Zero Game Read Online Free

four, that means we’re in charge of spending over five billion dollars. Each. So why’s Barry so interested? Because we control the purse strings. Indeed, the whole purpose of the Appropriations Committee is to write the checks for all discretionary money spent by the government.
    It’s one of the dirtiest little secrets on Capitol Hill: Congressmen can pass a bill, but if it needs funding, it’s not going anywhere without an Appropriator. Case in point: Last year, the President signed a bill that allows free immunizations for low- income children. But unless Appropriations sets aside money to pay for the vaccines, the President may’ve gotten a great media event, but no one’s getting a single shot. And that, as the old joke goes, is why there’re actually three parties in Congress: Democrats, Republicans, and Appropriators. Like I said, it’s a dirty secret—but one Barry is all too aware of right about now.
    “So everyone’s good?” he asks.
    “Why complain, right?”
    Realizing the clock’s ticking, I flip on the TV that sits on my filing cabinet. As C-SPAN blooms into view, Barry turns at the sound. I once again check the vote count.
    “What’s the tally?” he asks.
    I spin around at the question.
“What’d you say?”
    Barry pauses. His left eye is glass; his right one is pale blue and completely foggy. The combination makes it near impossible to read his expression. But the tone in his voice is innocent enough. “The tally,” he repeats. “What’s the vote count?”
    I smile to myself, still watching him closely. To be honest, if he were playing the game, I wouldn’t be surprised. I take that back. I would be. Harris said you can only invite one other person in. Harris invited me. If Barry’s in, someone else invited him.
    Convinced it’s just my imagination, I check the totals on C-SPAN. All I care about are the yeas and nays. On-screen, the white letters are superimposed over a shot of the still mostly empty House Floor: thirty-one yeas, eight nays.
    “Thirteen minutes left. Thirty-one to eight,” I tell Barry. “It’ll be a slaughter.”
    “No surprise,” he says, focused on the TV. “Even a blind man could’ve seen that.”
    I laugh at the joke—one of Barry’s old favorites. But I can’t stop thinking about what Harris said.
It’s the best part of the game—not knowing who else is playing.
    “Listen, Barry, can we catch up later?” I ask as I grab my conference notes. “I’ve got Trish waiting . . .”
    “No stress,” he says, never wanting to push. Good lobbyists know better than that. “I’ll call you in an hour or so.”
    “That’s fine—though I may still be in the meeting.”
    “Let’s make it two hours. Does three o’clock work?”
    Again, I take it back. Even when he doesn’t want to, Barry can’t help but push. It was the same way in college. Every time we’d get ready to go to a party, we’d get two calls from Barry. The first was to check what time we were leaving. The second was to recheck what time we were leaving. Harris always called it overcompensation for the blindness; I called it understandable insecurity. Whatever the real reason, Barry’s always had to work a little harder to make sure he’s not left out.
    “So I’ll speak to you at three,” he says, hopping up and heading out. I tuck my notebooks under my arm like a football and plow toward the door that connects with the adjoining hearing room. Inside, my eyes skip past the enormous oval conference table and even the two black sofas against the back wall that we use for overflow. Instead, like before, I find the small TV in the back and—
    “You’re late,” Trish interrupts from the conference table.
    I spin midstep, almost forgetting why I’m here. “Would it help if I brought hot dogs?” I stutter.
    “I’m a vegetarian.”
    Harris would have a great comeback. I offer an awkward grin.
    Leaning back in her chair, she’s got her arms crossed, completely uncharmed. At