“You excited?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“What’re you studying again?”
“Communications.”
“You gotta go to college to learn how to communicate? What’s your older brother taking?”
“English.”
“His native language. Thousands of dollars a year to study his native language. What ever happened to kids actually taking useful things in college?”
“Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll bring your two slices over to you?” said Vinnie, ending the conversation. But he was still smiling.
Mike wagged a finger at the kid. “Don’t you know it’s impolite to answer a question with another question?” He winked. “Don’t forget the unsweetened iced tea.”
“I won’t, Mike.”
Mike went and sat down toward the back of the pizzeria. Just like at his arcade, the air conditioning only really took the edge off the humidity. He pulled out his handkerchief, wiped his brow, and then the back of his neck. He loved Smuggler’s Bay, but he swore one day these summers would be the end of him.
Mike watched as the pretty young blonde from the Sunglass Hut strolled up to the counter. She was old enough to be Mike’s granddaughter, but he took no shame in drinking in her beauty—her long, golden hair, her bronzed skin, the way her clothes just clung to her body.
He smiled as he knew she was waiting for Vinnie, eyeing him the way a predator eyes a wounded gazelle. She came the same time, just about every day. The only problem was that Vinnie never took much notice of her. For the life of him, Mike didn’t know why.
There’s that old expression…about youth being wasted on the young.
One of Vinnie’s helpers took her order—a Cobb salad and diet cola from the fountain—but she was staring at Vinnie. “Hey, Vinnie.”
He looked up, smiled, and looked back down as he ladled sauce in circles on the dough, like his father had taught him. “Oh, hey, Dharma.”
Mike smiled at the name. He knew her parents. A couple of hippy types who were too young to actually be hippies, but they were nice folk. Do it, Vin. Talk to her.
“So, crazy heat wave we’ve been having,” said Dharma, leaning on the glass counter over the Sicilian slices as she twirled a lock of her hair with her head cocked to the side. Her right foot rose and twirled, snapping her flip flop.
“Yeah, I’ve been burning up back here all week.”
Jesus, Vin. Don’t you see it?
“So, you hear about everyone going to the Shore Club tonight?”
“Yeah, Ted and Frankie mentioned something about it.”
“You going?”
“Yeah, I guess I am. Probably,” he said with well-feigned or entirely genuine disinterest as he sprinkled the mozzarella on the pie.
Dharma smiled uncertainly, finding it difficult to read Vinnie. “Great. Maybe I’ll see you tonight.”
“Okay.”
The guy behind the counter, Juan, handed her the Cobb salad to go. He then filled up a large cardboard cup with diet cola and slid it across the glass counter to her. She slid some bills and a couple of quarters across the counter, grabbed her soda, and left.
Vinnie grabbed Mike’s slices out of the oven and slung them onto two paper plates, which he slid onto an orange plastic tray. He filled a large cardboard cup with ice, unsweetened iced tea, and placed a lid on top. He then added the cup to the tray and walked the tray over to Mike’s table.
“Here you go, the Mike Brunello Special,” said Vinnie, as he slid the tray in front of Mike. He began to walk away when Mike grabbed him by the arm.
“Did I forget something?”
“Sit down for a minute. I want to talk to you.”
Vinnie pointed a thumb at the counter. “I kinda have to get back…”
“Vinnie, sit your ass down. You can spare me a minute.”
“O-okay, sure, Mike.” Vinnie sat down in the booth across from Mike, looking mildly concerned. “Everything okay?”
“No, Vinnie, everything isn’t okay. I’ve been watching that girl, Dharma, from the Sunglass Hut down the other end of the boardwalk mosey up this way every day to come see you.”
“She comes here to get lunch,” said Vinnie. “What’s your point?”
“What’s my point? My point is that she can get a goddamned Cobb salad at a dozen other places on the boardwalk. Why do you think she always comes here?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we make the best Cobb salads.”
“Jesus Christ, man. You don’t see the way she talks to you, the way she smiles, the way she twirls her hair…” Vinnie’s expression was vacant. “She likes you, man!”
“Yeah, so?”
“So? What’s wrong with you? You like guys or something?”
“No.”
“Well, what’s the malfunction?”
Vinnie shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m a little shy.”
“You? Shy? Come on.”
“No, really. I’m shy when it comes to girls.”
“What are you talking about? You see girls every day. This boardwalk is one great sea of hormones.”
Vinnie looked down at the table, blushing.
“Oh, wait a minute,” said Mike softly. “I see. You actually like this girl. Correction, you actually like this girl a lot.”
“Yeah, so what if I do?”
“You gotta talk to her. Maybe take her out.”
“What, like on a date?”
“Yeah, like on a date.”
“People don’t date these days.”
“They don’t date? Then how the hell does anyone get together?”
“People hang out.”
“Date, hang out, whatever. Hang out with her at the movies, and then you can hang out at dinner.”
“Mike, you don’t just hang out just the two of you.”
“What, you want me to come along? What’s the difference?”
“We hang out in groups.”
“Groups.”
“Yeah, groups.”
Mike knew exactly what Vinnie was talking about. He saw them, groups of young people hanging all over each other on the beach and the boardwalk. “So how are you supposed to get to know her if you’re in a group? Doesn’t that get kind of confusing?”
Vinnie reached across the table and put a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Mike, you’re a great guy, but you’re a dinosaur. I gotta get back to work.” He stood up and left Mike with his two slices and unsweetened iced tea.
“I’m not a dinosaur,” he shouted after Vinnie, “but I used to ride one to school.”
Vinnie waved back at him and took his place toiling by the ovens.
Mike took a bite of his pizza and wondered if this generation was the end of the human race as he knew it.
***
Billy Blake was leaning on the counter by his cash register as he licentiously eyed two teenage girls. He watched them as they fingered through the short shorts rack, giggling wickedly at the messages inscribed across the rumps like ‘Like My Ass?’ and ‘Delicious.’
They weren’t aware of his leering eyes, which was okay by him. One girl was in cut off denim shorts and a hot pink bikini top. As she bent over to look at a lower rack, he admired her tramp stamp on her sun kissed skin. His eyes traced her body down to her flip flops and her hot pink toe nails.
The other girl wore a neon green bikini top and bottom, and flip flops as well. For a second she glanced over at him, their eyes meeting. But the girl, naïve and every year of sixteen, only smiled at him, not recognizing him for the old letch that he was.
That’s what he loved about the teenage girls…that and the small gap that they had between their legs, that women his age didn’t have, where their thighs didn’t touch.
“Can I help you ladies with anything?”
Both girls, slightly startled, although they didn’t know why, looked up at him.
“Just looking,” said the one in the hot pink.
Me too, thought
Billy.
He pushed himself off of the countertop and strolled over to the two girls. The one in the pink held up a pair of shorts that read ‘SLUT’ on the backside.
“Is your boyfriend okay with you wearing that?” asked Billy playfully.
“He doesn’t care. He likes it.”
Billy flashed her friend a Can you believe her? look. Her friend shrugged.
“How ’bout you, sweetness?”
“Oh, she doesn’t have a boyfriend,” said the one in pink. Her friend blushed a bit. Billy tried to control the beginnings of a big, shit-eating grin.
“Oh, and why’s that?”
“He dumped her ass the end of school,” answered the one in pink again.
“Well, I’ll tell you what,” said Billy rubbing his hands together. “I’ll cut you and your friend a deal here, seeing as I like you gals…”
They both perked up, eyes wide.
“If you gals buy two pairs of those shorts, I’ll throw in two tank tops. All you have to do is pay for the print.”
They looked at each other, standing on their toes, giddy at the offer and the flirty attention this man was paying them. They were not unfamiliar with flirting for free things.
“Okay. Deal.”
Billy grinned wider, looking like a used car salesman. But they didn’t know what a used car salesman looked like, so they took it for sincerity.
“Come right this way, ladies, over to the counter, and you can pick out your prints.”
He stepped behind the counter, which was raised above the store floor, and the two girls stepped right up to have a look at the wide variety of iron-on prints behind him.
While they were looking up and over his shoulders, he took the opportunity to stare at their cleavage. “So, which college you gals go to?”
They looked at each other again and giggled. “We’re in still high school,” said the one in pink.
“But we’re going to be juniors in September,” added the one in the green bikini.
“Well, you ladies are certainly mature for your age.” They were putty in his hands. It was too easy.
By the end of the transaction, Billy had sold them two pairs of shorts for thirty dollars and two prints at ten dollars each, more than paying for the other two pairs of shorts and two tank tops that cost him two dollars in materials.
He stepped from behind the counter and escorted them out of the store as any gallant pervert would, watching their firm asses as they strolled down the boardwalk clutching their plastic bags.
“Y’all, come back now,” he called after them.
He looked out across the boardwalk and saw Lenny Kruger standing in the middle, eying the store. He waved Lenny over. Lenny smiled and whisked his cape behind him as he crossed pedestrian traffic. When he stood before Billy, he saluted him.
“Hey, Lenny. What’s happening?”
“Hi, Billy.”
“Whatcha up to?”
“Patrolling the boardwalk. Protecting the people.”
Billy smiled. “Ah, somebody has to. The police in this town don’t like to get off their asses.” Billy knew this wasn’t true. He just didn’t like Chief Holbrook. But he knew Lenny did.
Lenny wagged a finger at Billy. “Don’t talk about the police that way. They’re my special friends.”
Billy waved a dismissive hand. “Aw, I was just joking, Lenny.”
Lenny smiled, relieved, and shrugged his shoulders.
“So, I saw you checkin’ out my wares. Anything in particular?”
Lenny shrugged.
“C’mon, Lenny. I know you were looking at something? A tee-shirt?”
Lenny nodded.
“Which one?”
Lenny pointed.
“Ah, Magma Man. I thought you had every Magma Man shirt there was.”
“Not that one, Billy.”
“Well, why don’t you go and pick one out.”
“I don’t have enough money.”
“I’m not selling it to you, Lenny. I’m giving it to you. A gift.”
Lenny put his hands on his hips. “It’s not Christmas!”
“It doesn’t have to be Christmas for me to give a gift to my pal.”
Lenny wouldn’t argue with that logic. “Okay, Billy.”
He walked over to the rack, picked out a medium, and held it up to his body.
“Take a large, Lenny. They tend to shrink in the wash.”
Lenny gave Billy a thumbs up and traded the medium for a large.
“Let me get you a bag for that.” Billy walked behind the counter and snatched up a bag. He held out his hand, and Lenny handed him the Magma Man tee-shirt. Billy folded it neatly and placed it inside the bag. He handed Lenny the bag.
“Thank you, Billy.”
“Anything for my buddy. Where you headed now?”
“Going to get some pizza.” Lenny wore a mischievous grin.
“Really. Just pizza?”
“And ice cream,” Lenny added, his voice squeaking with glee.
“Don’t worry, pal. I won’t tell your mom.”
“Thanks, Billy.”
“All right, get on outta here.”
Lenny saluted, placed his headphones on his head, pressed play on his MP3, and glided out of the store to the opening track of Magma Man 3.
Lenny clutched his gift in his hands and was in heaven. As he often did, he receded into his fantasy world, where he was a superhero and evildoers lurked around every corner. He passed tourists walking the boardwalk—chomping on their pizza, fried dough, and fried pickles; clutching the stuffed animal prizes—pizza slices, ice cream cones, and doughnuts they won at the water gun race or frog bog (Lenny liked the smiley faces the stuffed animals wore); unaware that they had a protector from unseen villains; the good people of Smuggler’s Bay.
To Lenny, the Smuggler’s Bay boardwalk was a wonderland of food, games, and fun. He waved to Johnny Wong as he passed by on his way to Marco’s Pizza.
Johnny Wong wiped his face with his already very damp towel as Run To The Hills by Iron Maiden was wrapping up. The fact that he sat in a small booth under a roof did not provide much comfort from the oppressive heat. Even the breeze from the beach did nothing except blow hot air around.
He clicked around on his laptop, queuing up the next song, and clicked on his microphone.
“It’s another sweltering ninety-eight degree day on the boardwalk at Smuggler’s Bay, and I’m right there with you, on the boardwalk baking in the heat. This is Johnny Wong on H-H-Hot 96.1FM.
“Our weather department (the internet) says there’s no end in sight to the August heat wave. It’s going to be mid to upper nineties through the end of the week with no end in sight.
“So I think it’s appropriate that our next song reflect our plight. Yes, it’s Hotter Than Hell by KISS, on Hot 96.1 FM.”
He clicked and the song began to pipe through the speakers mounted above his head. Normally he was blissfully surrounded by young co-eds chatting it up with him, requesting songs, and asking for shout outs. But not today. It was too damned hot.
Marie Russo strolled up the boardwalk from the other direction, waving to Johnny Wong as she passed. She loved the ’70s and ’80s rock and metal that Johnny cranked out. In fact, that was exactly what she loved about Smuggler’s Bay. No matter how much time passed, the place always seemed stuck in the ’70s and ’80s.
That was part of its charm…that and the fact that the town didn’t become one of these hoity-toity havens for hipsters, yuppies, and their larva. Nope, no gourmet coffee shops or boutiques here. This was a rock n’ roll town for working and middle-class families.
Marie was heading to Blake’s Beachwear Store on the boardwalk to check out the merchandise. She walked up to the store and peeked in. No sign of Billy. Maybe he was off today. She sure hoped not.
Maybe if she lingered a little longer…
“Hey, Marie.” Billy was holding a bunch of blank tee-shirts on hangers as he made his way to the front of the store
.
“Hi, Billy. How’s tricks?”
He placed the shirts on a rack next to pink and yellow short shorts with words like ‘Princess’ on them. She wore a sly grin. “Why, Marie, are you minding my business?”
She smiled back and shrugged. “I always keep an eye on the competition.”
Billy casually leaned on a metal rack and gazed at Marie, drinking her in. She was in her late forties, like him, but he thought she looked damned good, like one of those MILFs.
She smelled him. He wore his sweat like a sensual musk.
“Don’t you think your husband should be doing that?”
“He doesn’t think he needs to worry about you.”
“And what do you think?”
“I better get back to the store.” She looked over his broad shoulder. “That a new press?”
“Yup. And I got all new decals for the shirts, too. WTFN is big this summer.”
“WTFN?”
“Why the Fuck Not?”
“That’s a little too trashy for our store,” said Marie.
This time Billy shrugged. “I guess I’m a trashy kind of guy.”
Billy had a reputation. His was married once, and briefly, to a hot young thing about fifteen years his junior. She was a barmaid at the Wet Dock Bar. He always landed younger girls with daddy issues. He acted like a kid and had a good body for a guy his age.
But when you had very little in the way of responsibility and tons of free time to devote to yourself, you had time to work out and go to the gym. Marie’s husband, Mario, was a working family man. A real sweetheart, but chubby and balding like most husbands his age.
Billy was an overgrown man child with the luxury of leisure time and completely disposable income. He represented something that was lost forever when one got married and had kids.
Marie eyed him significantly, trading flirts like it was some kind of sport. Billy knew the game and never took it further than that. She didn’t realize that she was twenty-five years too old for his taste.
“Well, I gotta head back.”
“Hate to see ya go, but I love to watch ya leave.”
Marie sucked her teeth in half-hearted disapproval, and she kept walking up the boardwalk.
***
Meanwhile, farther down the boardwalk, Chief Holbrook was talking to Mario Russo in front of his clothing shop. He had his hand up to shield his eyes from the unrelenting sun.
The Creeping Dead: A Zombie Novel Page 3
