Dunk (8 page)

Unless he talked Mom into letting him stay for free. He'd already conned her into waiting for the rent. I thought about the way he changed roles so easily. With that talent, how hard would it be to make her feel sorry for him? Hell, he could probably get free meals, too, if he put his mind to it. Next thing I knew, she'd order me to bring him breakfast in bed. Of course, Mom wasn't a pushover. Every once in a while there'd be some guy trying to ask her out. She usually turned them down gently. Except for the jerks. She'd tell them she didn't need another deadbeat in her life.
One to a customer
. That's what she'd say. But this guy, he'd probably try to fool her.

“You don't like me, do you?” he asked.

I realized I'd been glaring at him. “What was your first clue?”

“Look, I guess we got off to a bad start. Maybe I should have helped you with the cops yesterday.”

I shrugged and muttered, “Forget about it. I don't need your help.” I wasn't going to let him off that easily.

“I'll keep that in mind for the next time,” he said.

“There won't be a next time. Just stay out of my business.” I looked away from him as I spoke. Not to hide my anger, but to hide my smile. I realized that I sure wasn't going to stay out of his business. Just the opposite. I was about to get into his business in a big way.

M
OM WAS AT THE KITCHEN TABLE, STUDYING
.

“Test?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Better you than me.” I went to the fridge and got a glass of milk, which I improved with a nice long squirt of chocolate syrup.

“I think it's going to be a tough one,” she said.

“Stop worrying. You'll do fine.” I realized that I was telling her the exact same thing she always told me before my tests. I just hoped my prediction turned out to be more accurate than hers were.

“How was your day?” Mom asked.

Different from usual
, I thought.
Made ten bucks off a guy I hate, got the job of my dreams, and saved my best friend from rolling down the stairs and breaking his neck
. None of which was the kind of information a mom would be glad to hear—especially not the job part—so I settled for telling her, “Fine, so far.”

“I saw you coming up the walk with Professor Vale. He seems like a very nice man.”

I nodded. “Yup. He seems that way.” I shut up and let her get back to studying. I knew that among the thousand other things she worried about, she was concerned I didn't have any father figures in my life. Well, that's one role Malcolm was never going to play.

I wanted to call Jason and tell him to meet me at Wild Willy's. But I realized he might be sleeping. He'd looked really wiped out when he'd gone into his house. I figured I'd probably have to wait until tomorrow to surprise him. Though there was a chance I'd still see him. Even if I didn't call him, he might come looking for me if he felt better.

As Mom was getting ready to leave for school, she asked me, “Got any plans for tonight?”

Oh, man. I couldn't lie. I remembered all the times she'd asked Dad,
Where are you going?
He'd tell her,
Just down to the corner for cigarettes
. He'd come home hours later, or maybe the next day.

“I figured I'd put on clown makeup and shout at people,” I said.

Mom smiled and shook her head. “Very funny. That's what I get for asking.” She rarely went to the boardwalk and had probably never paid any attention to the dunk tank.

“It's the latest fad,” I told her, feeling a stab of guilt.

After she left, I went back out, hoping to kill time until seven. I thought about hanging around the dunk tank, but I really didn't want to stand there watching someone else when my own turn was so close. It would be like waiting on deck for a couple hours while another player batted.

First I checked the Cat-a-Pult. No familiar faces. I headed closer to the center, where I spotted Mike running the peach-basket game. I threw him a salute, in honor of his plans to join the army after graduation. He nodded, then went back to work. It was amazing to watch him in action. A guy walked past with his girlfriend. The girl was carrying a couple tiny teddy bears—the kind you got for hitting your number at the Lucky Aces wheel over by Panic Pier. I wondered how many tries it had taken to win them. The guy didn't even look over, but the girl did. She stopped and pointed at one of the prizes—a huge, fuzzy Pink Panther.

“That's soooooo adorable,” she said.

“Yeah, adorable,” the guy mumbled.

“I want it,” she told him. It's amazing how a ninety-pound girl can control a hundred-eighty-pound guy with a small tug on the arm. “Win it for me, Rick.”

“Come on, give it a try, Rick,” Mike said, pouncing on the personal information. “Easiest thing on the planet. Get two in, ya win.” He held up a pair of softballs in one hand and waved his other hand across the prizes displayed behind him. “One win gets you your choice, Rick.”

“You can do it,” the girl said.

The mark handed over a twenty and got his change. Poor guy. I figured Mike would work him for the whole bill.

The guy took careful aim, bent his knees to get a better angle, and gently tossed the first ball at the basket in front of him. It was the standard game. Nothing rigged. Nothing going against the player except the laws of physics. The basket is on its side, tilted up at a shallow angle. If you lob the ball so it barely lands inside the rim, and add a ton of backspin, it'll roll down and maybe stay in. Actually, there are a couple ways to toss it. But anything less than the perfect angle and spin, and the ball bounces right out. The bottom of the basket is really springy. As Corey had once described it, the player had to fight a losing battle against gravity
and
elasticity.

Naturally, the mark's first ball hit the bottom and shot right back out. He shook his head and tossed the second ball. If you miss the first time, the second turn is pointless, since you need two in to win.

“It's impossible. Let's get out of here.” He turned away.

“Hey, Rick,” Mike called, his voice slightly hushed.

The mark glanced back over his shoulder.

“C'mere,” Mike said, motioning the guy closer.

“What?” The guy turned toward Mike.

“Look, Rick, you just had some bad luck that time. It could happen to anyone.” He picked up a ball and tossed it in. From where he was standing behind the counter, it was easy to throw the ball so it stayed in the basket.

But that wasn't the real trick. That was just part of the preparation. I watched as Mike set the hook.

“Come on,” he said, holding out another ball. He glanced nervously to each side, like he was worried that he'd get in trouble if his boss spotted what he was about to do. He spoke so softly I had to read his lips. “Listen, Rick, I'll give you a free practice throw.”

That got the guy's attention. As he walked back to the counter, his expression changed. Suspicion gave way to greed.

“Free?” he asked. I guess he wanted to make sure he wasn't being scammed. “No catch?”

“Cross my heart,” Mike said, making the appropriate gesture. “My treat. Just don't tell anyone, or you'll get me fired. I can trust you, can't I, Rick?”

The guy snatched the ball from Mike's outstretched hand. Who wouldn't? He leaned forward and tossed it toward the basket, just like before. It landed about three inches below the rim and rolled to the bottom. And, of course, this time it stayed there. Hard for it not to, since Mike had left the other ball in the basket. That kept the second one from bouncing out, making the game look easy.

“You did it!” the girl said, giving the guy's arm a squeeze. “Yeah.” The guy looked real proud as he dug for his wallet. “Okay. One more try.”

Mike took out the two balls and handed them back to the guy. This was getting too painful to watch. I knew that even if the guy lucked out and managed to keep his first toss in the basket, Mike would remove the ball before the guy made his second toss. Odds are, the Pink Panther wasn't going anywhere.

I nodded at Mike and moved on. I didn't feel too sorry for the mark. He'd get to show his girl how hard he'd work to make her happy. And she'd have fun watching her man doing his best to win everything her heart desired. If they didn't spend the money at the peach baskets, they'd just spend it somewhere else. At the end of the day, they'd bring home a bunch of happy memories and a couple prizes.

Even so, I knew I couldn't run a game the way Mike did. I'd filled in at games for a few minutes here and there, but I never hustled the players. I didn't even say much. I couldn't chat with strangers. Mike sure could. He made them feel like he was their best friend. I just took the money and handed over the balls or the darts or whatever the game required.

But in a little while, I was going to get my chance to say anything I wanted. And say it to anyone I felt like picking from the crowd.

I walked a little farther, and treated myself to a slice at Salvatore's. I didn't even know how much I was getting paid tonight, but I figured it would be decent, especially if I did a great job. Maybe Bob paid out a percentage of the take. That would be awesome. I was sure the booth raked in at least eighty bucks an hour when things were going full speed.

I headed back. My stomach was churning and I ended up tossing away most of the slice. The crowds were definitely heavier now. Mike was working hard when I went past. He had players at all four baskets.
That
kept him busy. He didn't have to do any talking. He didn't really have a chance. He spent most of his time gathering up the balls from the ground. I didn't envy him that part—his back probably ached from all the bending. Better him than me.

Even before I got near Wild Willy's Pier, I could see a thick crowd around the Bozo tank. As I got closer, I heard Malcolm's insane laugh. I guess Bob had given him an earlier shift. Too bad. I'd hoped he'd be gone. I reached the edge of the crowd. Thwunks from missed shots mingled with the occasional clang and splash. A ripple of goose bumps chilled my arms beneath my sleeves. The air had started to cool off. I wondered whether I should have worn a heavier shirt.

I worked my way through the mob, wishing I hadn't eaten any pizza at all. The sauce burned like acid in my throat.
Relax
, I told myself.
You'll be behind a cage
.
And in makeup
.
You'll be great
. I wondered how Malcolm would feel when he found out who was going to be working the tank for the best part of the evening.

I had to push my way to the front. “Hey. I'm here, Boss,” I said as I reached Bob. “I'm ready to start.”

B
OB STARED AT ME FOR A SECOND WITH NO SIGN OF RECOGNITION
. Then he broke into a smile. “Right—the new kid. Excellent. I was wondering if you'd show up. Glad you came. It's getting busy.” He took the money that a man in front of him was waving in his face and handed over three balls. Then he gave me several greasy bills. “Here. You mind getting me a cheeseburger before you start?”

“No problem, Boss.”

I rushed across the boardwalk and got Bob his food.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the burger from me. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I'm ready.” I scanned the crowds pressing in from the sides. Man, there were a lot of people. I glanced over at Malcolm. I guess he wasn't going to get out of the tank until I put on my makeup. No point leaving it empty. But he'd be gone soon enough.

“You know what to do?” Bob asked.

“Absolutely. I've been thinking about it all day. I know I just—”

“Good boy.” He bent over and picked up an empty five-gallon bucket that had a damp, dirty towel draped over the side. “Here,” he said, thrusting it out toward me.

I grabbed the bucket automatically as it jammed against my chest.

“Just be careful. Watch your head. The first kid I hired last year caught one right in the nose. Probably have to go through the rest of his life looking like a very untalented boxer.”

I didn't get it. “Won't the bars protect me?”

Bob gave me a puzzled look. “Not where you're gonna be.” He stopped to take another two bucks from the mark, then said, “Just make sure you don't try to collect the balls while someone's throwing.”

Collect the balls?

The truth crashed over me like a ten-foot wave. I was such an idiot. How could I have thought he was hiring me to go in the tank? I lowered my head and saw my work spread out in front of me. Baseballs were scattered around the canvas behind the target. There was a puddle by the bottom of the tank that grew larger every time the Bozo plunged into the water. The wood supporting the tank was solid, so there was nowhere for the water to drain. A lot of the balls had rolled to a stop in the puddle. That explained the towel.

“Well, come on,” Bob said. “Hustle.”

Bloody freakin' crap. I wanted to slam down the bucket and stomp away. But I was trapped by my own big mouth. I'd told him I'd do the job—even bragged about what a dependable worker I was.
The best
.
Ask anyone
. I'd have to come through. Just for tonight. It couldn't be that tough. I walked behind him and nearly got my head taken off as a huge guy wearing a Dallas Cowboys T-shirt hurled a ball full force.

Nobody noticed my close brush with death.

I dodged out of the way and waited until the Cowboys fan was finished, then dashed forward and scooped up a couple of the balls. I gave them a quick wipe with the towel before I dumped them in the bucket. There were so many balls scattered around, and the players were throwing them so fast, I barely managed to keep up.

As I chased after a ball that had rolled behind the tank, the Bozo's voice tore through the speakers. “Glad I don't have your job. Talk about a pathetic way to earn money.”