But one day we got there and found the sandbox occupied.
Some kid sat in it playing with a Tonka truck. He wore a black cape and his dark hair was all slicked back tightly like a smear of oil.
“Hey, this is our spot,” I said.
The caped kid looked up; his face was cool and calm.
“Noch tchoday hittsch shoht,” he sloshed, spit spraying from his mouth.
“What?” Vince asked.
The kid held up his index finger and then reached into his mouth and removed a set of white vampire teeth.
“I saaaaaid, not tooodaay it’s not,” he replied, and smiled a dark and evil grin.
“Look, we’ve been coming here every day for forever, so you should move. You can go play in the sand under the swings,” I said, pointing over the kid’s shoulder. “It’s big enough for you to play in, but it’s not big enough for us. That’s fair, right?”
The kid continued to smile and said, “Kristoff, the Dark One, moves for no mortal.”
“Well, it’s two against one, and we’ll beat you up, so you should just move, okay?” I said. I didn’t really like making threats, but we just wanted to play. Even an immortal vampire was no match for the two of us and I think he knew it.
“Yer gonna pay for this,” Kristoff said as he got to his feet. He shoved the teeth back into his mouth, tucked his truck under an arm, grabbed the edges of his cape, and ran toward a white trailer across the street. He flapped the cape continuously the whole way home.
We sat down in the sand and began to play. About twenty minutes later I spotted Kristoff making his way back into the park. And this time he had someone else with him.
“Uh-oh, look who’s back,” I said.
Vince turned and watched Kristoff and an older kid slowly make their way over to the sandbox. They stopped about ten feet from the edge of the sand. A huge smile was planted on Kristoff’s face. The older kid was maybe a third or fourth grader. When you’re in kindergarten, a third or fourth grader can be pretty intimidating.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“This is my brother, Mike,” Kristoff said.
We looked at Mike. He wore jeans and a T-shirt. He didn’t really look that mean or scary. But he was big and he was scowling at us.
“I heard you little punks have been giving my brother a hard time,” Mike said.
“Oh no, he totally started it. He took our spot,” I said.
“Well, that’s not what he says, so how about you guys move so he can play in that there sandbox?”
Vince and I looked at each other. We shrugged.
“Well, we’re playing right now,” I said.
“See, they’re jerks!” Kristoff squealed.
Mike nodded.
“You can play over there,” I said, pointing at the swing set sand.
“Noooo, he’s going to play right there in that sandbox and you’re going to move,” Mike said.
“You gonna make us?” Vince asked defiantly.
Instead of answering, Mike started walking toward us. I hadn’t been all that scared up to that point, but suddenly as this older kid approached looking more and more like a giant, it began to seem possible that Vince and I might soon find our faces forcibly buried in sand.
When Mike was just a few feet away, I said, “It’s two against one, you know.”
He responded by reaching out for my shirt, and as I tried to back away, my feet tangled and I fell onto my butt in the sand. Then the terror took over. You need to remember that we were just kindergartners. And the world is pretty different when you’re that young. It may have been two against one, but as a fourth grader, he was basically twice our size. And he seemed a lot tougher than both Vince and I put together.
We screamed, grabbed whatever toys we could manage, and ran as fast as we could toward my trailer. Mike and Kristoff ran after us. Which led to some more screaming and running on our part.
I heard them behind us. I wasn’t sure how close they got or how hard they were actually trying to catch us, but I wasn’t about to try and find out. I just kept on running. Eventually we made it to my trailer. I turned around and saw Mike and Kristoff standing across the street, on the edge of the playground. They laughed.
Then Kristoff yelled, “This is our playground now, so don’t ever come back!”
We went inside my trailer, feeling pretty dejected.
“Oh man, that was close!” I said. “Are you okay?”
Vince nodded. “Yeah.”
“Do you think they’ll be gone tomorrow?” I asked.
“Yeah. I bet they were just showing off,” Vince said.
But the next day Mike and Kristoff were still there. And the following day Mike and Kristoff were there yet again. And the next day as well. Pretty soon, we came across other kids who Mike and Kristoff wouldn’t let into the playground either. Mike and Kristoff had taken it over.
The only times any of us ever got to go in the playground that summer were when we were either with our parents or Mike and Kristoff were inside eating dinner or something. But those times weren’t very often, and we wanted our playground back.
That’s when we devised a plan. It was officially the first of many plans that Vince and I would develop together.
One afternoon we went to the edge of the playground and peeked around the corner of a nearby trailer. There they were: Kristoff, the Dark One, and his older brother, Mike. They were swinging side by side on the swing set.
It was time for phase one. We went back to my trailer and found my dad in the living room watching TV.
“Hey, Dad?” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Will you come play football with us in the playground?” I asked.
“Can it wait until after Quantum Leap? It’s over in about ten minutes.”
I knew he’d say that. He watched reruns of this old, weird TV show about a time traveler and a computer named Ziggy every day in the summer from three to four. He never missed an episode and it was almost impossible to get him away from the TV while it was on. My mom had given up trying years ago.
So far, the plan was working perfectly.
“Okay, we’ll go get the football and then meet you there?” I asked.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Thanks, Dad!” I said, and we left my trailer.
We walked back to the playground slowly. We needed the timing of the plan to be perfect, so we couldn’t rush it.
“Wow, your dad really loves that show, huh?” Vince said.
“I guess.”
“Yeah, my mom loves this show called Doctor Who. It freaks me out,” he said.
We reached the edge of the playground once again. Mike and Kristoff were still swinging. It was time for phase two of the plan. We walked boldly out into the middle of the playground and stopped just behind the swing set.
“Hey, freak! Want to come suck our blood?” I yelled.
Mike and Kristoff dismounted immediately and turned to face us. The two of us stood staring at the two of them as the sun beat down on the thirty feet or so in between.
“What’re you doing here? This is our playground now!” Kristoff yelled.
“We just want to play in our sandbox like we used to,” I said.
“No way. That’s our sandbox now,” Mike said.
I looked back across the street toward my trailer. I saw my dad just leaving the front door. I took a few steps toward the vampire and his older brother.
“Well, we’re here now, so we’re going to play in the sandbox,” I said.
Mike started walking toward me and said, “You really want to do this?”
“Go ahead, make my day,” I said. I saw some really cool dude say that in this movie I watched with my dad once. It was kind of boring, except for the part at the end where he says that line to this guy and then blows him away with a gun the size of Texas.
Mike kept moving toward me and I held my ground, just hoping that the plan would work. If not, I’d be in trouble. Mike stoppe
d just a few feet away. He squinted an eye at me, as if to make sure I was still there and wasn’t an illusion. Then he scowled and reached out a hand faster than my eyes could move. He grabbed my shirt collar and pulled me up and toward him. His other hand formed a fist and I closed my eyes, waiting for the blow.
But then everything went still as a deep rumble fell down from the sky like the voice of an angry god.
“HEY! What is going on here?” my dad thundered as he walked into the playground.
Okay, I should explain something. I know it’s pretty wussy to hide behind your daddy, but we were just little kids and Mike was practically a giant gorilla or yeti or something compared to us. Besides, the smartest and best plans were usually the ones that involved cheap shots. Like in a fight, if you really want to win it, then you’ll bite and scratch and kick people in the groin instead of just punching and wrestling “like a man.”
“You let him go, right now!” my dad said.
Mike let go of me and backed away. His and Kristoff’s faces turned white as Elmer’s glue. They looked terrified. And I didn’t blame them. My dad, well, he’s pretty big and scary. He’s a football coach, so he has lots of experience at yelling and screaming. When he yells, he yells pretty loud and his face gets real red and his huge neck bulges with veins. He’s like six feet ten inches tall and weighs almost four hundred pounds, pure muscle. He’d scare anybody. But not me, because I know he is a pretty cool guy.
“How dare you threaten my boy? What are you thinking? You’re twice his size!”
Mike and Kristoff both looked at the ground. Mike shrugged and Kristoff started crying. They looked pretty scared and ashamed.
“I don’t ever want to see you out here acting like that again! You got that? Because I’ll call your parents! Who are you, picking on little kids half your size? What are you trying to prove?” my dad finished.
Mike put his head down and trudged back to his trailer. Kristoff followed. Kids’ faces poked around trailers, trying to see what all the commotion was about. They smiled when they realized what was happening. The playground was free territory once again.
“Next time idiots like that are harassing you, come tell me,” my dad said to us. “Now, are we going to play football or what?”
My dad’s pretty cool. That was the only time I ever involved him in any of my plans. I like to keep my family out of my business and my business out of my family. It’s worked well that way so far.
Anyways, word quickly spread throughout the trailer park that I had been behind the ingenious plan to get rid of Kristoff and Mike. Those two still played in the playground occasionally, but they mostly kept to themselves. In fact, sometimes we even let Kristoff play action figures with us in the sandbox. Turned out, he was an okay kid.
But back to the point: Everyone heard that it was me who got rid of them. It was my dad not me who scared them off, but Vince was going around telling everybody he came across, “Christian did it; he saved the playground. Hey! Hey, want to know who solved all our problems? Well, I’ll tell you: It was Christian. My best friend and super genius.”
We both knew he was exaggerating a little and he thought it was pretty funny. But deep down I knew that he meant most of it, too. I always tried to tell people that Vince had helped a lot. That it had been Vince’s idea to somehow use my dad in the plan. But he’d always try to hide from the attention and make sure that it came back on me. It’s been like that ever since; Vince is always building me up and staying out of the spotlight himself. He is so good at it that it can even get a little annoying sometimes. It’s like he built me up so high that a lot of people don’t even know who he is at all. But in the end, I think it’s simply enough for him to know that I know how much he did for the business. He just didn’t ever want the glory.
Anyways, pretty soon after the whole showdown Vince started telling kids that I could help them with other problems, too. And eventually the other kids did start coming to me for help, and somehow I was able to solve their problems.
I honestly don’t know what it was. I just always had a way of knowing what to do for every kid’s situation. I mean, it wasn’t rocket science; back then the problems were really easy. It was stuff like loaning out a video game or helping to organize a lemonade stand and stuff like that. I guess they just didn’t know how to do that kind of stuff on their own.
It was also Vince’s idea to start charging fees for my services. I was a little unsure.
“Isn’t that kind of mean, Vince? I mean, these kids don’t have hardly anything,” I said.
“I know, Christian, but listen. You’re helping them in a major way. They’d be lost without your help. So why not get something in exchange? They’re being helped, and we’re getting payment. Both sides gain something; everybody wins,” he said.
“Yeah, I guess . . .” I started.
“Christian, think of it this way: It’s kind of like at the fair when you order a funnel cake and it’s all warm and greasy and covered in powdered sugar, and oh man, it’s so good. And then you eat it all and lick the sugar and grease off your fingers and it’s just delicious.”
“What? How is it like that at all?” I said.
“It’s not. I just really want a funnel cake right now,” he said, rubbing his stomach.
“Okay, okay. It’s a pretty good idea,” I said, trying to hold back a laugh, “but how will they pay us? I don’t know many kids who have more than like fifty cents, and a lot of them are coming to me for money to rent a game or something like that.”
“Well, they can like let us borrow some of their video games. Or maybe they can owe us a certain amount of their Halloween or Easter candy. Or maybe sometimes they could just owe us a favor of some sort. They don’t always have to pay with money.”
“You know what, Vince? I think you’re the real genius here,” I said, and I meant it, too.
I think he knew I was going to say something like that, because as I said it, he crossed one single eye and scratched his head, and he had this blank look on his face. Then he got up and started chasing around a butterfly while giggling like a madman.
So I eventually agreed that it was okay to charge kids for my services. Besides, how many first graders do you know who make their own money without any help from their parents? Exactly.
That’s pretty much how the business got started. We made my first office in the sandbox of that trailer park playground.
We kept running the business there until eventually my family moved into a house in a different neighborhood. Vince still lived in that same trailer, and actually still does now, but the distance from my new house made it a tough place to run the business from, which is why we finally decided to take our operation inside the school. In part it was because as time went on, the neighborhood near that playground got more dangerous, so it wasn’t really safe to be hanging out there by ourselves all the time. But Vince also had the genius idea of tapping into kids’ school problems, because as we got older, we realized that school started to take up more and more of kids’ lives.
After we moved into the school, the problems got more complicated, which led to larger payments. Pretty soon, we had an operation that brought in more money than we knew what to do with. We were unstoppable. And it was because it was a team effort, right from the beginning, with his ingenious business ideas and my problem-solving skills.
That’s why it seemed so significant that a little kid like Fred could have a problem so huge that it was threatening the very existence of our business.
Chapter 8
The morning after Staples’s posse ambushed us went pretty smoothly. Especially considering it was day one of our war against Staples. We ran the business like usual during early recess. The only difference was that Fred sat in the corner of the bathroom where we could keep an eye on him. He was supposed to look at the customers and let me know if any of them were on Staples’s payroll, but mostly he just played his Nintendo DS.
Thankfully, most of the morning cu
stomers had easy problems, like wanting me to get them McDonald’s for lunch or other stuff like that. There was one customer, though, whose problem concerned me a little bit.
It was this fourth grader named Matt Murphy. He was known for picking his nose and eating his boogers in class. He’d try to hide the act by leaning over and huddling down near his desk, but that didn’t really hide anything from the kids sitting in front of him. He was pretty well known as an “eater,” and he was generally considered to be pretty gross by all the girls. I always thought he seemed like a good kid, though, despite his bad habit.
“What’s your problem, Matt?” I asked as he sat down.
“I’m, well, I’ve been told that you could help me with anything, anything at all, right?”
“Of course, as long as it doesn’t involve, like, killing a raccoon and then barbecuing it in the alley behind your house or something like that,” I said.
He smiled but it was humorless.
“I made some bets and lost and I don’t have the money to pay for them. And now I’m going to be collected, Mac!”
“You need a loan, then?” I asked.
“Well, maybe . . . I don’t know,” he said as he leaned over to play with his shoelaces.
“What do you mean you don’t know? How much do you owe?”
“Uh, like a hundred and fifty dollars,” he said.
This was the part where, if I’d been drinking something, I’d have sprayed it all over the desk. But I wasn’t, so instead I just gawked at him.
“I know, I know,” he said. “It’s just that Jacky Boy, my bookie, kept saying, ‘Double or nothing, Matt, it’s the only way. Come on, Matt; don’t be stupid, you’ll never pay it all back. You have no choice, really. Double or nothing, Matt,’ and on and on like that. I—I just never realized how high it had gotten.”
“I see,” I said as I regained my composure.
He was screwed. Flat-out. I had that kind of money, but I’d probably have to dip into the Emergency Fund. Which I wasn’t about to do for this kid. But I did have another solution in mind and it would help me on two fronts.
The Fourth Stall Page 5
