. “He was coughing up a grand in Bitcoin. That’s a shit-ton of money for someone like me. He sent me half up front.”
