by P. G. Kassel
“You mean those guys,” Stevie said.
“Just forget them. We’re here and I'm not leaving this place until tonight. And I'm leaving with some real money."
"Okay, Marty."
There were more people in the park now and the sun was a little hotter. They were halfway to the diner when Marty moved to the side of the thoroughfare and rested his shoulder against the side of a spin-paint booth.
"Look there," he pointed casually.
"What?" Stevie asked, unsure as to what he was looking for.
"Right there, see the sign? Journey to the Deep," Marty read. "It's one of those walk-through attractions."
"Okay."
The exhibit building was ocean green with a mural of strange and monstrous sea creatures covering the entire facade. The mural had been skillfully done with the fantastic creatures painted to look as they might actually exist, but the paint was now faded and peeling.
The neighboring attraction was a Tilt-a-Whirl ride, the happy screams and shouts from its riders rising above the music coming through the park sound system.
"It's got a ticket booth so there's a separate admission charge," Marty explained. "And it's doing some business. Look at the line."
"Yeah, busy," Stevie said.
"See there, the right side of the booth is attached to the exhibit building. There's no door on the left side so you get into it either from inside the building or the back," Marty said. "See, the back of the booth is set out from the building wall, maybe six feet."
"What's that mean?" Stevie asked.
"Wait here."
Marty strolled towards the Tilt-a-Whirl ride, feigning interest in the contraption. He kept walking until he was a few feet past the Journey to the Deep ticket booth and then turned around. He was right, there was a narrow passage between the building wall and the back of the booth, and a plain, wood door was set in the rear wall of the booth. The Tilt-a-Whirl provided good cover from the opposite side and once he was in the passage behind the ticket booth nobody would be able to see him from the front. It was perfect.
Marty made his way casually back to Stevie who waited for him with the usual confused expression on his face.
"This'll do fine," Marty reported.
"We're gonna hit it?" Stevie asked.
"Maybe around dinner time," Marty told him. "People'll be getting hungry and taking a food break. We'll watch for the line to thin out."
"And it'll be dark," Stevie added.
"Not quite, but who cares? They won't be expecting it then."
"You think so?" Stevie asked with an obvious lack of confidence.
"I think so."
"How we gonna get out of here with the money?" Stevie probed further, lowering his voice.
Marty gave that one some thought. "We don't. We hide it and then just hang out here."
"Hide it?"
"We hang here out in the open, just having a nice day at Oceanside Park," Marty elaborated. "We're good as long as we don't have the cash on us. Once it all calms down we get the money and get out of here."
"You sure it'll work?" Stevie asked, his nerves showing again.
"Don't worry about it," Marty replied. "The diner's just over there. Let's go get our money."
They set out again, weaving through the throng. The closer Marty got to the diner the faster he walked and that pissed him off. He couldn't believe he was so hard up for money that he was rushing to get his hands on not much more than fifty bucks.
They reached the diner and Marty hurried inside with Stevie on his heels. He made his way along the line of booths, his eyes fixed on the table where they'd had lunch. There it was towards the end of the room. He suddenly slowed his pace so much that Stevie actually bumped into him. There was someone in their booth, a man sitting with his back to them, his long, gray hair hanging messily across his coat collar.
"Hey, Marty, there's a guy—" Stevie began.
"Shut up," Marty interrupted. "I see him."
Marty knew exactly who it was as he slowly approached the booth with Stevie lagging a safe distance behind. He closed the distance to the table and stopped beside it.
The operator from the dark ride glanced casually up at them. On the table in front of him was a plate of chicken fried steak and a cup of coffee. Sitting beside the table's napkin dispenser was Stevie’s little bottle of pills and a wad of folded cash.
Chapter Nine
Mr. Sabnock
The ride operator cut a slice of chicken fried steak, impaled it on the fork and popped it in his mouth.
"They do a good job with the chicken fried steak here," he said with his mouth full.
Marty barely heard him; he was trying to decide what to do about the money. He knew it was possible the cash on the table belonged to this old man, but it looked like the money he'd folded into the napkin dispenser. Did that even make sense? One pile of money looked just like another.
"Are you looking for something?" the ride operator asked, his tone unconcerned.
Marty suddenly reached in front of the old guy and grabbed hold of the napkin dispenser. While the old guy took another bite of his lunch Marty pulled the napkins out of the dispenser. All the damn thing had in it was napkins. He carelessly dropped the dispenser back on the table.
"You've made quite a mess," the ride operator observed.
"It looks like you found our money," Marty finally addressed him.
The ride operator glanced at the cash.
"Why do you think it's yours?" he asked.
"I left it here," Marty answered, his voice tense.
"That seems odd," the ride operator said between bites. "Most people take their money with them when they leave a restaurant."
Every time this jerk opened his mouth he sounded like he knew more than he was saying. Marty didn't know what he was trying to prove but it was really starting to piss him off.
Marty slipped into the seat across from the ride operator.
"What's your name, mister?" he asked.
"You can call me Sabnock," the old guy replied with a wolfish smile.
"Sabnock? What the hell kind of name is that?" Marty asked.
"An old one," Sabnock said, sliding another forkful of food into his mouth.
"So, where did you find that money... Mr. Sabnock?" Marty probed.
"Who said that I found it?"
"I asked you a question," Marty said, hearing the anger in his voice.
"Yes, I heard you," Sabnock replied, indifferent.
"That money's mine," Marty said, reaching across the table for the cash.
So quickly that Marty barely saw him move, Sabnock had hold of his wrist. His bony fingers dug into Marty's flesh with an unnatural strength and there was a feeling, a strange, sickening feeling, as if his strength was being sucked out of him. Sabnock leaned forward, just a few inches, his dark, penetrating eyes daring Marty to meet his gaze.
"Finders keepers... losers weepers, Mr. Wedlow," Sabnock whispered without humor.
Marty glanced up at Stevie who was standing paralyzed, staring down at both of them with eyes as wide as saucers. He forced his eyes back to Sabnock.
"What's with you? How do you know my name?" Marty asked, trying to pull away from the old guy.
Sabnock suddenly let go of his wrist, picked up the pill bottle and offered it to Stevie.
“I think you’ll be needing these,” Sabnock smiled.
Stevie took the bottle with the tentativeness of a man afraid of being burned by a hot frying pan handle.
Sabnock then casually moved his hand over to the money, resting it on the folded bills. Without looking at the cash, he slid it from the table and into his coat pocket with a single, fluid motion.
"I'll be keeping the money," Sabnock said. "Let's call it a credit towards your next ride on the Inferno Ghost Train."
Marty didn't understand why, but he no longer felt like fighting about the money. It angered him to realize that he was afraid to fight with this weird old fart.
&nb
sp; "I don't need any credit," was all he could think to say. "I'll never ride that thing again."
The chuckle that crackled from Sabnock's throat was so unnatural that it sent a chill up Marty's spine.
"Choices, choices, choices," Sabnock murmured pleasantly. "Everyone makes choices that set them on a path to their destinies.”
"What're you talking about? Marty asked.
"Everyone loves a good, dark ride, Mr. Wedlow. You'll ride again."
Marty slid out of the booth and hovered over the old man, unable to discern his anger from his fear.
"I'm not gonna forget this," he hissed. "I'm not gonna forget you... Mr. Sabnock."
Sabnock again leveled his dark eyes on him, taking in every inch of his body as if trying to guess his weight and height.
"Nor should you, Mr. Wedlow, nor should you," Sabnock replied.
Chapter Ten
The Ticket Booth Robbery
Marty leaned on the pier railing, watching the sun sink lower in the summer sky. The horizon was an orange-red and the sunlight glittered off the ocean’s undulating surface. In the distance people enjoyed the beach - couples holding hands, teens throwing Frisbees, and families with their children. Maybe a dozen surfers were sitting on their boards some hundred yards off the shore, waiting for a wave.
His mind wasn’t on all the fun in the sun. What interested him was the Journey to the Deep exhibit which he could see clearly from his vantage point on the railing. Fewer and fewer people had been getting in the line. It wouldn't be long now and that ticket taker would be all by himself.
He glanced at the bronze plaque mounted on the railing next to him. The plaque inscription explained that the original pier had been constructed in 1908 and was located just north of the current location. A mysterious fire destroyed it in 1969 and some of the original pilings can still be seen. The oceanfront acreage remained vacant for over ten years until the Tartan Amusements Corporation acquired the property to develop Oceanside Park.
Stevie, slipping his bottle of pills out of his pocket, drew his attention.
"Put those away," Marty ordered.
"Just one, Marty, please. I need a little something. Just one."
"Just one, then put 'em away."
Stevie rolled a capsule out of the bottle and popped it in his mouth. He fumbled the top back on the bottle and put it back in his pocket.
"My dad used to take us to the beach," Stevie said, pointing at one of the families in the distance.
"Yeah? My dad used to take my brother and me to the plant and tell us how he expected us to toe the line," Marty said.
"You have a brother?" Stevie sounded surprised.
"I just said so."
"Older or younger?"
"Older by three years."
"You ever see him anymore?" Stevie asked.
"He’s got no interest in seeing me. Last time I heard he was still living in Delaware," Marty answered. "Still working for the old man in the business."
"I’d like to see my folks… but the times I do they always give me grief about rehab, getting a decent job, you know," Stevie sighed.
The line was down to a half dozen people now. Lights on the amusements and along the thoroughfares began coming on.
Marty shifted his position and gazed over the railing at the beach directly below. Gentle waves rolled in and flowed around the grouping of old, charred pilings that once belonged to the original pier. Several of them looked to be quite sharp, their jagged, blackened points jutting out of the sand a few feet like a field of decrepit vampire stakes. He realized that the old pier must have been directly next to this new one. The beach would've looked a hell of a lot better if the pilings had been completely removed, he thought, but that probably would've been too expensive.
Marty pushed his attention back to the ticket booth. There were only three people in line. Now was as good a time as any.
"Let's go," Marty said.
"Now?" Stevie asked with both excitement and fear in his voice.
"Yeah."
They walked along the pier towards the shore. They hadn't gotten far when Marty stopped, his attention drawn to an open air souvenir stall. Several potential customers milled through its displays, and off to the side of the stall was a kiosk on which hung a variety of cheap vinyl shopping bags, all with the Oceanside Park name and logo on them.
"We're gonna need one of those bags," Marty pointed.
"Okay," Stevie agreed, not realizing why.
"Go get one of them."
"I've only got a few bucks left," Stevie whined. "I don't want to blow it on a plastic bag."
"You're not gonna need money," Marty assured him.
Stevie was confused at the revelation but soon figured it out.
"Oh... sure."
"Don't get caught. I'll be up ahead there," Marty told him.
Marty moved slowly ahead as Stevie walked over to the souvenir stall and feigned browsing the displayed goods. It wasn't long before the throng of people blocked Stevie from his view. The bag was a little thing but he didn't want to risk getting nailed for it. If Stevie blew it then only he would be tossed out of the park. Marty would still have the chance to go after the money he so badly needed.
But Stevie rejoined him in just a few minutes, an aqua green bag decorated with blue dolphins folded under his arm.
"Easy," he reported, pleased with himself.
Marty just nodded and continued on through the crowd. It didn't take long to return to the spin-paint booth across from the Journey to the Deep exhibit. He stood there for several minutes with Stevie at his side, fidgeting as usual, casually keeping an eye on the ticket booth. A few more people had lined up at the booth since they left the pier, but it was still a small number. He took a final look at the surrounding attractions and carefully scanned the crowd for the cops or park security.
When the line dropped down to three customers he nudged Stevie.
"Get in the line," Marty told him. "Once you're up to the window stand in front of it."
"But the guy inside'll get a square look at me," Stevie argued.
"Just look down a lot. And what if he does get a look at you? You're just a guy who wanted to buy a ticket. I'll be inside doing the work."
"I guess so," Stevie said, not so convinced.
The line was down to two people and Marty didn't see anybody else heading for the ticket booth.
"Give me the bag," Marty said.
Stevie handed it over.
"Come on, but wait 'til I get behind the booth," Marty continued, moving forward.
Stevie dropped behind him and Marty made his way towards the ticket booth. He caught a glimpse of the ticket taker through the ticket window, a young college-aged kid. Passing the front of the structure he took a final look around. Nobody was paying any attention to him. He slipped behind the building, and then edged to the side so he could look around to the front. Stevie's timing was surprisingly good; he approached the front of the booth at that moment.
Marty turned to the door and wrapped his fingers around the handle. He carefully tried to open the door. It was locked. He cursed silently to himself but wasn't going to turn away from this now. He thought for a moment and then knocked on the door.
"Yes, who is it?" a young voice came through the door.
"It's Benson, park security," Marty called out. "They sent me over with some extra ticket rolls."
Marty held his breath, waiting to discover if his bluff was realistic or an obvious lie.
"Hang on," the voice said.
He heard the bolt drawn and stepped to the side of the doorway. The door swung open and the clerk, not immediately seeing anyone, leaned forward to get a better view.
Marty hit him in the jaw as hard as he could. The guy's hands shot up to his face as he staggered in the doorway. Marty shoved him back into the booth, followed him in, then whirled the clerk around and smashed his head into the nearest wall. He had barely hit the floor as Marty pulled the door shut behind him.
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br /> "Son of a bitch, Marty cursed, glancing at his red, throbbing knuckles.
"Shit, Marty," Stevie whispered through the window.
Marty ignored him, turning his attention to the cash box sitting on the counter below the window, its lid open. He stepped over the unconscious kid and began transferring the money from the cash tray to the dolphin bag. He got a rough count as he cleaned out each of the tray partitions. It was smart to wait until the end of the day. The attraction had done good business. There was almost a thousand bucks here, maybe even a little more than a thousand. He dropped the last of the bills into the bag.
"We're out of here," he told Stevie. "Walk to the back."
Marty heard the ticket taker groan as he slipped out of the booth and closed the door. He was already strolling casually around the back of the Tilt-a-Whirl as Stevie joined him.
"You really put the hurt on that guy," Stevie said, not sounding happy.
"He'll live, now just shut up about it."
Putting some distance between themselves and the ticket booth, Marty headed for the Ferris wheel. They got in line and in a few minutes were soaring upward. The topmost point of the wheel gave them a good view of the park and they could see the security guys already gathering around the ticket booth.
"That didn't take long," Stevie observed.
"The cops'll be there in another couple of minutes," Marty said as they began rotating towards the ground.
"We're gonna get out of here, right?" Stevie asked.
"They're gonna watch the exits now," Marty responded. "The cops and security'll search everybody who wants to leave. Nah, we're not going anywhere, at least for a while."
"Then what're we gonna do?"
"We're gonna find a place to hide this bag... and then we're gonna have some big fun at Oceanside Park."
Chapter Eleven
Larkin's Break
Larkin yawned as Romero turned their cruiser into the garage and headed for their parking space. The shift hadn't been too bad and he felt he had enough energy left for a good workout. He'd probably even get a second wind.