Chester and the 24-hour Lottery
Chaper 4; Cue the Screams

"You want an UZI?!” Van’s exclamation to his request after being sequestered in a hotel room sounded impressed to Chester’s nervous mind.

Chester nodded sheepishly then peered out of the three-story window at the city. He could see the lit-up stage across the street with the crowd becoming larger the closer it came to midnight. How convenient the setup was.

The door flew wide and a group of dressed up, overly excited wardrobe and makeup crew descended on Chester. The stage manager stood off to the side, directing how Chester should appear for his big reveal.

“You’ll be introduced, explained the rules once more, then you’ll exit and be on your own,” the man told Chester, “Your girlfriend is not exempt from the law as you well know, so be careful on how she behaves once filming begins. I’m giving her a set of Vid frames, so everyone will see and hear everything you do from a different perspective.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Chester muttered, sneaking a peek over where Van was laughing and applying lipstick while chatting with one of the makeup artists, “She can tag along and carry things. I understand the regulations.”

“Excellent! Will you be staying in the city or traveling?”

“Traveling for sure. I’ll need an armored truck ready. The armory should get prepared.”

The man appeared skeptical, “Pardon, but you don’t seem the violent sort. Are you certain you wouldn’t rather enjoy the mansion we keep for all yearly winners? Decorators have already been, and it’s a fabulous Halloween setting for you to invite your friends and family.”

Chester shook off the hairdresser who exclaimed, “Oh my goodness, look at your ears! Where have you been getting your haircut? You should grow it out to hide how big they are.”

Without thinking, Chester picked up the scissors laying in front of him and stabbed the lady in her cheek. The suite fell to a standstill except for the woman he’d wounded who screamed and bled, falling to her knees in a howling mess.

The manager sighed and touched his headset, “We need another hairdresser up here stat,” Then he smirked at Chester, “This isn’t my first lottery and I apologize for my presumption. I think you’ll transmit an excellent show. Too bad we aren’t shooting.”

“Chester!” Van shrieked, “Why the hell did you do that?”

He watched unfeelingly as two men helped the sobbing woman. Why had he hurt her? “She insulted me. I’m tired of being shit on Van. If you don’t agree, you can get the fuck out.”

Van’s face hardened, and she placed her hands on her hips. “So, this is how it’s going to go? How about you punish those who actually deserve it? That woman may have insulted you but she was doing a job. Don’t you want to get out of here and start things off the ideal way?”

“What would that be Van?”

She reached over and touched his cheek, coming away with blood, “Be truthful to your past. This is your chance to right wrongs. I don’t care what you do as long as it’s deserved. Now, I’ll stick by you, but don’t speak to me like that again.”

Chester smirked, “Okay, sorry.”

Her green eyes lit up, and she rubbed the blood on her finger off on the black pants wardrobe outfitted her in, “Thanks. You look cute Chet. I like the way your hair looks.”

Ten minutes later Chester was sweating on stage behind a curtain. He heard the restless crowd and tried to settle his nerves by telling himself he earned this opportunity.

Chester thought of his mother and wanted to laugh at her last remarks. She had a feeling she would win, but it was the wrong Drivel who had. He wondered if she might have won had he entered her same as every year.

“Remember to just smile and wave,” the stage manager reiterated, “Vanyla will wait in the truck you requested. Any more questions?”

Chester cleared his throat, “The weapons armory has an UZI, right?”

The man’s eyebrow rose, “No one has used a UZI in years. Too much damage. Your neighborhood’s assigned overhaul duty. Understand?”

He laughed, “Better realize right fucking now, I could give a shit less.”

“Chester Drivel how dare you!”

Cringing at his mothers’ tone, he turned to see her standing with Fred March. What the hell was this? March charged forward, took and shook his hand although he struggled to maintain distance from the pair.

“You little ungrateful shit head,” Marla growled, ignoring March and poking him in the chest, “After everything I’ve done you leave me? And who’s that slut I saw you with earlier? Huh? Did you honestly think I wouldn’t learn my idiot son won the lottery?”

The stage manager rushed towards them, stress and heat behind his words as he ordered everyone off the platform. March held Chester’s hand in a death grip, pulling him aside as Marla argued with the producer.

“Hello Chester,” he finally dropped his hand only to put one beefy arm around Chester’s lean shoulders, “I know you only have a minute so I’ll just get to the point. Don’t harm your own people in the next 24 hours son. Help them. We haven’t had a winner within our sort in over a decade. I don’t know you, or your lovely mother,” Chester snorted and wiggled out of his hold, “but we need to stick together as a community. There are many things Governor Spell does to our neighborhood... are you listening?”

Chester never hit anyone before. He curled his left hand into a fist. It was weak because he was a weak man, but he still lashed out and March had been too excited in his speech to notice Chester turn on him. His fist connected with the man’s pudgy face and it hurt like a son of a bitch.

March stumbled, touching his cheek, “Why did you do that?”

“Everyone get the hell out of here!” The fancy stage manager had cracked, “Where the hell is security? Security! What is going on? Ma’am, you need to leave!”

Chester shook his wrist, trying to ease the pain, telling them both, “I will do whatever the fuck I want to do. And Mother? I suggest you replace someplace to hide because before my time is up, I’ll be doing something called patricide.”

Marla paled and slapped Chester across the face, causing him to fly into the closed curtain, “You always were a nasty boy and you’ve grown into a spiteful, deceitful son. Where’s your loyalty?”

The crowd on the other side become louder and three mountain-sized men appeared to wrangle March and Marla off of the stage. He glared daggers at his mother, ignoring the managers’ frantic call for order and gave her the finger before she turned out of sight.

“You,” the man wiped his forehead with a folded handkerchief, “stand over here and take these glasses and don’t say a damn word.”

Amused and feeling like a hero for standing up to his mom, he gladly took the thick, black-framed glasses situating them on his face. A flash temporarily blinded him, then he greeted a crowd whooping and shouting his name. He grinned, waved, amazed by the clarity of his vision. Everything became clearer. Laser-focused. Why didn’t everybody have these? Oh right, he’s being recorded.

Immortalized.

The producer found his inner calm, making a short lecture all citizens knew by heart as it was always about the rules. Chester frowned down at the throng, noting the inebriated state of nearly every single person. Casting his eyes around, he spotted a beer and liquor stand. Was this the norm? Chester then heard angry protest over being declared the winner. An irate mob wasn’t something he wanted to deal with. Had the city intoxicated its residents for this purpose?

“Chester Drivel,” he was given a tight-lipped smile, “We look forward to watching what a man such as yourself can accomplish in 24 hours. It is twenty seconds to midnight. Are you ready?”

The crowds turning. Chester dodged a shoe and some made fun of his name. It wasn’t the first time they had disparaged his name but the shoe-throwing new. Chester nodded and backed away, steeling himself to run to where Van was waiting.

Thinking of Van, a smile broke out on his face and he spun and ran towards the back of the stage, people getting out of his way as quickly as they saw him coming. He’d told Van he didn’t know how to drive. There was only a handful who did anymore, but she reassured him she was an excellent driver. Chester would have to ask her when and where she had learned.

“Wow!” Chester stopped when Van waved at him from her standing position on a large black armored truck driver's step, “You can really drive this beast?”

She smirked and pushed her Vid frames further up her nose, “Hell yes. Come on, we have a lot to do.”

“We do?” he challenged, “Got a plan?”

“Chester!” March called his name, hustling their way. Chester glared at him and discovered a group following. Groaning, he entered the vehicle slamming the door.

Van tapped the locks then calmly asked, “Do you want to get rid of him?”

Chester turned and March was pounding on the window. They couldn’t hear a word. The truck had every upgrade imaginable and he peered at the dashboard which glowed with all sorts of switches and gadgets. Van handed him a tablet, saying all the instructions were on there. This would be fun.

“He’s useless. Tried telling me to consider my shitty neighborhood, as if they ever cared about me.” Chester replied, finger swiping across the screen of the device until arriving at the outside defense system. It didn’t appear too complicated. “Hey, this thing throws out an electrified pulse with a reach of twenty feet! Should we try it on those idiots?”

Van grinned, swiveling to scrutinize the clamoring crowd. No one could see inside. March had no notion Chester was about to shoot him full of electricity. Locating the correct toggle in the mass of others, he took one last look at the directions, then hit the switch. Van and Chester’s gaped in disbelieve it when a bright white flash, resembling a wicked cat-o’-nine-tails, lashed out on all sides of the truck and blew everybody in the vicinity backward. Their screams were almost in sync, causing Chester to chuckle.

“Holy shit!” he swallowed hard, catching Van’s awed expression, “Did it kill them? That was awesome!”

Anxiously they studied the street, but no movement came from those struck with the electric weapon. Afraid to go leave, Chester slung down in his seat and felt odd. Those people had done nothing to him, but at the moment it had seemed like a terrific idea. Fun.

“Chet,” Van touched his upper arm, and he focused on her sympathetic green eyes, “Remember what I said earlier? This is your time and sometimes it requires doing things that will make you question your consciousness. They’re probably knocked unconscious. Now, why don’t we head over to the armory and get you that UZI, huh?”

Chester laid his palm on top of hers, “That’s a great fucking plan. Do you know how to get to Neighborhood Diamond?”

Van squeezed his hand and his pulse raced, “I do. Why?”

Chester let go then reached for the seat belt, “I told a woman someday she’d learn what a freak is, and I intend on making good on my threat.”