Funland

by Richard Laymon

  “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Same here.”

  “Maybe we could meet somewhere,” she suggested.

  “Sure.” He felt as if he could barely breathe. “Yeah. That’d be great.”

  “How about here at the beach tomorrow afternoon? The fog’ll probably burn off by noon. How about one o’clock? We could meet over by the lifeguard station.”

  “Great.”

  Shiner squeezed him against her side.

  Then someone came striding along the beach in front of them, and they both flinched.

  Nate. Barefoot and wearing a wet suit. Carrying a surfboard under one arm.

  He turned and came toward them. A few strides away, he stopped. His head swiveled from side to side. “Where are the rest of them?” he asked.

  “Over there someplace,” Shiner said. She raised her left arm and pointed.

  He started away. “You coming?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Shiner let go of Jeremy, and they both started walking along behind Nate. Jeremy’s side felt cold where she had been pressed against it.

  “Tanya?” Nate called.

  “Over here.” Tanya’s voice sounded far away, but straight ahead.

  Shiner took hold of Jeremy’s hand. Her warmth seemed to flow up his arm and fill him.

  He found himself thinking about tomorrow. It would be like having a real date with her. He hoped she was as pretty in the sunlight as she seemed in the darkness. She would probably be wearing a swimsuit—maybe some kind of a bikini. And they’d be meeting near the lifeguard station, so Tanya would be there. He could look at both of them.

  It’ll be great, he thought.

  Then he saw three faint dark figures standing in the fog ahead of Nate. The naked body of the troll lay at their feet. The cuffs had been removed.

  Shiner didn’t let go of his hand when they joined the group. Jeremy was glad. In a way, it seemed as if she were showing him off, saying, “Look what I’ve got.”

  He felt as if the two of them had suddenly become a “couple.”

  “Anybody see you?” Tanya asked Nate as he set his surfboard down beside the corpse.

  “Nope. Maybe some trolls, but I didn’t spot any.”

  “This is one troll they won’t be getting their hands on,” Samson said.

  He and Nate crouched at the other side of the body. They rolled it over onto the surfboard. Jeremy’s stomach clutched a little when he saw the broken legs flop loosely. But he was relieved that the troll was facedown now, penis out of sight. There was a dark splotch on one of the buttocks. A birthmark?

  “He’s going to slide right off there if we don’t strap him down,” Nate said. “I couldn’t find any rope. Any of you wearing belts?”

  “Yeah,” Samson said. “Won’t go around him and the board, though.”

  “We’ll need a couple, at least.”

  “I’ve got one,” Jeremy said.

  Shiner said, “Me too.”

  “Sorry,” said Randy, and lifted his jacket as if he felt the need to prove he had no belt.

  While Jeremy removed his belt, he watched Shiner raise her windbreaker above her waist, open her belt, and slide it through the loops of her jeans. She wore a plaid shirt. The side of it was untucked and bunched up. A small pale patch of skin showed near her hip. Once the belt was off, she tugged the windbreaker down again.

  “Are you going to bring them back?” she asked Nate as she gave it to him.

  “I’ll sure try.”

  “It was a present from my sister,” she added.

  Her sister. The one who had vanished. The one the trolls got. When Jeremy had heard about it earlier, Shiner had been a stranger. Now she was special to him and he felt a tug of sorrow for her loss.

  Nate buckled Jeremy’s belt to Samson’s. While Samson held an end of the surfboard off the sand, Nate slipped the joined belts underneath it. Samson lowered the board. Nate straddled the body, brought up the ends of the belts, and fastened them in the middle of the troll’s back. He used Shiner’s belt to strap the troll’s ankles against the surfboard’s tail.

  “Okay,” he said. “All set.”

  “Not quite,” Tanya said. She stepped around the body and approached Jeremy. “Let me have the card,” she told him.

  He was confused. What card? Didn’t she mean the whistle? Then he remembered. He dug into his pocket, found the Billy Goat Gruff calling card, and handed it to her.

  She smiled at him.

  “Here,” he said. “You can have your whistle back.” He took it off and dropped it into her hand.

  “I guess you didn’t need it,” she said, and slipped the chain over her head. A finger of the hand that held the card hooked the neck of her sweatshirt out, and she dropped the whistle down her front. “Let’s just say you got initiated,” she told him.

  “We all got initiated,” Nate said.

  Tanya stepped to the front of the surfboard and squatted down. Reaching between her knees, she turned the troll’s face toward her. She pulled the chin. The mouth opened. She stuffed the card inside, then clapped the mouth shut.

  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Nate said.

  She left it there, and stood up. “The guy’s fish bait,” she said. “Besides, nobody’ll be able to read it anyway by the time he’s been in the water a few minutes.”

  Nate shrugged. He muttered, “What the hell.”

  Then he and Samson lifted the surfboard off the sand. They carried it like a stretcher down the beach.

  The others followed. Jeremy saw the thin, foamy edge of the water sliding toward him, but he kept going. Cold wetness soaked through his shoes and socks.

  He saw the ocean. Black waves, crested with white, rolled toward him out of the fog.

  He imagined the troll sinking out there, all alone in the cold dark water, and felt himself go frozen inside.

  It’s not like the guy’s alive, he told himself. He’s dead. He won’t feel a thing. He won’t know.

  But the awful frigid feeling stayed.

  They all halted except Samson and Nate. Randy moved over close to Tanya. Shiner curled her fingers around Jeremy’s hand.

  The two boys waded out with their cargo. They set the surfboard down in knee-deep water. As Samson hurried back, Nate pushed the board farther out.

  A wave broke over the head and back of the dead man.

  After it washed by, Jeremy saw Nate behind the surfboard, pushing it in front of him.

  Shiner turned Jeremy toward her and held him tightly against her body and pressed her face to the side of his neck.

  When he looked again toward the ocean, he saw only the surf and the fog.

  Twenty-one

  After roll call, Dave sat at his desk to prepare his report on yesterday’s incident at Funland. He relived it all in his mind as he pecked the typewriter keys. When he wrote of Joan’s decisive moves against the knife-wielding perpetrator, his thoughts drifted away to the other, vulnerable Joan in her anguish over demolishing the kid. He lingered on the way she’d felt in his arms, and how it had been, kissing her.

  Joan’s desk was off to the side. He looked at her. She was leaning back in her swivel chair, phone at her ear, legs stretched out. Like Dave, she wore her bright blue BBPD jacket over her beach uniform. The jacket wasn’t fastened. It hung open in a way that showed her right breast stretching the fabric of her T-shirt.

  As he stared at her, she sat toward and cradled the phone. She swiveled toward him and raised her eyebrows. “Woodrow Abernathy regained consciousness two hours ago,” she said.

  “Glad to hear it.” He was glad for Joan, not for Woodrow. Other people would probably suffer in years to come because the creep had pulled through, but Joan wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of knowing she’d destroyed him.

  Smiling slightly, she shook her head. She took a huge breath that swelled her chest, let it out, and slumped forward as if the air in her lungs had been all that was
holding her up. Her forearms dropped against her thighs. Then she just sat there, hunched over and gazing at the floor.

  Dave typed more of his report, but his eyes kept straying over to Joan. He wished he could go to her. They weren’t alone, though.

  Finally she sat up straight. She met his eyes. Her head tipped a bit to one side. She smiled and slapped her open hands against her knees. “About ready to go, partner?”

  “I’m almost done here.”

  “I’ll hit the john and meet you in the car.”

  He watched Joan stride away. Without the distraction of her presence, he quickly finished the report, signed it, and took it to the chief’s In basket.

  By the time he reached the patrol unit, Joan was already sitting behind the steering wheel. He climbed in. She drove out of the parking lot and headed for Funland.

  “You must be pretty relieved,” he said.

  She nodded. “How are you doing? How’s the chest?”

  “A little stiff and tender. Not bad. Thanks for the medication.”

  Joan grimaced. “I’m really sorry about all that.”

  “About what?”

  “Guh…what could I possibly be sorry about? All I did was make a goddamn spectacle of myself, get soused, spill the goddamn champagne, throw myself at you, mess you up with Gloria. Shit. Nothing much.”

  “It was a disgusting display,” Dave said.

  She didn’t look at him. He saw her lips press together in a tight line. Her head nodded once in sharp agreement.

  “The worst damn part of the whole thing,” Dave continued, “was when we kissed.”

  Her head jerked toward him. For a moment her eyes were wide with shock. Then they narrowed. A corner of her mouth tilted upward. “Liar,” she said.

  “Ah, you caught me.”

  “I thought I’d made that kid into a vegetable. And you’d been stabbed. But it was like some kind of a victory too—we’d stomped those scrotes. So I just thought it’d be nice to be with you, you know? We’re partners. It seemed like the right thing to do, commiserate and hoist a few—”

  “There was nothing wrong with it.”

  She glanced at him. “I’m your partner, but I’m not a guy. That’s what screwed it up. Would’ve been the right thing except for that little detail.”

  Dave reached over and patted her shoulder. “Don’t fret. I think of you as a guy.”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  “A guy who’s taller than me,” he added, hoping she would remember he’d first made that observation yesterday while he was embracing her.

  The way her face softened, he knew she remembered.

  “My only regret about yesterday,” he said, “is that Gloria showed up and I had to stop kissing you.”

  Joan swung the patrol car into Funland’s parking lot. She stopped it, shut off the engine, and looked into Dave’s eyes. Her hand curled over his thigh.

  “What about Gloria?” she asked.

  “She’s out of it now.”

  “Aw, geez.” Joan lowered her eyes. She seemed to be staring at her hand as it began to move slowly up and down his leg.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Dave said.

  “No, of course not. All I did was steal her guy out from under her.”

  “I was never really hers.”

  Joan’s hand stopped moving. She peered into his eyes, frowning. “Maybe you’ll say the same thing about me someday. ‘Don’t worry about Joan. I was never really hers.’”

  “I’ve been yours since our first patrol together,” Dave said. “You just didn’t notice.”

  Her eyebrows darted up. Her lips curled into a wise-guy smirk. She slapped his leg and said, “Bullshit.”

  “What about you and Harold?”

  “I was never really his.”

  Dave grinned. “You were head-over-heels for me since our first patrol?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  He tried to look shocked. “You mean you weren’t?”

  “I just knew I liked your legs.”

  Robin saw a few familiar faces in her audience. Not Nate’s, though. Where was Nate?

  He’d said he would see her today.

  She’d been watching for him all morning. It was nearly noon now.

  She wondered if she should take a break and visit his arcade. That might seem pushy, though.

  He’ll show up, she told herself.

  He has to.

  It worried her, though. She’d half-expected to find him waiting when she came back from breakfast and took up her usual position at the north end of the boardwalk.

  Maybe he’s just too busy at the arcade to get away.

  He’ll show up.

  As she played and wondered about Nate, she noticed that Dave and the female cop had joined her audience. They had been stopping briefly each time their foot patrol brought them to this end of the boardwalk. Dave hadn’t given her a talk since the first day, but he always nodded and smiled when he showed up.

  Yesterday, she’d been tempted to tell him about Poppinsack. Each time she saw him listening to her music, she’d thought about it. He seemed like a good guy. He’d probably go out of his way to help her. But he would have to ask how the theft happened. That would be just too embarrassing. Besides, yesterday she’d still hoped to confront Poppinsack herself, and if the old creep ended up stabbed or something, she didn’t want any cops knowing she had a problem with him.

  She could tell Dave now, since she no longer planned to nail the guy. But that still left the problem of telling him that the money had been stolen out of her panties.

  I might tell his partner, she thought. It wouldn’t be so bad, talking to a woman about something like that. Robin liked her, even though they’d never spoken. She had a terrific smile, and her eyes looked friendly.

  Robin considered it while she played. She wondered if there was any point. By now Poppinsack had probably spent most of the money. Besides, he was nowhere around.

  When she finished the number, Dave came up, nodded to her, and tossed a folded bill into her banjo case. She thanked him. He smiled, gave her a little wave, then headed away with the woman.

  “Let’s hear ‘Weenie Roast,’” called a heavyset guy who’d been in her audience several times during the past three days.

  “You got it,” she said, and started in on the song.

  As usual, people shook their heads and laughed or groaned.

  She was just finishing when she spotted Nate at the rear of the small group. A quick rush of excitement made her forget the lyrics for a moment. She got back on the track, and ended with a flourish.

  She waited for the clapping and hoots to die down, then announced that she would be taking a short break. People moved forward to drop money into her case, and wandered off.

  Nate stayed.

  He stepped up closer to her. Over his T-shirt he wore a money apron with bulging pockets that jangled as he moved. His arms looked muscular. He had a deep tan that she hadn’t noticed last night.

  A real hunk, she thought, and smiled at herself. A stupid term, “hunk.” But appropriate.

  “That’s a nasty little song,” he said.

  “I’m a nasty little woman.”

  He shook his head and smiled. The smile seemed a little strained.

  “Hey,” she said. “About last night. You went ahead and gave me the twenty. You weren’t supposed to do that, you know.”

  “I had nothing better to do with it.”

  “Well, you’ve got to let me buy you lunch.”

  “I have to get back to the arcade,” he said. “I left Hector in charge, and he’s a doufuss.”

  It sounded to Robin like an excuse.

  “That’s okay,” she said, and shrugged and hoped he couldn’t see her disappointment.

  “I just wanted to come by and say hi, see how you’re doing.”

  She tried to smile. “I thought maybe you wanted to hear more of ‘The Land of Purr.’”

  “Some other time, maybe,”
he said.

  “Whenever.”

  “I’ve gotta get back.”

  He just stood there looking at her. He seemed so different from the energetic, cheerful guy Robin had met last night. Weary, deflated.

  Concern for him pushed aside her disappointment. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Maybe you’re coming down with something.” She took a step forward and pressed an open hand against his forehead. The skin of his brow felt smooth, moist, and hot. “I think you’ve got a little fever,” Robin said, lowering her hand.

  He made a tired smile. “What are you, a nurse?”

  “Just a gal.” Cockless Robin. Damn you, Poppinsack. “We’ve all got built-in thermometers on our hands. You’d better go home, take a couple of aspirin, and get plenty of rest.”

  His smile perked up slightly. “I guess I could use the rest, anyway. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “Neither did I,” Robin said, remembering her restless hours under the beachhouse.

  “Where did you sleep?” Nate asked.

  “On the beach.”

  Frowning, he shook his head. “You shouldn’t do that.”

  “I know. The trolls, the trollers.”

  His frown deepened. “It isn’t safe.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “Has someone bothered you?”

  “I was robbed in my sleep two nights ago. And, of course, you know about that creep last night. Thanks again.”

  “You oughta stay off the beach, Robin.”

  “I like the fresh air.”

  “That twenty I gave you, you could’ve stayed in a motel.”

  She shrugged. “I’m saving up for a BMW.”

  “It’s nothing to joke about.”

  “I can eat good breakfasts for a week on twenty bucks. I’d rather have that than a roof over my head.”

  “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “That’s a stupid-fuck thing to say.”

  Robin flinched.

  Nate shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m sorry. Jesus.” He rubbed his face. “I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “I’ve gotta go. See you around.” He hurried away.

  Robin watched him until he disappeared in the crowd. She wondered what was wrong with him, really. Though his brow had felt slightly feverish, she didn’t think he was sick—he seemed depressed or upset, not ill.