A Dangerous Man

My phone rings.

It’s nice to be right about something every now and then.

I answer the phone.

– Henry, what is this? What is this you are doing?

I stand with my back to the fence, my eyes still closed, the sun still on my face.

– Why are you calling, David?

– Henry, Henry. What is this? Why am I calling? Why are you ru

– Where’s Branko?

– Branko, Branko is here.

He will be pointing at his own forehead. Think, Henry, what else would Branko be doing?

– He’s not on his way to my parents?

– Henry.

His mouth will have dropped open. You could think such a thing?

– Are we children? We are not. We can talk. Is Branko on his way to your parents? No. No, Henry. What sense is there in that? None.

My hand is still stuffed inside the balled jacket, sweating on the gun.

– Let me talk to Branko.

– First, we talk.

– Now, I want to talk to him now.

– Tell me.

– Where’s Branko?

– Branko is here.

– Let me talk to him.

Silence.

– I want to talk to him.

– Of course.

More silence. I stand there waiting. I stand there waiting while David takes his time getting Branko.

I’m standing here waiting, while David takes his time. My eyes snap open and I look down the boardwalk toward Brighton. I don’t see Branko.

But Adam and Martin are ten yards away and getting closer.

More ru

I BREAK AROUND the corner. The Cyclone roars past, burdened with screaming passengers. As I run I unbutton my shirt, peel it off and stuff it in a trash barrel. Now wearing just a wife-beater, the tattoos ru

– Forty.

I hand her two twenties and grab my purchases.

– Want a bag?

I rip the tag from the hat and put it on.

– No thanks.

I peel the sticker from the lens of my new sunglasses, put them on and head for the arcade entrance. I look down the street back toward the Cyclone. Adam is coming. He’s alone. Martin will be up on the boardwalk in case I try to circle around. The arcade’s other entrance opens on the midway. I turn around and head out that way.

I walk past a couple rides, spi

Down Surf I see Adam standing next to the entrance to the Cyclone, peering up the street. I turn, and at the end of Stillwell, I see Martin coming down the steps from the boardwalk. I cut back onto the midway, walk up to the nearest game and put a ten down. The barker picks up the money.

– How many?

I’m looking back toward the street.

– As many as I can.

– Start with these.

No sign of Martin yet.

– Mister?

– Huh.

– Start with these.

He’s offering me three baseballs.

– Got to knock all of them off. Completely off.

I look at what he’s pointing at, the three wood milk bottles stacked in a pyramid on a little table.

I look at the balls in his hand. Take them. Stare at them. I wonder if the universe does this to everyone or if it’s just me?

– You’re up, mister.

– Right.

I look back at the street. Still clear.

I toss a ball. Miss everything.

– One down!

I look again. Clear. Toss. Miss.

– Two down.

Still no one. Toss. Miss.

– Three down. Got plenty left.

He offers me three more balls. I’m still looking for Martin. No sign. OK, time to go. I take a step toward the street.

– You got more balls coming, mister!

– That’s OK. I.

Martin comes into view. I step back to the counter, take the balls and look at the bottles. I look only at the bottles. I do not look up to see if Martin has seen me. And I throw three misses. Shit. I should be able to hit those things.

– I got more?

– Ten buys nine.

He hands me three more. I throw one and knock the top bottle off. OK, that’s more like it. The barker resets the bottle. I toss a ball up and down, enjoying the feel of it landing in my palm. And not, absolutely not looking up for Martin. The bottles are set. Now, the trick here is to hit them low. The bottoms of the bottles are weighted with lead or something. That’s why it’s so hard to knock them completely off of their little table. I throw hard and hit them dead center. The top bottle flies, but the bottom bottles just get knocked on their sides and spin around a couple times. The barker resets them. I focus on the target, not looking at Martin. Do not look. Let him pass on by. Yeah, I can do this. Shit, if there’s one thing in life I have ever been able to do, it’s throw a goddamn baseball. I throw and miss again.

– Shit. I got more?

– That’s it.

I pull out a twenty.

– Let me get a few more.

I take a look to make sure Martin has moved on. He hasn’t. He’s twenty feet away, looking at the crowd and talking into his cell phone. Then he looks at me. He sees me seeing him, and starts talking a little louder into his phone.

– Balls, mister.

I grab the three balls and start firing them at Martin.

The first one hits him in the thigh and he stops and curses and does a little hop. The second one whizzes past his head and he instinctively covers his face, dropping his phone. The last one plunks him in the chest and he gasps and coughs. I run straight at him, drop a shoulder, and plow him to the ground. I keep ru

– Hey. Hey, man. You can’t do that.

At the top of the fence are three strands of barbwire. I boost myself up so that both my feet are on the top bar of the fence. I balance there for a second, then push off, driving with my legs.

– Hey! I’m go

I clear the barbwire and belly flop on top of the nearest bus.

– Hey.

The wind knocked out of me, I worm to the edge of the bus and push myself over. I drop to the ground and lay there for a second, trying to get my wind back. Sprawled on my stomach, I can see under the bus and through the chain-link. I see two sets of feet run up. One of them starts to climb. The feet of the VHS guy come around his booth.