Free Dunk by David Lubar Page A

asking.” She rarely went to the boardwalk and had probably never paid any attention to the dunk tank.
    â€œIt’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.
    â€œThat’s soooooo adorable,” she said.
    â€œYeah, adorable,” the guy mumbled.
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œCome 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.”
    â€œYou 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.
    â€œIt’s impossible. Let’s get out of here.” He turned away.
    â€œHey, Rick,” Mike called, his voice slightly hushed.
    The mark glanced back over his shoulder.
    â€œC’mere,” Mike said, motioning the guy closer.
    â€œWhat?” The guy turned toward Mike.
    â€œLook, 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.
    â€œCome 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.
    â€œFree?” he asked. I guess he wanted to make sure he wasn’t being scammed. “No catch?”
    â€œCross my heart,” Mike said, making the appropriate