Zero Game by Brad Meltzer Page A

patted Toolie on the shoulder. Things were looking up. Reading the positive reaction, Toolie sat up in his seat and finally took a breath. Janos reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a small black box that looked like a thick calculator. “Ever seen one of these?” Janos asked.
    “Naw, whut is it?”
    On the side of the box, Janos flipped a switch, and a slight electrical hum punctured the air, like a radio being turned on. Next to the switch, he turned a dial, and two half-inch needles clicked into place on the base of the device. They looked like tiny antennas. Just enough to pierce through clothing, Janos thought.
    Gripping the black box like a walkie-talkie, Janos cocked his arm backward—and in one sharp movement, pounded the device against the center of Toolie’s chest.
    “Ow!” Toolie yelled as the tips of the two needles bit into his skin. With a hard shove, he pushed Janos and the device away from his chest. “What the hell’re you doin’, asshole?”
    Janos looked down at the black box and turned the On switch to Off. “You’ll see . . .”
    To his own surprise, Toolie let out a loud, involuntary grunt.
    Seeing the smile on Janos’s face, Toolie looked down at his own chest. Ignoring the buttons, he ripped his shirt open, then stretched the collar of his undershirt down until he could see his own bare chest. There were no marks. Not even a pinprick.
    That’s why Janos liked it. Completely untraceable.
    Outside the car, Janos glanced down at his watch. Thirteen seconds was the minimum. But fifteen was average.
    “What’s going on?!” Toolie screamed.
    “Your heart’s trying to beat 3,600 times a minute,” Janos explained.
    As Toolie grabbed at the left side of his chest, Janos cocked his head sideways. They always grabbed the left side, even though the heart’s not there. Everyone gets that wrong, he thought. That’s just where we feel it beating. Indeed, as Janos knew all too well, the heart was actually in the direct center.
    “I’ll kill you!” Toolie exploded. “I’ll kill you, muthaf—”
    Toolie’s mouth drooped open, and his entire body rag-dolled against the steering wheel like a puppet when you remove the hand.
    Fifteen seconds on the nose, Janos thought, admiring his homemade device. Just amazing. Once you know it takes AC power to fibrillate the heart, all you need are eight double-A batteries and a cheap converter from Radio Shack. With the flip of a switch, you convert 12 volts DC to 120 volts AC. Add two needles that are spread far enough to be on either side of the heart, and . . . sizzle . . . instant electrocution. The last thing any coroner will check for. And even if they do, as long as you’re in and out fast enough to avoid electrical burns, there’s nothing there to find.
    Janos pulled two rubber gloves from his pants pocket, slid them on, and carefully scanned the area. Fences . . . other cars . . . Dumpster . . . strip club. All clear. At least Toolie picked the right neighborhood. Still, it was always better to disappear as fast as possible. Opening the driver’s-side door, Janos grabbed the back of Toolie’s head in a tight fist and, with a hard shove, smashed Toolie’s face against the steering wheel. Then he pulled back and did it again. And again—until Toolie’s nose split open and the blood started flowing.
    Letting Toolie’s head slump back against the seat, Janos reached for the steering wheel and cranked it slightly to the right. He leaned into the car, resting an elbow on Toolie’s shoulder and staring out the windshield—just to make sure he was perfectly lined up.
    Back by the Dumpster, he found a broken cinder block, which he lugged back to the car. More than enough weight. Shifting the Toyota into neutral, he reached below the dash and pressed the cinder block against the gas. The engine growled to life, revving out of control. Janos let it build for a few seconds. Without the speed, it wouldn’t look right. Almost there, he told