Free Swim That Rock by John Rocco Page B

from below the bar.
    “No, I was . . . I was just looking for somebody,” I answer, and head back through the door.
    “Wait a minute, kid.” I turn around and the bartender gives me a long look. “You Jake?”
    “Yes, sir,” I say, a little surprised.
    “Yeah, I can tell, real tall kid, he said. I got something for you.” The bartender is looking between all the liquor bottles on the shelf. “I know I put it somewhere. Aha! Here it is.”
    “Thanks,” I say, confused as he hands me a tightly folded piece of paper.
    “Yeah, guy said if you’d come here lookin’ for him, I was supposed to give you that. Gave me twenty bucks too. He your dad or something?”
    “No! But thanks . . . for this.” I hold up the folded paper and head back out onto the street. I find a bench and open the note.
    If you want work, meet me at the beach near Kenyon’s Bait Shop tomorrow night 10:30 p.m.
    There’s no name, but I can tell from the handwriting it’s Captain. My heart skips a beat because I know I’ll probably make some quick cash, but I might get killed. Captain is not what you’d call a safety-first type of guy. I could also end up in jail. But at this point I don’t know what’s worse: jail or Arizona.
    What will my dad think of this? I don’t think he wants me working for a guy like Captain, but he should have thought of that before he went missing, leaving us in debt to some stupid loan sharks!
    I crumple the paper, stuff it in my pocket, and head down to the water, spending the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon just walking around by the docks near the marina, thinking about Gene, my dad, the beach opening, and Captain’s note. I don’t know what is right and what is wrong, what is a dream and what is real.
I wish Tommy were back.
    Around four thirty, when I get back to the diner, Darcy is cleaning. I can see her working as I look through the front windows. She moves fast, wiping everything down before placing it back on the table. She’s got her headphones on, and she’s sort of dancing between the tables. I stand there watching her for a few minutes, until she notices me. She throws her rag down and tromps over to the window and removes her headphones.
    “I’m sorry,
sir,
we’re closed. You’ll have to come back in the morning,” she says through the glass. I just smile and walk around to the back door and head inside. I shuffle into the dining room, plopping down in the first booth with a loud groan.
    “All right, what’s going on?” Darcy puts down a tray of salt- and pepper shakers, throws the rag over her shoulder, and slides in next to me. I scoot over to give her some room, but not much, and our thighs are touching just slightly. Her leg feels warm.
    “Nah, I don’t want to talk about it.” It sounds pretty weak, probably because I
do
want to talk about it. Darcy can tell.
    “Come on, Jake,” Darcy says, looking around. “You got to let it out or your brain’s going to pop like that guy — what’s his name? — Ben.”
    “Ben Dunn.” I laugh.
    “Yeah, God knows we don’t need another Ben Dunn around here, so tell me what’s going on. Is your mom still talking about giving up the diner?”
    “She hasn’t said anything lately, but I’ve been avoiding it with her anyway. Here’s the thing . . . we owe a lot of money to these guys, and if we don’t pay them by the end of the month, they are going to take the diner.”
    “Oh, my God. I didn’t know that. How much do you owe, and to who?”
    “Ten grand. To the Mafia . . . I mean, you know, those guys down at the Italian Club.”
    Darcy’s eyes go wide. “That must be why she started in on you about moving to your grandmother’s.”
    “Yeah, I figured out that much. Gene was going to help me. We were going to make the money to pay it off, and with Barrington Beach opening . . . but now that’s pretty screwed. I feel like all this stuff’s happening to mess me up, like it’s all a big test.”
    “You mean