Dunk Read online

  “How’d he hear about it?” I asked. We hadn’t put a sign in the window. That was an invitation for trouble. Mom spread the word to folks she knew.

  “Doc over at the arcade gave him my name. If Doc says he’s okay, I’m sure he’ll be fine.” She pulled a sandwich from the bag. “Tuna. Want half?”

  “No, thanks.” I gave up. There was no point in arguing. She’d already rented the place. Obviously, I wasn’t going to win that battle. But a more important battle was waiting.

  “We can use the extra money,” Mom said as she sat down at the table.

  No news flash there. We always needed money. The problem was, we couldn’t even get that good a rental rate. We were three and a half blocks from the beach. The places right next to the boardwalk could charge a lot more. And you made the most money renting by the day or the week. But Mom wanted a long-term tenant. She’d had enough change in her life. So had I.

  “Things are pretty tight right now,” Mom added.

  Talk about a perfect chance. “I saw a sign at the bookstore. They have a job opening. Full-time for the whole summer. Mr. Salazar over at the taco stand needs someone, too. He said he’d train me. There are openings all over the place.” My fists clenched as I waited for an answer.

  Mom shook her head. “You know how I feel about that.”

  Yeah, I knew how she felt about that. I fought the urge to kick the couch. “I’ve heard it a million times. You grew up so poor you couldn’t even afford a dirt floor. You started working at the age of three. Or was it two? I forget.” Why did she think her childhood had anything to do with my life? That was ancient history.

  “Thirteen,” Mom said. “It’s nothing to joke about.”

  “But everyone has a job. Jason, Mike, Ellie.” Jason worked almost every day after school, then knocked off in the summer so he could play volleyball. Mike worked summers for a guy who owned five game booths near the center of the boardwalk. And Ellie, who’d just graduated, had a summer job as a lifeguard.

  “You’ll be working your whole life once you get out of school,” Mom said. “I want you to enjoy yourself while you can. Maybe next summer you can get a job.”

  “But—”

  Mom took a step closer. “Look at me, Chad. I’m thirty-two, and I could probably pass for forty. That’s what hard work will do to you.”

  And having a kid when you’re seventeen, I thought. The guilt wrapped around the anger tight enough to smother it. I felt I’d drown if I didn’t break the tension. “Hey, looking older wouldn’t be so bad,” I said. “If I could pass for twenty-one, I could buy beer.”

  Mom shook her head and smiled. I felt both of us relax. Then she had to say it. “You’re so clever. You got your dad’s way of talking.”

  “I’ve got nothing of him in me,” I said, smacking the table hard enough to make my flesh sting. Why the hell did she have to mention that loser?

  Mom balled up the remains of her sandwich in the bag and tossed it into the kitchen garbage, then started cleaning the counter, even though it was already clean.

  I turned on the television and watched some idiot explain how easy it was to get rich if you followed his simple formula. Beyond the noise and chatter of the infomercial, a silence hung in the room. I wished she had a clue how I felt. I wasn’t asking to spend sixteen hours a day in a factory. I was asking for permission to have a lousy summer job. Something to help keep me busy. Something to help keep me from screwing up.

  4

  WHEN THE INFOMERCIAL ENDED, I GLANCED OVER AT MOM, who was standing by the table watching me. She shifted her eyes toward the floor. “Things will be better soon. . . .”

  “Yeah, it’ll be okay,” I told her. Though I knew things would be a lot better if she’d just let me help. Right now, Mom had a job as a waitress at the Leaping Dolphin Restaurant, which, despite the name, was really just a huge diner. She was taking classes at night to learn how to be a legal secretary, so she was only able to work the breakfast and lunch shifts.

  Dad was two or three years behind on his support checks, and about as likely to catch up as I was to grow a third eye in the middle of my forehead. Not that we needed his help. The last time we’d heard from him, right before Christmas, he’d actually tried to borrow money from Mom.

  So, as my friend Corey would say, we had a cash-flow problem. That’s why we rented half of our house to strangers.

  I guess it didn’t matter about the apartment. I wasn’t planning to spend much time indoors. Maybe the new tenant would be okay, if Doc had sent him. Doc owned the best arcade on the boardwalk. He looked like the world’s largest gnome. He yelled a lot, but when he was in a good mood he let me play games for free. He paid me to run errands, too.

  Since Mom wouldn’t allow me to get a regular job, I picked up money running errands, like if a guy needed something and couldn’t leave his shop, I’d go get it for him. They’d send me to the post office or ask me to pick up parts from the hardware store. I guess I owed the whole thing to Doc. One day a couple years ago, he’d asked me to grab a sandwich for him. When I got back, he’d told me to keep the change. It didn’t take me long to figure out that there were plenty of other people willing to pay for five or ten minutes of my time.

  It was okay with Mom if I ran odd jobs. I suppose she figured that wouldn’t destroy my childhood. She acted like it wasn’t real work, which was fine with me. When she mentioned it at all, she called it doing favors. There was just one problem—it wasn’t steady. I might run my tail off one day and do nothing the next. I’d rather have a real job.

  But it didn’t matter what I wanted. Mom had said no. She pretty much let me do anything else I wanted, but she was flat-out unmovable when it came to this. I was paying for her bad experiences. It looked like I’d have to stick with the odd jobs for another year. There was no way I could stand being this close to the boardwalk all summer without any money. I’d go crazy. The whole place—food, games, rides, and all—was designed to make you spend. But I was careful where I spent my money. I knew enough to avoid the skill games. Most of them were a lot harder to win than they looked.

  Take the basketball games. A real hoop is almost wide enough to fit two balls at once. It looks small because it’s high up. The hoops at the boardwalk were just big enough for one ball to squeeze through. And the balls had so much air in them that they bounced like a five-year-old on a chocolate overdose. You had to be pretty lucky to score.

  Of course, some of the games were easy to win. That was on purpose, too. Nothing happened by chance around here—especially not at the games of chance. The trick was that an easy game meant a small prize. If you looked up “small prize” in the dictionary, I’d bet the definition would be “worthless crap.” To get anything better, you had to trade up. It’s amazing how quickly people lose their basic math skills when they’ve got their eyes locked on a giant stuffed Scooby-Doo.

  Nope—I didn’t drop much money playing the skill games. But I loved the rides. Especially the roller coasters. The more extreme, the better. They had a bargain session during the morning—maybe because it was hard to convince people to go upside down right after breakfast.

  I also liked the video games. And I was hooked big-time on the soft ice cream. Especially chocolate peanut-butter twist. It was wonderful. I could feel my arteries clog up with each bite. Jason told me I’d need a new heart by the time I was twenty. I told him I’d borrow his.

  But I didn’t blow much money. I was saving up for after graduation. Jason had big plans to head for California. He was always talking about it, and I’d sort of played along, though I really wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. All I knew was, whatever I did, it would help to have some cash.

  I checked the clock. It was a little after three. I decided to hang out until Mom left for her classes. I didn’t really do stuff with her. We each did our own thing. But between the restaurant and her school, I hardly saw her, so I liked to hang out when she was home, even if we ended up arguing sometimes.

 
At four thirty Mom headed out. And I headed into trouble.

  5

  IF YOU LAY OUT A COUPLE MILES OF GREAT FOOD AND FREE entertainment along a beautiful stretch of beach, you’re going to attract more than just horseflies, sea gulls, and friendly tourists. Some dangerous lowlife can haunt the boardwalk. Mixed in with the vacation crowd was a scattering of thugs, muggers, dealers, and drunks. I knew enough to stay out of their way.

  I especially avoided the dealers. And not just for fear of getting busted. Every time I went past some guy working his territory, I expected a spray of bullets to come flying through the air. Maybe I was overreacting. It had been nearly a year since a dealer had been shot, and that hadn’t even happened on the boardwalk. He’d been killed over in the bad part of Abbot Drive, where a lot of the dealers lived. But I can’t always control my imagination.

  While I managed to keep clear of the full-time criminals, some of the amateurs were harder to avoid. I ran into one of them less than a block down the boardwalk.

  “Hey, Chad. Whuz up?” Anthony Glover strutted out of the Royal Cabana Gift Shop and joined me as I wandered along near the railing. The Cabana was one of those shops that sold tourist stuff like knockoff T-shirts and beach mats. They had watches that said Gucci or Rolex on them even though it was obvious they’d come straight here from some pirate factory in China. You could get any designer label you wanted, as long as you didn’t care if it was fake. Anthony was carrying something in his left hand, holding it low, next to his stomach. Sunglasses. I could see the price tag dangling from the hinge. I could also see an Oakley logo on the frame. A tingle rippled through me, brought to life by the thrill of free stuff, but I fought it off. This wasn’t cool, and I didn’t want any part of it.

  I kept walking, but nodded so Anthony wouldn’t think I was ignoring him. There was no point making enemies. He was a year ahead of me, but we’d been in the same wood-shop class, so I’d probably be stuck with him again.

  Anthony glanced over his shoulder toward the Royal Cabana. He had the sort of face that mothers trusted. And he had the sort of smile girls loved. He also had the sort of heart you’d find in a snake, or a stone. Back when I was a freshman, we’d hung out a bit, until I’d figured out how slimy he really was. By then I’d already gotten into a bunch of trouble.

  “Just act natural. Okay? Nobody saw me.” He matched my stride, like we were the two best buddies in the world.

  “I’m in a hurry,” I said. I didn’t feel like acting any particular way for his sake. I could still remember the time he’d trashed my bicycle. He’d sworn it was an accident, but I knew better. Anthony liked to ruin things.

  “Look,” he whispered, “just pretend we’re together. No sweat.”

  “Stop!” A middle-aged man raced out of the Royal Cabana. “Thieves!” he shouted, pointing right at us.

  Thieves? No. There was just one thief. I had nothing to do with this. I didn’t even want any sunglasses.

  The man yelled again.

  “Catch you later, Chad.” Anthony vaulted over the railing. I heard the dull thud of his sneakers smacking the sand six feet below, then the shuffling sound of him taking off.

  I was jerked back as someone grabbed my wrist. “Hey, let go!”

  “Thief,” the man said, yanking on my arm. “Lousy thief.”

  “I didn’t steal anything.” I searched the gathering crowd for a friendly face. No luck. Everyone stared back with the half-guilty, sure-glad-it’s-not-me smirk people get when they’ve just seen bad luck fall on a stranger. Except for one person. This joker in black jeans and a black turtleneck, sitting on the bench I’d just walked past, stared at me like he was watching television.

  The man from the shop kept shouting at me. He’d switched into another language.

  “Look,” I said, “I didn’t take anything.” I patted my pockets with my free hand, then glanced back toward the guy on the bench. “You saw it, didn’t you? I was here the whole time.”

  The guy didn’t say anything. But somebody else did. “What’s the problem here?”

  Oh, crap. This was getting worse and worse. I hated hearing those words, especially when they were attached to a pair of cops. Cops didn’t like me. Not just back when I’d hung out with Anthony. Even before then. Even after, I guess. Other words ran through my head. You’re so much like your dad.

  The man was still screaming. He’d let go of my arm, but I could feel where his fingers had dug into my wrist. I jammed my hands into my pockets to hide the shaking. Then I pulled them out because I was afraid the cops would think I was hiding something else. My whole body felt like it was buzzing. I struggled to look innocent, and wondered whether I should rat out Anthony. I didn’t want to do that unless I had no other choice.

  The man from the shop switched back into English long enough to tell the cops I was a thief who deserved to be whipped and thrown in jail.

  The taller of the cops—Officer Manetti, according to his name tag—scanned the crowd and said, “Anybody see what happened?”

  Suddenly, nobody was interested in us. They all slipped away. Except for the guy on the bench. “He saw it,” I said. “I didn’t do anything. I was just walking along. Ask him.”

  “You see it?” the cop called to the guy.

  The guy shrugged.

  The other cop, Officer Costas, glared at me. I could feel his gaze drilling through me, like he knew every detail of every bad thing I’d ever done. Just the bad things. He had the sort of eyes that couldn’t see any of the good stuff.

  “I’m not going to forget your face,” he said.

  It took a second for that to sink in. He was saying he’d be watching for me. But it also sounded like he was letting me go. I waited, afraid to do anything that might make him change his mind.

  “You stay out of that shop,” Officer Manetti said. “And you stay out of trouble. Okay?”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice right now.

  He turned to the man from the shop and pulled out a pad. “Can you describe the person who robbed you?”

  “Him,” the guy shouted, pointing at me. “He robbed me. Sunglasses. Designer label. All day they steal. I try to make an honest living. But they steal.”

  “No,” Officer Costas said. “Tell us about the one who took the sunglasses. Understand?” I got the feeling he didn’t like the man from the shop any more than he liked me. Maybe Officer Costas didn’t like much of anything. Or anybody. Some people were born that way.

  I moved a step away. They didn’t seem to care. I took another step. I halfway expected Officer Costas to draw his gun and shout, “Freeze!” Maybe even fire a couple warning shots through my knees. But they were done with me.

  I wasn’t in any mood to hang out on the boardwalk. I wanted to get back home. As I walked past the jerk on the bench, I said, “Thanks for all the help.”

  “You’re quite welcome.” His expression didn’t change.

  I muttered several words comparing him to various body parts. I didn’t care if he heard me.

  I headed north to Fifteenth Street. Every block, there’s a zigzag ramp and a set of steps that go down to the sidewalk. As I walked along the ramp, I caught sight of the guy from the bench about ten feet behind me. I guess he didn’t appreciate my comments.

  I could run. But the guy looked like he was in shape. He wasn’t old. He wasn’t a college student, either. Maybe ten or fifteen years past that. Thin. The kind of thin that comes from skipping meals. Hair a bit too long for someone his age, and damp like he’d just gotten out of the shower. Taller than me but shorter than Jason. I wasn’t ready to find out which of us was faster.

  He probably wasn’t even following me. My house was across the street and around the corner on Sea Crest Avenue three blocks up. I crossed over.

  The guy crossed, too. I noticed he walked kind of funny, dragging one foot a bit. Nothing real obvious, but just enough so the sound of his footsteps wasn’t even. As I walked, I scanned the trash cans for anything I could use as a wea
pon. Nothing. Not even a broken broomstick.

  When I turned at Sea Crest, he was still following me.

  My house was only half a block away. If I sprinted, I figured I’d get enough of a head start to reach the front door before him. I slipped one hand in my pocket and touched my key.

  I crossed the street again, moving to the side opposite where I lived, just to see for sure if he was following me. If he came over, I’d spin and make a dash for the house. He wouldn’t expect that.

  He stayed on his side. Man, the next breath I took was the deepest one of the afternoon. I slowed down, figuring I’d wait until after he walked out of sight before I crossed back and went inside.

  Things didn’t work out that way.

  He stopped in front of my house.

  It wasn’t until he’d climbed halfway up the side steps that the obvious explanation smacked me in the face. “Wonderful. Just wonderful,” I said as I watched him unlock the upstairs door.

  The freak was our new tenant.

  6

  I KNEW EXACTLY WHERE HE WAS. EVERY TIME HE MOVED, I HEARD his footsteps. When he sat on the couch, the floorboards groaned over our own couch. For a while he stood by the front window. Then he walked to his refrigerator. I could even hear the thud of the fridge door closing.

  I wanted to go upstairs and let him know what I thought of him. What kind of jerk doesn’t stick up for someone who’s in trouble? He could have told the cops I was innocent. But he’d just sat there. I flipped on the television, cranked the volume loud enough to annoy anybody living over my head, and tried to think about other things.

  The knock on the door startled me. I looked at the clock over the sink. It was a couple minutes after seven.

  “All set?” Jason asked when I opened the door.

  “Yeah. Sure. Let’s go.” I locked up and followed him out to the sidewalk. This year there was something else besides the usual rides and games and food pulling me toward the boardwalk. Someone else.