Dare or Dare

Andrew Reed waved the shotgun about the place as if he might just actually shoot someone. It wasn’t loaded. It hadn’t been loaded for as long as he’d owned the thing. But the employees of the CTC bank, that grubby little brick building under the overpass, didn’t know that. In this case waving an empty weapon was just as good as waving one with cartridges in. It held their attention. Made them sweat a little. Or a lot. Andrew was pretty sure the security guard had been sweating before Andrew had even set foot in the place. The large man was all too eager to surrender his weapon when looking down the dual barrels of Andrew’s sawn-off.

Andrew was wearing a very expensive suit that he’d gotten at an absolute steal. While stealing the suit, he’d also stolen a ski mask. That was all part of the dare. 

Last night, Andrew was sitting in the dark, in his favourite armchair, drinking some of his favourite scotch from one of his favourite glasses. It was so warm and comfortable in the living room that he hadn’t worried when the fire burnt out. Shelf upon shelf of new and old books faded into the shadows either side of the fireplace as the embers winked their last. It hadn’t gone completely quiet though, the rain was pattering against the windows and thunder rumbled in the distance. Andrew always liked the dark. Felt at home in it. He was just starting to nod off when someone threw a brick through the window. He started at the noise of shattering glass, his own favourite glass went flying halfway across the room when he jerked upright in his chair. 

It was probably his own fault, in hindsight. He should have left at least one of the lights on. Everybody knew that if you left a light on any nearby burglars would leave your house well enough alone. He got to his feet in stunned silence, waiting for the room to stop swaying. He must have downed more liquor than he thought. 

The brick had only smashed one of six panels in the wood-framed window. He watched as a gloved hand reached through the opening and lifted the lock. The window swung open and a black-clad figure scrambled through and touched down softly on the carpet. The rain came was coming in the open window, running in rivulets down the wall and onto the floor. The figure took half a dozen creeping steps before Andrew worked up the nerve to say something.

“Excuse me,” said Andrew.

At the sound of Andrew’s voice the burglar leapt about six foot into the air and barely managed to remain upright when they landed again. 

“Oh,” said the burglar, and Andrew was surprised that it was a female voice. She shifted her weight nervously from foot to foot as he glared at her. “Hello Andrew,” she said.

There was something familiar about that voice, he felt like he should have known who it belonged to, but he was growing more and more annoyed at the state of his living room. He looked at the window and the downpour beyond, water droplets twinkling in the glow of a distant streetlight, then down at the rapidly growing damp spot in the corner, then back to the burglar.

“What, exactly—” he began but she turned and made for the window. 

He’d forgotten he’d been drinking when the window had broken and shock had flung his favourite glass across the room. But the burglar found it and reminded him. Her foot came down atop the scotch glass and there was a loud crack as it shattered under her weight. 

“Bloody hells!” she whined as she lifted her foot up to cradle the pain away. She lost her balance in the same instant and flopped onto the floor.

“That was my favourite glass,” said Andrew. He crossed the room and flicked on the lights. It took him a moment to adjust to the glare, he blinked a few times and focused on the woman. 

Her eyes were locked on something else, wide as saucers behind the holes of her ski mask. Andrew followed her gaze. On a wooden mount above his fireplace was a vintage hunting shotgun. 

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “What a good idea!” he crossed the room and plucked the weapon up, cracked it open and checked that there were definitely no cartridges loaded. Of course there weren’t, it hadn’t been loaded for as long as he’d owned the thing. He clicked it shut with a flourish and coughed as a cloud of dust rose into his face.

The burglar-lady had dragged herself across the floor and was propped up against the closed door to the foyer. He lodged the shotgun under his arm in a manner he thought would look at once dignified and terrifying. 

“Andrew, please,” said the woman.

Andrew scoffed, “Why on earth should I ‘Andrew, please,’ anything? How do you even know my name?”

She took her eyes off him and looked down at her foot, her black sock was wet and heavy where blood was soaking through it. Andrew fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and tossed it at her. She looked down at it and Andrew got the feeling she didn’t appreciate the gesture in the slightest.

“I haven’t used it,” he insisted. “It’s clean. You think I’d give you a dirty hanky to wipe a wound?”

She looked like maybe her grimace had turned to a smile beneath that mask. 

“You are an idiot,” she said, in a tone that suggested it was a term of endearment.

At once, it came to him. “That’s probably why I haven’t shot you yet, Eleanor.”

“Penny dropped, did it, Andrew?”

He let out a very unimpressed grunt. “Take your mask off.”

She did, revealing frizzy hair tied into a messy bun and half squashed atop her head. She grinned at him. He loved that grin in high school. Still got a bit of a thrill seeing it now, if he was honest. But it had been fifteen years since he’d seen her. 

“Is this a booty call?” he asked, dropping the butt of the shotgun to the floor and resting his arm across the barrel tips. 

This time she scoffed, and began pulling off her sopping sock. “This is quite clearly a robbery.”

“Well you’re about as good at robberies as you were at geometry. You owe me one scotch glass and one bigger, flatter glass. For the window.”

“This is quite bad,” she said, effectively ignoring what he’d just said.

She pulled a shard of glass out of the wound and flicked it across the room. There was a tinkling noise as it hit a far off wall. She wiped the handkerchief across her pale skin, but more blood came every time she did. 

“Why are you here?” Andrew asked, dropping back into his armchair and resting the shotgun up beside him.

She sighed. “It’s the school reunion. Did you forget?”

“I didn’t forget.” Andrew shrugged. “I was celebrating from here.”

“I left early,” she said, looking up from cleaning her wound to waggle her eyebrows at him.

“Why?”

“It was a dare,” she shrugged. She tried and failed to tie the handkerchief around her foot like a makeshift bandage.

Andrew rolled his eyes and got to his feet. “Here, let me see. I am a doctor.” He crouched before her and folded the kerchief in a way that would actually work, and then fastened it around her foot. “Why did you wear socks to a break in?” 

“Well, Darcy said not wearing shoes would help. Quieter, too.”

Andrew sighed, stood, and extended a hand to help her to her feet. “He probably meant barefoot, so you can grip onto roof tiles and things better, I’d imagine. I really doubt he meant go in socks.”

She pulled herself up and hobbled beside him as he led her to the nearest chair. “That actually makes a lot of sense.”

“So what is it,” said Andrew as he wiped at a smudge of blood that had managed to get on his white shirt. “Game of truth or dare?”

“Just dare,” said Eleanor. “It’s a pretty serious game. Darcy won the lottery last year, did you hear?”

“I heard,” said Andrew. Couldn’t have happened to a more undeserving fellow.

Eleanor nodded. “He’s put a cool million up for grabs.”

Andrew wished he still had a drink so he could spit it out in shock. “A million? For a game of dare?”

Eleanor tipped her head sideways, a strand of hair falling across her face. “Any loser has to add to the pot, and you lose if you refuse, or fail, a dare. Or if anyone else dies, or something.”

“So what was your dare?”

She grinned, “Darcy dared me to break into my high-school sweetheart’s house.”

Andrew flapped his hand as if it might bat her lie right out of the air. “Try again.”

She swallowed. “My dare is to get you to join the game.”

Andrew looked around the room, at the rain coming in the shattered window. He shrugged. “Sure.”

Eleanor frowned at him. “That was easy.”

“Well, I don’t have anything on right now.”

She stared at him for a while, “But you don’t even know why Darcy wanted you to join.”

Andrew sniffed, plucked at the cuffs of his sleeves. “Probably because I have the most to lose. I am a doctor.” He gestured at the room around them, “I own this house.” Andrew’s face dropped. “I assume he won’t ask me to murder someone right off the bat? I’d hate to lose the house in the first round.”

Eleanor’s look was incredulous. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

“Why?” he asked as if he was offended at what she was implying.

“You’re just so blase about the whole thing. I’m kind of worried.”

Andrew blew a raspberry. “I need some excitement anyway. Let’s do it.”

Her eyes widened, “Yeah?”

He was leaning forward in his chair now, looking pumped at the idea. “Yeah. Let’s do it. Why not.”

“Alright Andrew! Let’s do it! Come over here.”

All the excitement flushed from his face. “Why?”

“I have to send him a picture, you idiot. To let him know you’re in,” she pulled a phone out of her pocket and waved it at him.

“Oh, right.” Andrew relocated himself into the armchair beside her.

“Smile!” she said, as she held the camera up for a selfie.

As he smiled and looked at himself on her screen, she kissed him on the cheek. She then sent the image off accompanied with a message that read: Andrew’s in. Send next dare.

“This could be fun,” he said, enjoying the feeling of her body against his between the arms of the cramped chair. 

Eleanor flashed her grin. “We’re on round six now. It could be a harder one.”

“Couldn’t be much worse than breaking and entering,” he said with a chuckle.

Her phone buzzed, and they both looked down at the screen. 

It was a text message from Darcy. Roger is out. His boat added to the prize. As a pair, acquire a fancy disguise and rob a bank.

Andrew stared at the phone for a long while. Eleanor was moving next to him and he thought she might have been holding in sobs. But she broke the silence with a uncontrollable giggle and he realised she had completely lost her mind.

“Rob a bank,” he said, as if maybe he’d read the text message wrong.

“Rob a bank!” she cackled. “And you’ll have to do all the heavy lifting because I can’t run with my foot like this!”

“Rob… a bank,” he repeated.

Andrew slung the duffel bag over one shoulder as he pushed the door out of his way and ran out onto the street. The CTC bank. What an absolute joke. The duffel bag was barely any heavier than it had been empty. A few lousy bundles was all the bank had on hand. And he’d robbed them dry!

He rounded the corner, tugged off his mask and shoved it into one of his pockets. His hair was doing something crazy and he tried to pat it down. But it was harder than it looked when he was trying to keep the shotgun concealed beneath his jacket and trying to keep the bag strap from slipping off his shoulder and on top of it all, trying to look inconspicuous. His pulse was drumming in his ears louder than his ragged breathing as he moved down the pavement. The stolen suit was anything but breathable and he felt like he was suffocating. 

The silver nose of Eleanor’s car was jutting from an alleyway just ahead. He ducked in next to the car and tossed the bag and shotgun in the open back window. He cast one look up at the concrete overpass before he moved around the vehicle, threw open the passenger door and dropped into the chair beside Eleanor.

“That was completely insane!” Andrew shouted. “I could have been shot! I only thought of that when I was already pointing the damn gun at the guard!”

Eleanor was buzzing in her seat, barely able to contain her excitement. “You did it, though! We go onto the next round!”

“Can you drive, please?” Andrew spat, one notch below screaming hysterically at the woman. He wiped the sweat and hair from his brow.

“Alright, alright,” Eleanour smirked. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

The old station wagon pulled onto the road with the fan belt squealing and black smoke pluming from the exhaust. 

“So how much did we get? Are we rich?” Eleanor was practically bouncing in her seat.

He looked at her flatly. “The CTC is probably the cheapest, dirtiest bank in the city. That’s why I chose it, it was an easy mark. We’d be lucky if we got twenty.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m assuming you mean thousand, and not million. That’s disappointing, Andrew.”

They took the next on-ramp and merged in with the traffic on the highway.  

Andrew sighed. “We’re one step closer to winning the game though, right? That’s what’s important. Actually, the important thing is probably that nobody got killed. Or hurt, even.”

“I got hurt,” Eleanor said as she checked her rear-view mirrors.

“You hurt yourself when you broke my favourite glass,” said Andrew. “That’s coming out of your share, by the way.”

He smiled at her as she laughed, he still got a thrill out of it. Even though she was insane. 

“Oh!” she said, gesturing to the glove box. “Grab my phone and text Darcy, will you?”

He popped open the compartment and froze. There was a pistol in there with a dozen loose cartridges floating among the parking tickets and sweet-and-sour sauce sachets. Andrew pushed the gun aside and grabbed her phone. He didn’t like that Eleanor had a weapon in there, and he knew that was stupid because he’d just been waving a gun at the employees of the CTC bank a few minutes ago. It made him suddenly suspicious of her, as if her behaviour in the last ten hours hadn’t been enough to make him stop and think. He thought about asking why she had it, why she had so many spare bullets, why the gun was in the glove box instead of in a safe at home. 

Instead he asked: “What am I saying to Darcy?”

Eleanor pulled a cigarette from a pack in the cupholder and pressed the lighter button in. “Take a selfie and send it to him,” she said. “Tell him we’re ready for round seven.”

Andrew lifted the phone and pursed his lips, then hesitated. “Should I put the ski mask on?”

“Oh!” said Eleanor, still grinning. “That might add to it!”

He pulled the mask out of his jacket pocket and tugged it down over his head. He held the camera up and made sure she was in the photo alongside him, then he sent the message. He pulled the mask off and made to shove it into the glove box next to the pistol, but something caught his eye. Buried beneath the parking tickets, an object suddenly illuminated. He flicked a few bits of paper out of the way and saw a second mobile phone. The screen was lit up with a text message alert. 

1 new message from Andrew <3

The notification vanished and a moment later the phone in his hand buzzed with a reply. He didn’t even bother looking, just pushed the glove box closed. His eyes were locked on Eleanor. It must have been some sort of automated response that she’d set up. There was probably no Darcy involved and probably no million dollar prize up for grabs. Gods above, that pistol might have even been for him! 

He decided to sit on his suspicions for now. There was no point jumping to a conclusion. Especially when this was the most fun he’d had in years.