Ah, fuck, that was a level up if there ever was one.
“Keep a lookout for a change machine?”
Jacob scanned the room while Ben did the same.
A tall guy wearing an apron and headband with bobbing stars on tall springs came from around a cluster of machines. One of the kids flagged him down, and they traded bills for quarters.
Real quarters.
Hell, they were practically in the Stone Age.
“Grab one of the lanes.” Ben nodded in the direction of the change man. “I’ll be right back.”
Jacob took up a post beside one of the few empty spots, and Ben trotted over to the change man, where his bent frame hovered over a little redhead.
The guy finished his exchange with her, then all the gentleness in his expression gave way to heavy wrinkles and weathered skin. He dragged his gaze over Ben. “College boy like you is a little old for an arcade, don’t you think?”
“Never too old for Skee-Ball.”
The guy flicked a look over Ben’s shoulder at Jacob. “He with you?”
“Yeah.”
“You aren’t going to cause any trouble, are you?”
And the way the man said trouble, it didn’t sound like meant the kind that involved pouring drinks on the floor or stopping up the toilets.
“No, no trouble.”
“I got surveillance, you know.” He pointed to the corners of the arcade where red lights blinked over the lens of cameras that were at least as old as the machines.
Ben doubted any kind of recording would give more than a few fuzzy blobs and bright spots from the track lighting.
“I promise. We’re just here to play games.”
The guy grunted. “Yeah, fine, but you start messing with the kids, and I’m calling the cops.”
Messing with the kids?
Then it dawned on Ben, filling his stomach with cold sludge. “Damn. No, no, I swear.”
The guy squinted at him.
A set of blond boys around eight cut in front of Ben. The hard lines of the change man’s face melted. “Hey there, Hardy boys, you beat Tilly’s high score yet?”
“No, Mr. Mackney, not yet.” The one on the right held out a five.
“Your ma gonna be mad if you spend your allowance on those machines again. I don’t need her ringing me up just to yell at me.”
“Granny’s visiting.”
Mr. Mackney made an exaggerated happy face. “Oh, well, aren’t you lucky.” He took the five and counted out the quarters. The two boys split them up.
“You tell Bessy I said hello.”
“Yes, sir.” They darted off.
Mr. Mackney returned his attention to Ben, and his scowl returned. “Well, what do you have?”
“You got enough for a twenty?”
“A twenty?”
“Yeah.”
“Big spender.” He fished out two rolls from the sagging corner of his apron.
Ben handed over the twenty and took the rolls.
“Cameras,” Mr. Mackney said and pointed again.
Ben nodded. “Yes, sir. Cameras.” He returned to the row of Skee-Ball.
Jacob raised his eyebrows. “Problem?”
“Nah, he just wanted to make sure we knew he has cameras if we mess with the kids.”
“Mess with the…” Jacob blanched.
“Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction.”
“That never even occurred to me this would be the kind of place…” Jacob shook his head. “Jesus.”
“Yeah, I said that too.” Ben held out a roll of quarters.
Jacob took it. “Maybe we shouldn’t stay. You know, if he thinks we’re a threat.”
“But we’re not a threat.” Ben opened his roll of quarters. When Jacob didn’t open his, Ben took the roll from his hand and replaced it with a couple dollars in coins. “Go on, get in your lane.”
Jacob shuffled over to the next aisle.
“You ever play?” Ben fed quarters into the slot, and balls popped up from a chute to file a line along the ledge separating the two lanes.
“No.”
“Okay, it’s easy. You take the balls, you roll them along the green, they pop up and hopefully land in that middle hole.”
“Why the middle hole?”
“Cause that’s the hundred point spot and the only one that matters.”
Some of the tension left Jacob’s shoulders; he inserted the quarters. Wooden balls click-clacked into the groove.
Ben picked up one of the balls on his side and rolled it toward the bump at the end. It went air born hitting the thin ring around the center hole. The ball kicked back down to one of the lower spots to disappear. The digital screen over the top of his lane flashed up a ten.
Ben cursed.
“I thought you were supposed to hit the middle hole.” Jacob picked up a ball.
“I’m out of practice.”
“I’ll say.”
Ben jerked his chin at Jacob. “Fine, smartass, you try.”
Jacob tossed his ball, and it made a lazy arch, sliding between the rims and practically swooshing the hole in the center.
One hundred popped up on the screen.
“Hey, that’s cheating.”
“No, it’s not.”
“You’re supposed to roll it.”
“Not my fault you can’t throw.” Jacob tossed another ball, and it did the same.
“Hey…play right, or don’t play at all.”
“You’re just jealous.” Jacob threw a third ball this time, adding a little twist to his toss. It bounced off the edge of the first ring, then landed right in the center hole again.
The bell overhead dinged, getting the attention of one of the teens close to the end. “Mr. Mackney catches you cheating, he’ll dump your score and ban you from the lanes.”
Ben gave a dramatic wave of his hand. “Yeah, you heard him. Mr. Mackney will ban you.”
“Fine.”
Ben rolled his next, and so did Jacob. Ben’s popped the end of the ramp, going right to the center. It nicked the edge bouncing back and landing in the farthest ring, earning him a big fat zero.
Jacob’s hit swooshed right through the center hole again.
Ben glared, and Jacob gave him a wide-eyed innocent look that would have made a choir boy proud.
“You’re cheating again.”
“I rolled it.”
“I don’t care, you’re cheating. You’re either cheating, or you lied to me about never playing, and you’re an Olympic level Skee-Ball champion.”
Jacob lost his hold on a laugh, and it escaped through his nose. He slapped a hand over his mouth, stifling the rest.
Somehow Ben kept a straight face when he said, “Did you just snort?”
“No.” Jacob turned back to the ball dispenser.
“You did.”
“I did not.”
“You did. I heard you.”
“How can you hear anything over the noise in here?” Jacob rolled the next ball, and it went airborne, going too far and dropping into the outer ring. He frowned, and it was Ben’s turn to laugh.
“Shut up.” Jacob’s eyes twinkled, destroying the stern expression he wore.
“Jacob snorted.” Ben practically sang it.
“You sound like a six-year-old.” Jacob drew back his arm to roll.
“And you sounded like a pot-bellied piglet.”
The ball practically jumped from Jacob’s fingertips, going caddy corner, hopping lanes, and landing three alleys over.
Ben barked a laugh, and Jacob retrieved his ball. He kept eye contact with Ben while he made a second serve. This time, the ball popped the end of the ramp and swooshed into the middle hole.
Ben choked.
“Now who’s laughing.” Jacob picked up another ball.
Ben had no idea why he did it, but just as Jacob swung the ball, he snorted. The ball went wild again.
There was a long second where Jacob’s glare was almost believable, then he doubled ove
r. Ben joined in, unable to stop even when his ribs ached and his eyes watered. He sat at the end of the lane to keep from falling, and Jacob did the same.
Their laughter trickled off until they looked at each other, then it started all over again.
“Okay, okay.” Jacob hugged himself. “Stop, stop, before I break something.”
“You started—” Ben sucked in a breath only to lose it again. “—it.”
The gaggle of preteens watched Ben and Jacob from the end of the row as if they’d grown another head and at least three sets of arms.
Of course, that started everything all over again, and Ben wound up sliding onto the floor, earning him another snort from Jacob.
“Damn it…” Jacob covered his mouth again.
“See…” Ben pointed. “You snort.”
“You made me.” Jacob lowered onto the floor next to him.
“Okay, okay, whatever, just stop, or I’ll die of laughter.”
Jacob leaned his head back, resting it on the divider. Tears streaked his crimson cheeks, but there was only happiness in his eyes. “That’s a myth.”
“No, it’s not.”
“People don’t die from laughing.”
“Google it. It’s rare but happens.”
“Bull.”
Ben held Jacob’s gaze, then said, “Mooooo.”
Another snort escaped Jacob, and he covered his face with both hands.
Ben was too tired to laugh and could only chuckle in between winces of agony.
Jacob sighed. “I had no idea laughing could make your abs hurt that much. I feel like I’ve done a hundred crunches.”
“Definitely not a hundred.”
“Trust me, I know what a hundred crunches feel like.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen your six-pack. But if laughing gave you the same kind of work out, I’d have a two-pack.”
“Give yourself more credit than that. You’d have at least a four-pack.” Jacob laid his head against the divider. The smile he wore filled with equal amounts of joy and sadness. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For letting me take you here rather than…than going back to the motel.” Jacob closed his eyes for a moment. “And please don’t take that the wrong way.”
It hadn’t even crossed Ben’s mind. “Why would I?”
“Who wouldn’t?”
“Someone who didn’t know you. Or at least, want to know you.”
Jacob stared across the arcade where a few older kids hung in groups talking, laughing, and eating crappy food more than actually playing the games.
“Did you have a lot of friends growing up?” Jacob still watched the teenagers.
Ben wanted to tell him no because in his mind he hadn’t, but looking back, there’d been other kids he’d called friends, even when their interactions were fleeting.
“I wasn’t super popular in school, but I had a few.”
Jacob sighed. “I pretended.”
“What do you mean?”
“I went to a religious school where everyone was expected to be a certain kind of person. I wasn’t. I couldn’t be. So I pretended to like people. I don’t know if they really liked me or not, but it didn’t matter because I couldn’t feel anything for them.”
Ben tried to imagine what that would be like but couldn’t. “Why do I feel like I should apologize?”
“No idea. Wasn’t like it was your fault.”
“I know, but…”
“It was for the best, trust me. They were always spilling each other’s secrets and talking behind each other’s back. Or generally trying to find a way to make everyone around them miserable.”
The sounds of the arcade surrounded them.
Ben laid his hand on the floor, and his little finger brushed Jacob’s. Somehow they wound up hooked together. The light contact warmed Ben’s skin.
Without looking at Ben, Jacob said, “Do you have any family?”
Ben breathed against the ache in his chest. “My uncle was the only person I called family. And I’m not even sure we were actually related.” Despite what Marcel said.
“Why do you say that?”
Ben shrugged. “I don’t know. It was always just a feeling. He treated me like he was my dad, but…” He shrugged again.
“If you loved him back, that’s all that matters, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You want to go back to the game or find out where they got those greasy hotdogs?” Jacob said.
“Whatever you want.” And Ben meant it. Whatever Jacob wanted, if he could give it to him, he would, even though he had no logical explanation as to why.
“I’m not the one who’s four hundred points behind.”
Ben glared. “Excuse me, that’s three hundred and ninety points, thank you.”
Jacob laughed, then winced. “Three hundred and ninety then.” He got to his feet, and so did Ben. “Either way, you’ve got a lot of catching up.”
Ben picked up a ball and showed it to Jacob. “I haven’t even started.”
“No argument there.” Jacob also picked up a ball.
“All right, smartass, whoever loses has to…buy dinner.”
“The winner’s choice of dinner.”
“Deal.” Ben held out his hand, and Jacob shook it. “You are so dead.” Ben turned to his lane.
“If you threw half as good as you can talk, I would actually entertain that idea. But—” Jacob rolled the ball, and it popped the ramp landing right in the center again. “Mmm—I can already smell the tuna steak and cobb salad.”
Sam watched the TV in the corner of the room. With the volume off, the poorly animated characters and their stupid situations were actually tolerable.
The cast on his arm, however?
He picked up the wooden dowel and wiggled it past the edge, running along the back of his hand until he hit the offending patch of itchy skin.
The door to his room opened, and his mom walked in with balloons tethered to a bouquet. Hanging off the edges of the basket, a dark blue teddy bear complete with glittery spots, some in the shape of ringed planets, and a purple unicorn having a bad hair day.
“Mom—”
“It’s just Katie and me. I made everyone else stay home.”
That was only part of it. Sam made a pointed look at the fat arrangement of flowers and candy.
“It wasn’t my idea, promise.” She inclined her head at Katie.
More like Katie was an excuse for subjecting Sam to unnecessary embarrassment.
Katie ran over, the soles of pink tennis shoes blinking with every slap of her feet against the floor. “I bought you flowers and a unicorn, and candy and a unicorn. The candy is good. I had a piece. You can still eat candy, right? Or will it make your arm hurt?” She stopped by the edge of the bed and peered over the edge.
“She insisted on seeing you again and bringing a get-well present.”
“I’m going home today.” One day eating plastic hospital food was enough to last a lifetime.
His mother smiled. “Just one more night.”
“What?” Sam flopped back against the crunchy pillows. “Why?”
“Because you have a concussion.”
“And the doctor said I’m fine.”
“And a broken arm.”
“They put it in a cast.”
“Fine, then it’s because I’m your mother, and I want to make double sure you’re okay.” The words came out strong, but her firm press of lips trembled.
God, Sam hoped she didn’t cry again. Not after yesterday when she charged in behind the ambulance, eyes puffy, cheeks soaked, and a mask of pure anguish.
Of course, everyone had been crying, Katie holding dad’s hand and Stephanie balanced on his hip.
Sam was pretty sure even Patty and Becka had shed tears. But the world had been foggy, and Sam could barely keep his eyes open, so he could have imagined it.
“Does it still hurt?” Katie put a finger on her eyebrow.
Sam almost touc
hed the same spot on his face but remembered the stitches. “No, it’s all good.”
“It looks like it hurts.”
Sam had made the mistake of looking in the bathroom mirror that morning. If he hurt half as much as he looked like he should, then he’d be dead or at least have more than a broken arm, a concussion, and bruised hip and cracked femur.
Funny how a fractured bone hurt ten times as much as the broken one.
Luckily, the drugs they used were really good.
“I promise, I can barely feel it.”
“Well, if it starts hurting, I can kiss it and make it better.” And she said it so serious, Sam wanted to believe her.
His mother cleared her throat. “I’m going to set these over here by the window.”
“Wait.” Katie ran over and snatched up the stuffed animals. She carried them back over and set the unicorn on one side of the bed, then walked around and set the bear on the other. “There, now you won’t be lonely, and they won’t fight.”
“Fight?”
Sam’s mother came up behind Katie and fiddled with the barrettes holding back the wild ringlets in her carrot-colored hair. “Katie was worried the bear and unicorn would fight.”
“Why?” More like, why ask? Sam blamed it on the pain meds.
Katie propped her hands on her hips. “Because bears eat unicorns.”
Sam laughed, and a genuine smile spread over his mother’s face. At least for a few seconds.
“Then why get both of them?”
“I didn’t. I got the unicorn. Raisin got the bear.”
“Raisin?”
Roshan stepped through the doorway.
“Hi, Raisin.” Katie waved at him.
“Hey,” Sam’s mother turned Katie around and steered her away. “How about we go down to the cafeteria for dinner?”
“Can I have potpie?”
“If they have potpie, yes.”
“If they don’t, can I have ice cream?”
“We’ll see.” His mom stopped at the door. “We’ll be back in a little while.”
She left, and Roshan remained where he stood, twisting his hands and staring at the floor.
“Hi.” And even beat to shit, Sam still couldn’t figure out anything better to say.
Roshan lifted his gaze.
“You’re gonna have to come over here.” Sam held up his IV hand. “They kind of have me tied down.”
Roshan scrubbed away his tears with the sleeve of his Kurta pajamas.
SICARII: Part III Page 12