Playing the Game by Simon Gould Read Free Book Online

out.
    We drove the last couple of minutes in a grim silence, each wondering what lay in store for us at this address. I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be ‘number three’; we were far too early into The Game for that. I could only take solace in the fact that at least we had broken part of the code and that we had therefore made more progress in this one than in the previous two. I just had a feeling that we were making exactly the amount of progress that The Chemist wanted us to make. Just as this thought sent an unnerving shiver down my spine, we pulled into Sutherland Boulevard.

12

    Last week

    At just before nine, the piercing sound of the alarm clock interrupted a particularly deep, and some would say – well at least he would say, deserved sleep. He had a rare day off; no meetings scheduled, no media requirements, no magazine interviews. Actually, scratch that. He did have a meeting with a couple of the guys down at the Chester Washington golf course at noon, where he hoped to avenge the narrow defeat of last month’s eighteen holes and with any luck, make back the four thousand dollars that defeat had cost him. Not that he particularly needed the money, he just fucking hated losing.
    Eyes still half closed, sticking the alarm clock on snooze, Conrad Conway rolled over, arm outstretched, expecting to feel his wife lying beside him, but felt nothing. Where was she? He half remembered her saying something about going out when they went to bed last night but he hadn’t been paying too much attention. He suspected that it might involve shopping of some sort, something his wife had become very, very good at, using up a sizable chunk of his ample annual earnings on regular basis. As long as it wasn’t even more shoes he could live with that. Nevertheless, he made a mental note to double check his next credit card statement; there would probably be several additions on there.
    Deciding to forgo the snooze, he got up, and putting on his robe he headed down to the kitchen. Ah, at least she had put the coffee on before she had gone out, that was good. Pouring himself a large cup, he wandered to his front door to collect the paper. This was how a day should start; cup of coffee, a read of the sports page …. Not that he didn’t love his job and all the power, money and fame that came with it but he did occasionally miss having his own time to relax. That was certainly a rare commodity nowadays!
    Picking up the paper, something caught his eye that afforded a second glance. A white envelope hung through his letterbox. Knowing it was too early for his lazy postman – he very rarely received his post before eleven, Conrad idly wondered what it could be. It was marked just ‘Conway’, no other postal markings and no stamp
    Taking a large gulp of coffee, he strolled back to the kitchen. Eyeing the back of the sports page, he was pleased to see that his good friend Manny Ramirez had hit two home runs during the LA Dodgers’ decisive victory over the Arizona Diamondbacks last night, taking his season total to fourteen, and a staggering .396 average. He had missed the game last night as he’d had to attend a charity function and didn’t get in until just after midnight. He’d have to give Manny a call later on and congratulate him.
    Sitting down at the breakfast table which was cluttered with the usual condiments and mess, an eye still half on the sports page, he tore open the envelope and pulled out the contents.
    What the fuck was this? Conrad was open mouthed as he thumbed through five photographs of him leaving his secret place in Figueroa Street with a young prostitute in clear view. There was also a letter:

    ‘Good morning Senator, I trust you’re having an enjoyable morning? Or were? As you will see from the photographs, I understand you have been keeping pretty busy in the early hours of the morning. What would your wife say? What would the papers say? …. Should we find out? I think not. Well, not yet anyway. My