12

       Being Game

      ‘Look, it’s like this, my friend. The Game requires a hell of a lot of money to function.’

      Erman counted quickly on his fingers.

      ‘The Ants, the phones, the server-farms, and last but not least the functionaries, the people who are employed to keep the whole thing on the rails. Then there’s all the money that’s constantly being paid out to the Players, and the rewards for anyone who does particularly well. There are quite a few fixed costs each month, but I’ve done some calculations and they pretty much cover those with what they take from the live betting. The really big cash cow, the golden goose that gives the owners their profit – are the people who commission the assignments.’

      HP nodded as if he understood, but in truth he was feeling completely lost.

      ‘Basically, various customers turn to the Game to get things done, if you follow me?

      HP was still looking blank.

      ‘Things that can’t be done any other way,’ Erman went on, almost manic now. ‘Illegal stuff, get it?’

      He drummed his index finger impatiently on the tabletop.

      Yes, HP thought he was starting to get it …

      ‘You mean you can call and order something to be done, and the Game fixes it?’ he said cautiously.

      ‘Something like that,’ Erman nodded eagerly.

      ‘This part is Top Secret and is only handled by the Game Master’s closest circle. I don’t know all the details but I think it goes something like this: a customer wants something done, but without there being any trail back to him. It could be information, business secrets, or something more medieval, like messing with someone you’ve had an argument with. The Game has the ability to do all that, although obviously it comes with a serious price tag. Maybe there’s an Ant who can dig up what’s needed, or they can send a Player to get the job done if it’s something more risky. The Game can be used for absolutely anything.’

      His 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