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“No one. The skull is sugar, like one of those Día de los Muertos candy skulls. Der Zorn Götter had some local artisan make it and then put it in that lovely reliquary.”
“Just to fuck with us?”
“Just to fuck with you.”
“And to make you out as a saint.”
He moves his hands in the sign of the cross.
“Santa Muerte.”
“You’re having such a good time.”
“I am. Shall we add up the scores?”
I hold up my brutalized hands.
“Why bother? You didn’t get stung once. You’ve already won.”
“Not necessarily. A black dot on the paper is an automatic loss. Who knows what I drew?”
Mason opens his paper. Printed on it is the number ten.
“See? Ten points,” he says. “You were only stung, what, six times? You’re in the lead.”
I unfold my paper. It’s a black dot. Mason tsks.
“You lost even before the first sting. What a shame.”
“Fuck you.”
I can feel my pulse in my swollen fingers.
Mason says, “We’re just about done for today. You don’t get any information. Ready for your spanking?”
“You already got me half stung to death. You going to set my hair on fire too?”
“Don’t give me ideas. Here’s what you get for losing: the poison Candy drank has a side effect. Like liquor, it’s a disinhibitor, meaning people will say and do things on it they wouldn’t normally do when they’re in control. You understand what I’m getting at?”
I lean back and cross my arms.
“You mean that whatever Candy says through the poison is the truth. I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t have to lie. You talked to her. Did she seem woozy or drugged? You know I’m not lying. Like your hand, it stings, doesn’t it?”
“Let’s play another game.”
“When you win you can decide when we play, but you lost, so go away until tomorrow.”
I slam my fist down on the table hard enough that I knock over the cups. They’re empty. The scorpions are gone.
“There’s no time to fuck around like this.”
Mason stacks one cup inside the other and pushes them to the side of the table.
“Fucking around is part of the game, or haven’t you figured that out by now?”
“Who poisoned Candy’s medicine?”
