“Game Nights?” the reporter clarifies.
“Yeah,” another player chimes in. “It’s basically a party where we play a childhood game of some kind, but there was always an added element or twist of some kind.”
“Yeah, like one time, we played Twister,” the first player continues. “You know, the game, right?”
The reporter nods.
“Well, instead of the small plastic mat you get with the official game, we created our own. It covered the entire first floor where we were living at the time. Then, we had everyone wear colored shirts to match one of the circles on the floor, so the players could, you know, touch a t-shirt or the floor and?—”
The screen goes black.
With the remote in Ford’s hand, he grins. “Yes.”
I frown. “Yes?”
“Fuck, yes.” He jumps to his feet. “Do you have any idea what we could do with this?”
Hawke shakes his head. “With what?”
“This?” He points the remote at the black screen. “Game nights. But with bets and booze and?—”
“You’re joking,” Hawke interrupts.
“Not joking,” Ford says.
“Judge is already up our asses enough as it is,” Hawke reminds him. “And that was when we had everything down to a science.”
“Yeah, but the science is what’s taking the fun out of everything,” Ford whines. “Come on. Let me plan something.”
“You’ve already planned something,” Roman chimes in. “Multiple somethings. Like the event tonight.”
“Yeah, but not everyone is interested in poker or drag races or fight nights,” Ford argues. “This way, anyone can participate and anyone can win. It would be so fuckin’ epic,” he adds as if the wheels are already turning in his genius brain. Seriously, the man is one radioactive mishap away from claiming the title of evil supervillain. “We could do it on the beach at a bonfire, or at the old carnival grounds.” He snaps his fingers. “Shit, that would be incredible?—”
“And how do we make money?” I challenge.
Pushing himself to his feet, Ford paces the room, piecing together the invisible puzzle only he can see. “There’s gotta be abuy-in, obviously. Fifty percent goes to the hosts, AKA us,”—he grins—“and the rest is split based on the game, the wagers, and the winners. It could work.”
Roman meets my gaze from across the room, and he cocks his head, proving he’s thinking the same thing I am. The same thing Ford is, and Hawke, too. This could work. This could actually work. It’d be messy, sure, and would probably cost a lot up front, but the possibilities are…enticing, to say the least. Even so, I can’t help but be the voice of reason. “You sure about this?” I ask.
Ford’s pacing ceases in front of me. “It’ll hit, and you know it,” he insists. “Hell, I can already see it playing out. We can do a ladies’ night or, uh, I dunno, something to open up the, uh, the main event to the average person instead of only the experts. Like you with fighting tonight.” He waves his hand toward me. “Is it even gonna be interesting or are you gonna knock the asshole out in one punch like last time?”
His question hangs in the air as Roman rubs his chin, letting the suggestion marinate. “What do you think, Jag?”
I lift one shoulder. “I think it’s worth a shot.”
“Another KO?” Ford grumbles. “Come on, Jag. At least make it interesting.”
“He meant your idea of expanding the activities,” Hawke answers for me.
“Oh.” Ford stands a little taller. “Well, all right then. I’ll see what I can come up with.”
“I say we roll it out on Halloween,” Roman adds. “Will that give you enough time?”
Rubbing his hands together like the evil villain I pegged him for, Ford nods. “I’m sure I can make it work.”
And that’s the thing about Ford Harden. He will. The man’s unstoppable.
“What about the budget?” Hawke questions.
