Free Dunk by David Lubar Page B

gesture. “My treat. Just don’t tell anyone, or you’ll get me fired. I can trust you, can’t I, Rick?”
    The guy snatched the ball from Mike’s outstretched hand. Who wouldn’t? He leaned forward and tossed it toward the basket, just like before. It landed about three inches below the rim and rolled to the bottom. And, of course, this time it stayed there. Hard for it not to, since Mike had left the other ball in the basket. That kept the second one from bouncing out, making the game look easy.
    â€œYou did it!” the girl said, giving the guy’s arm a squeeze. “Yeah.” The guy looked real proud as he dug for his wallet. “Okay. One more try.”
    Mike took out the two balls and handed them back to the guy. This was getting too painful to watch. I knew that even if the guy lucked out and managed to keep his first toss in the basket, Mike would remove the ball before the guy made his second toss. Odds are, the Pink Panther wasn’t going anywhere.
    I nodded at Mike and moved on. I didn’t feel too sorry for the mark. He’d get to show his girl how hard he’d work to make her happy. And she’d have fun watching her man doing his best to win everything her heart desired. If they didn’t spend the money at the peach baskets, they’d just spend it somewhere else. At the end of the day, they’d bring home a bunch of happy memories and a couple prizes.
    Even so, I knew I couldn’t run a game the way Mike did. I’d filled in at games for a few minutes here and there, but I never hustled the players. I didn’t even say much. I couldn’t chat with strangers. Mike sure could. He made them feel like he was their best friend. I just took the money and handed over the balls or the darts or whatever the game required.
    But in a little while, I was going to get my chance to say anything I wanted. And say it to anyone I felt like picking from the crowd.
    I walked a little farther, and treated myself to a slice at Salvatore’s. I didn’t even know how much I was getting paid tonight, but I figured it would be decent, especially if I did a great job. Maybe Bob paid out a percentage of the take. That would be awesome. I was sure the booth raked in at least eighty bucks an hour when things were going full speed.
    I headed back. My stomach was churning and I ended up tossing away most of the slice. The crowds were definitely heavier now. Mike was working hard when I went past. He had players at all four baskets.
That
kept him busy. He didn’t have to do any talking. He didn’t really have a chance. He spent most of his time gathering up the balls from the ground. I didn’t envy him that part—his back probably ached from all the bending. Better him than me.
    Even before I got near Wild Willy’s Pier, I could see a thick crowd around the Bozo tank. As I got closer, I heard Malcolm’s insane laugh. I guess Bob had given him an earlier shift. Too bad. I’d hoped he’d be gone. I reached the edge of the crowd. Thwunks from missed shots mingled with the occasional clang and splash. A ripple of goose bumps chilled my arms beneath my sleeves. The air had started to cool off. I wondered whether I should have worn a heavier shirt.
    I worked my way through the mob, wishing I hadn’t eaten any pizza at all. The sauce burned like acid in my throat.
Relax
, I told myself.
You’ll be behind a cage
.
And in makeup
.
You’ll be great
. I wondered how Malcolm would feel when he found out who was going to be working the tank for the best part of the evening.
    I had to push my way to the front. “Hey. I’m here, Boss,” I said as I reached Bob. “I’m ready to start.”

13
    B OB STARED AT ME FOR A SECOND WITH NO SIGN OF RECOGNITION . Then he broke into a smile. “Right—the new kid. Excellent. I was wondering if you’d show up. Glad you came. It’s getting busy.” He took