Dinner To The Death
by Jeffrey Turner

Two men, one fat, one thin, approached the dinner table from opposite sides and regarded one another in silence. After a moment the corpulent, older figure in the blue pinstriped suit set his briefcase beside the chair on his side of the table. Sweat was beginning to trickle down his bald head under the harsh glare of the spotlights. His opponent, a younger, thinner man clad in black denim and a loose white shirt, mirrored the bald man's action with his blue duffel bag. Each extended a hand across the table. They shook, then sat. A battery of television cameras surrounded the stage on which the table stood, broadcasting the action to millions of American living rooms.

The light softened a bit and the larger man sighed. As his hand disappeared beneath his jacket his opponent tensed noticeably. The hand reappeared with a bright red handkerchief that matched the fat man's tie. He mopped at his forehead.

"Sorry to scare you like that," said Eddie "The Gullet" Markozy, smiling and replacing the handkerchief to its pocket. "These damned lights always get me sweating."

"No problem," replied Johannes Essenberg, never taking his eyes from the other man. "This is my first match in an upper-level league. I'm still a little jumpy."

"Perfectly understandable," said Eddie. He glanced at the table setting. The pit crews had completed placement of the utensils, plates and glasses just moments before Eddie and Johannes entered. Johannes's crew had given Eddie an immaculate white plate, silver fork, knife and spoon, and a slightly tarnished soup spoon. The last was a trap, of course; the soup spoon would begin dispersing a very lethal poison the moment it touched the steaming soup. Eddie smiled at his opponent's amateurish attempt for a first-course victory. The soup spoon might catch a newer athlete, but Eddie "The Gullet" Markozy was a professional Dining Duelist and held a victory for each of the thirty-nine inches on his belt.

Johannes unzipped his duffel bag and rummaged through it. Eddie in turn set his briefcase on his lap, spinning the combination wheels with his thumbs. The case snapped open and from it Eddie extracted a clutch of vials and a hypodermic needle. The vials were set in a neat row beside his plate, the hypodermic next to his fork. Johannes peered across the table at the small metal box that appeared from inside the briefcase; this was placed carefully to the left of Eddie's plate. A single button protruded from the top of the box.

"Shall we begin?" inquired "The Gullet", closing his briefcase and lowering it to the floor. Johannes nodded once and each man reached for the domed cover of his soup bowl.

Electricity crackled and jumped from the soup bowl to Eddie's hand. The fat man gasped, eyes widening momentarily as pain shot through his arm. The bolt of energy passed harmlessly from Eddie's arm and into the thick bracelet that encircled his wrist. He glanced across the table to Johannes and smiled. If the match ended without a fatality, as Eddie preferred, points for demeanor could be the difference between a victory and a loss.

"Good trick there, Johannes," said Eddie, emptying a small vial of all-purpose poison neutralizer into his soup and stirring with the off-color soup spoon. "You've won with that one in the first course before?"

"Yes sir," answered Johannes, who was regarding his own soup spoon with a critical gaze. "I've played the non-lethal leagues for about two years now, and I got the state record for quickest match by paralyzing a guy with the soup cover. They almost always think the spoon is the trap. I turned up the juice for this league."

"Good, good," said Eddie, bending over the table as he lifted a spoonful of tomato soup to his lips. "You're a college man, are you?"

"Yes sir," said Johannes again. He dipped his own spoon into a large bowl of chicken soup with a slow, deliberate motion. "I'm majoring in international relations. I just do the Dining circuit to make some extra money sometimes."

"Interesting choice," replied Eddie. The last vestiges of soup vanished from his bowl. He hefted a large heel of bread in his left hand, spread butter on it while watching Johannes. The young man relaxed as he took in the chicken broth without keeling over.

"I was majoring in psychology when I started this," said Eddie, biting into the bread. Johannes looked up from his soup for a moment. "I took two years of classes before I decided that the Dining leagues were far more exciting. Went straight to the high level leagues; no time to waste on the small cash. Thirty-nine matches now, plus training some of the younger Diners. I rarely work more than twenty hours a week or so, but I make more than enough to keep my wife happy and send the kids off to school sooner or--"

Eddie's stomach twisted violently. The bread fell back to the plate. A true professional, however, his face remained calm and smiling as he sprinkled a strong antitoxin disguised as cinnamon on the bread and took another large bite. Johannes let out a small cry and dropped his soup spoon, which Eddie knew had suddenly heated to an unbearable degree and probably left a nasty burn on the youth's fingers.

"--later!" finished Eddie. He grinned at Johannes, whose fingers were thrust into a glass of ice water. Not much style there. Eddie "The Gullet" Markozy wouldn't be caught dead with his fingers in the ice water. As one of the longest-playing Diners in the lethal Dining leagues, Eddie had a reputation to maintain.

"You're married, then, sir?" asked Johannes as he reached for the discarded soup spoon with his left hand. Eddie, mildly surprised, nodded. Most of the young players he trained wouldn't have the guts to pick up the spoon again.

"Married to the woman of my dreams," answered Eddie, knowing his children would be stretched out on the living room floor, giggling, while their mother tried to convince the assembled neighbors that he was never that romantic at home. "How about you, have a girlfriend back there at school?"

"Yes sir," said Johannes. He swallowed and smiled. A wet napkin was wrapped around his right hand. "We're going to get married as soon as we graduate."

Eddie popped the last bite of bread into his mouth while reaching over to tap the button atop his small metal box. His tongue watered at the taste of the cinnamon antitoxin and the box beeped as a bright beam of light flashed from a loaf of banana bread. Johannes was already moving, however, and the laser only scorched a small hole in the back of the youth's chair.

Good reflexes, noted Eddie, savoring the last taste of cinnamon and butter. With a little more training the boy might turn out to be a respectable Duelist.

* * * * *

Eddie wiped at his brow with the red handkerchief as the pit crews removed the soup bowls and bread plates from the table. Johannes, hand wrapped in a cotton bandage, was smoothing his long hair. Eddie watched the younger man as the next course was laid out. Johannes's eyes strayed toward the largest of the domed dishes set before Eddie's chair.

The pit crews cleared to the safety areas and Eddie reached for the cover of his dinner plate. Johannes watched intently, eyes fixed on the bracelet that glittered from the larger man's wrist. The cover broke contact with the plate and all three hundred pounds of Eddie "The Gullet" Markozy were thrown out of his chair, accompanied by the muffled explosion of the shotgun barrel affixed to the underside of the table.

Johannes's triumphant smile disappeared as Eddie clambered to his feet and righted his chair. He stood for a moment, breathing hard, eyes watering. "Good thing I always wear the vest," he said to his wide-eyed opponent. "Remember, the real money is in the product endorsements. You know how much Protec Industries pays me to wear their vest on TV?" He turned to face the nearest camera, allowing them a full-on shot of the live saving dinner wear. Somehow, the bright red tie lay undamaged against Eddie's shredded shirt.

Johannes shook his head. The young man's hand shook as he lifted the cover from his own plate. He stifled a gasp when a cautious poke of his fork into the pile of shrimp-fried rice revealed a small hand grenade nestled in the midst of his dinner. Eddie grinned across the table as he sat down. Dummy grenades were always good for putting the younger players on edge.

"So, you're studying political science," said Eddie. He emptied a second vial of neutralizer into his wine glass. Setting the empty vial beside the wine glass, he began cutting his steak into bite-size pieces.

"The, uh, what was that?" stammered Johannes, who was busy trying to lift the grenade from his rice without setting it off.

"Political science," repeated Eddie, frowning. He preferred his steak rare; Johannes obviously hadn't researched his opponent, as the steak lying before Eddie was well done. The producers would take a few points off the young man's score for the oversight. "I'm curious what someone who studies international relations does for a career."

"Oh, that, yes sir," said Johannes. He placed the grenade carefully to the side of his plate and wiped his hands on his napkin. "Well, I'm hoping to work for an international corporation, or maybe for the government."

"Oh?" asked Eddie around a mouthful of steak. "Have you been outside the U.S. yet?"

Johannes closed his eyes as he lifted a forkful of rice to his mouth and swallowed hard. Eddie nibbled on a roll and grinned. The grin vanished as Eddie chided himself. Johannes had fought well thus far, and Eddie didn't want to appear smug.

"Um, I spent a couple semesters in Japan. I speak Japanese and Russian both pretty well," said Johannes, opening his eyes again. Eddie took a larger bite from the roll and his mouth filled with a bitter taste.

"That's great!" gasped Eddie. His throat was constricting and he reached for his wine.

"My girlfriend used to live in Germany, too," continued Johannes between mouthfuls of rice, "She'll get her degree in communications, and her German is as good as her English. We're kinda hoping we'll get to travel a lot with our jobs."

Eddie nodded, letting the wine trickle down his throat and loosen the constricting agent that Johannes had baked into the roll. A true professional always brought an extensive knowledge of food chemistry to the table as well as his bag of poison neutralizers and body shields.

Johannes, finished with the rice, shoved that plate aside and reached for his eggroll. Eddie took a deep breath and splashed more wine around in his mouth before returning to his steak.

"So, how long before you two graduate?" asked Eddie.

"One more year." Johannes poked his fork into the top of the eggroll and set his knife against the crust. He seemed a bit more at ease, Eddie noted. The large man pulled a tattered handkerchief from his shirt pocket and wiped off his brow once more.

"We'll get married as soon as we graduate, and I've made enough of these matches that we can take a vacation for a couple of months, then we're--" Johannes's sentence ended in a yelp as he cut into the top of the eggroll and near-boiling water sprayed up into his face.

"Sounds like a good plan," said Eddie. "By the way, when you have kids, don't forget to always wave to them during the match. They love that." He craned his neck and waved to an overhead camera.

Johannes wiped the water from his face with his napkin, red blotches appearing where the skin had been burned. "Um, right, I'll remember that," he mumbled. His hands were shaking again.

Eddie sank his knife into a baked potato, careful not to make contact with the plate beneath it. He reached for butter and sour cream, looked up at his opponent. "Just out of curiosity, whatever persuaded you to jump up to this league?"

"Well," answered Johannes, "Actually, I was thinking that if I could win just a few matches up here I could invest the prize money and we might be able to work a little less or something, you know. Besides, it couldn't be all that dangerous; I mean, if people died in every match, it'd be too hard to find competitors. According to the stats, only fourteen percent of all matches are decided by fatality."

"Don't downplay the game," Eddie admonished the younger man. "People do die here, and that's a pretty permanent trophy for second place."

"Yes sir," said Johannes.

"You've got a good, logical way of thinking, even if you make a bad assumption or two," said Eddie, savoring the scent of the baked potato. "The water's the only trap in the eggroll. Go ahead and eat it."

* * * * *

Dinner had been removed and the table set for dessert.

"Before we begin," said Eddie "The Gullet" Markozy, standing beside his chair and tucking in the remnants of his shirt, "I'd like to offer you the chance to yield. You've done a fine job so far and I'd really hate to see a bright young student like yourself get killed here."

Johannes smiled and appeared to consider the offer for a second. He declined by seating himself and waiting for the third course to begin.

For the first time in his career, Eddie "The Gullet" Markozy extended a second chance for his opponent to defer the match. "There's no shame in yielding," he said. "With a little training, I think you have the potential for a long, successful career."

"Thank you, but no," answered Johannes. Eddie felt a quick twinge of pride at the note of confidence in his opponent's voice. Maybe, he hoped, it was enough to hide the youth's fear from the television cameras.

"As you wish," Eddie replied. He lowered his massive body to the chair.

* * * * *

"I'm curious," said Eddie as he peered at the glass bowl before him. The bowl contained nothing more dangerous than chocolate pudding. "What do you think of all the talk about world government? Has it occurred to you that that kind of unification might shrink the market in your field? Heck, eight European countries have already consolidated into one this century, and I hear all of north Africa will fall under one government by the end of the decade."

Johannes studied his own dessert, a large, flat tray covered with a layered ice cream cake. He set the plate to one side, apparently deciding that it wasn't booby-trapped. The only other possibilities were the serving spatula, the dessert tray, or the dessert itself.

"Actually, I think it's just the opposite in the short run," said the young man. "Having a really strong world government might make things like politics and language more global. Heck, after a couple generations there might not be any such thing as a foreign language." He shrugged. "For the next fifty or hundred years, though, I think that international politics is going to be an even bigger area than it is now. Something this massive won't happen overnight."

Eddie emptied his last vial of neutralizer into the chocolate pudding. He examined the handle of the serving spoon resting on the rim of the bowl. "Good point," he said.

"Hopefully," said Johannes. "I'd hate to get out of college and find out my whole job market is gone." His eyes brightened and he nodded when he found the nearly invisible wire running along the bottom of his dessert tray. Eddie winced as his opponent tapped the naked wire with his fork and a small spark flared. Confident that the trap was grounded, Johannes cut into his ice cream cake with the spatula and lifted a generous helping to his plate.

Eddie pulled the serving spoon from the pudding and the spotlights disappeared behind the brightness of the ensuing explosion. Johannes sighed and swallowed another cold piece of cake, blinking his eyes against the sudden flash. Eddie's chair was empty.

"That's why I do this for a living. Always believed in setting my own table, so to speak."

Eddie "The Gullet" Markozy popped up from under the table. He slid into his chair and patted his forehead with the remaining scrap of handkerchief. Johannes gasped and dropped his fork.

"Surprised that such a big guy can move that fast?" asked Eddie.

"Well, no, but, um, yes sir," said Johannes.

"That's okay, lots of people make that mistake."

Johannes stared across the table for a moment. "A draw, then? Does this mean we both earn a win?"

Eddie smiled, displaying a slight touch of sorrow. "No, Johannes, I've won."

Johannes blinked. "What do you mean? You're only allowed one attempt in the dessert course. Your electrical trap was defused and my bomb failed. Isn't that a draw?"

"Like I said, you've got a good, logical mind," said Eddie. "However, the wires weren't a trap. They were just there to draw your attention."

A look of horror crept across the younger man's face. Eddie didn't relish the sight.

"The actual trap was a synthetic arsenic in the dessert," said Eddie. "You see, the metal in the spatula acts as a catalyst to activate the arsenic compound from the tray as soon as the two touch. If you've got an arsenic neutralizer, you'll have to use it fast. That particular trick has won for me over twenty times now."

The young man on the other side of the table was no longer able to appreciate Eddie's ingenuity, nor his advice. His skin had turned a light shade of blue where it wasn't marred by burns, and his head was slumped down over his plate.

"Should've taken the yield," said Eddie "The Gullet" Markozy, shaking his head. The fat man with forty wins straightened his tie, bowed to the nearest camera, and left the stage. 


