CHAPTER 1: THE SAD WIZARD
It was midnight on July 27 when the ominous event occurred at Arcadia Videogames. Not all the residents of Redgrave knew exactly what was unleashed in their seedy town that evening. But those who did know—and the ones who survived—would never forget that fateful summer of ’75. The chain of events that followed would forever change everything.
Just hours prior to the event, there was an overall calmness in Redgrave. Only flickers of lightning and faint rumbles of thunder kept Danny Zoran company as he rode around the rural town. Finished with his deliveries, he steered his bright blue Pathfinder to the curbside in front of Herbie’s Funtastic Pizzamore. His steps were awkward on the walkway. He frantically rubbed his hands together and cupped them over his mouth, catching the warmth of his exhale. Danny grinned, windburned cheeks tingling, as he felt the heat seep into his fingers.
He checked his watch: 10:31 p.m. He switched off his bicycle headlight and thought about how dark and cold it was for a July evening. But mostly, he thought about how the gloom and darkness made him feel depressed. He had grown accustomed to the companionship of the moon and stars. They had turned his lonely deliveries into a source of quiet comfort on those clear summer nights. The overcast sky stole Danny’s simple joys, so his thoughts drifted to the dregs of his mind. There, he thought of his cousin, Ziggy Svoboda, as well as his mother, Maria Cavallo-Zoran. No matter how fast he had tried to pedal, he could never outrun his grief.
A tear slipped down Danny’s cheek and onto the lapel of his wool-lined jacket. He rubbed his eyes and pulled the visor of his red ball cap down over his wavy blond hair. He was all alone in the dark, and there was no escaping his haunted memories.
Occasional lightning flashed across the night sky. It was the lightning that also made him think of Ziggy, who used to say, “Magic is all around us, like a whisper in the wind or an inscription in a book. You can always see its signature traces in the branches of trees, the cracks in things, and the lightning in the sky.”
Of course, magic made Danny think of his mother, too, because she loved to sing a song called Magic. Maria would sing the song to tease him—as mothers sometimes do—when she could actually get him to do the house chores. Like most boys his age, he hated doing chores. Now, he would do them gladly if he could share another moment with his mother.
His eyes swelled again as he began humming Magic while chaining his Pathfinder to the bike rack. After giving the lock and chain a final yank, he removed the bungee cords from the bicycle’s rear carrier rack and let out a sigh of relief, thinking to himself, I made it. Just gotta drop off the money, get home, and then I can crash on my bed. Especially if it storms tonight, like Mr. Murphy mentioned. I wouldn’t have believed him—it never rains here in the summer. But my uncle told me once that Murphy’s a human barometer.
Danny was deep in thought when a sharp, foul odor of urine and garbage invaded his nostrils. He flinched and stumbled, catching himself just before falling off the curb. Then he heard the sound of rummaging and a haunting voice say, “Flashes? Earthquakes? Lightning? Baaaad omens—bad omens.”
He looked up and was startled to see a haggard man in his 60s at the trashcan beside the bike rack. Danny’s heart sank as he saw the unmistakable grimy navy jacket and knew right away who the man was. The homeless man was Brock Willard. Danny wasn’t sure what Brock was going on about, but he couldn’t stand seeing another human being digging through garbage for food. “Sir—if you’re hungry,” Danny said, “I can see if my uncle has any food to give you.”
Brock looked up at Danny and said, “T-thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Danny replied. He gave Brock a warm smile, his eyes filling with sympathy as he watched him continue to forage through the trash, just as Danny had seen him do many times before. He couldn’t help but stare at the tangled remnants trapped in Brock’s peppered beard and wild dreadlocks. Danny thought about how people called Brock the Zombie of Redgrave because he roamed like a tattered, empty shell of a man.
“You’re Mrs. Cavallo-Zoran’s kid, aren’t you?”
“I–uh–yes,” Danny said in a soft tone.
“You have her eyes––and kindness. Most people just ignore me. She was always kind to me.”
Danny looked deep into Brock’s fragile eyes and saw a tear streak down his cheek before vanishing into a maze of grime and facial hair.
“Th-thank you,” Danny sighed, lowering his head. “Uh––it’s late; I should go inside and hopefully find you some food before it gets tossed,” he said, rushing away.
“Wait!” Brock shouted after him.
Danny paused in alarm, then turned back toward Brock.
“There’s bad omens tonight; be careful,” Brock sighed. “I-I get premonitions sometimes.”
He pondered Brock’s words for a moment. He knew Brock wasn’t crazy, but no one took his premonitions seriously either.
Danny soon shrugged off the warning as he entered the restaurant, greeted by the inviting aroma of tomato sauce and garlic. However, the pleasure was immediately lost as his eyes met the stark brightness of the lights. Squinting, he hung his denim trucker jacket on the coat rack by the doorway. Once his eyes adjusted, he scanned the dining area. His cousins were nowhere in sight, but he spotted his Uncle Herbie, rag in hand, hard at work wiping down the heavy wood dining tables. As always, Dean Martin’s voice crooned from the jukebox.
The ambient music blended nicely with the wall-to-wall Italian décor, an eclectic mix of famous Italian imagery and photos of the Cavallo family. It was a unique blend of an Italian restaurant and a game room filled with attractions that ensured the place stayed lively. There was always something familiar yet surprising to experience at Herbie’s—especially the food—that kept people coming back for more.
Danny dragged his black-and-white Converse shoes as he glanced at the vacant kitchen. “Did Don and Geno go home already?” he asked, his legs wobbling with each step.
Herbie glanced down his prominent nose and past his bifocals, pausing to look at Danny. Brushing sweat from his brow with his large, hairy forearm, he answered, “Yep. They already finished inna kitchen and went home.” Chuckling, he added, “Boy, you looka tired!”
“Yeah, been pedaling all day and night on that bike you got me. Haven’t ridden around like that since grade school,” Danny replied, unbuckling the fanny pack of money and receipts from his waist and setting it down beside Herbie. “I forgot to write it down, but Buck Wallace wants to lay a hundred bucks on Ali for the October match.”
“Ha! No wonder your legs are wobbly. That musta been some hike on a bicycle, kid!” Herbie laughed. “I’ll talk to Wallace later,” Herbie said, rifling through the money and bookings in the fanny pack. “Well, you did good tonight. Got some bad news for you, though—a kid named Freebird beat your high score on Wizard!”
“Freebird? What the hell kinda name is that?”
“It’s his handle. His real name is Jessie. He comes around now and again. He’s a kid about your age—sixteen or seventeen. Does side work for me here and there. He’s a bit of a hustler. Moved here from the other side of the lake, the reservation. Yeah, so Geno bet him money to beat your high score—and he actually did! I couldn’t believe it.”
Herbie’s casual remark hit like a punch to Danny’s gut, intensifying the angst building in him. His sanctuary—the Wizard! pinball machine—had been invaded by a kid named Jessie. It was the one place where Danny could forget the heaviness of his real life. He had poured hours into mastering the game, hours of his escape from the world, his home drama, and even himself. Danny knew it was something his uncle could never understand, and hearing about his toppled score now felt like losing part of himself. A part he had to get back at all costs. He had lost enough.
Danny stood in silence, his world narrowed until only the pinball machine remained—Herbie’s ranting faded. The unrelenting lights of the pinball game felt like they were daring him to rectify the score. He snatched a pack of red licorice from his back pocket, biting into a vine before tucking the rest away.
“Well, Jessie––we’ll just see about this,” he grumbled. Danny’s face hardened as he staggered over to the pinball machine, his eyes fixed on the score reel’s backbox. He verified that his high score had been toppled by another—86,463. It might as well have been mocking him. It was only fifty points over Danny’s score, but regardless, one point, fifty, or one thousand, his reigning score had been beaten, and he had to reclaim it. Danny’s athletic build hovered over the playing field as he gripped the machine’s sides until his knuckles turned white, gnawing on the licorice vine.
“I’ll wipe your score off the face of the Earth, Jessie,” he vowed. “Even if it takes me all night.”
He rolled a quarter into the slot, and the game burst to life with flashing lights and its familiar tune. He brushed back his blonde locks, adjusted his cap, and closed his eyes—poised and ready to beat Jessie’s high score. He took his stance, held a deep breath, and pulled the spring plunger back. “I got this…” Danny whispered. He opened his eyes, smiled, and…
“Hey! Why you wanna waste your time on that thing?” Herbie boomed from across the room.
Danny shuddered and accidentally launched the ball.
“Whatabout that nice girl I used to see you go with?” Herbie continued. “That’s who you should be spending time with! Oh, I forgot to tell you, she came by and asked for you—said she wanted you to call her when you got off work. Why don’t you go call her now?”
“Because––I don’t want to, Uncle Herbie!” Danny snapped, watching with dismay as his game ball guttered.
Herbie huffed and puffed through his thick, dark mustache. “You mind your uncle, kid!”
Danny slumped, glancing at his uncle. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just been a long day.”
“It’s okay, kid.” Herbie smirked. “Listen, all I’m saying is—keep a pretty girl waiting, and she won’t be your girl anymore. You should settle down. She’s a nice girl—listen to your uncle.”
“Who, Janice? Nah, she’s foxy and all, but she’s a hot dog stand. That was justa—you know…”
“Awww, whata shame, such a nice, pretty girl. When you gonna find a nice girl to love and settle down? You’re almost eighteen!”
“I don’t really want anything serious right now.”
“All I’m saying is, there’s better ways of sorting yourself out than wasting away on pinball.”
“It’s just a game, Uncle.”
“Justa game? Lookit what it’s doing to you now! You were ready to collapse a minute ago, and now you’re glued to that thing. These machines are designed to ensnare people—they’re traps, kid!”
Danny sighed and shook his head as his uncle rambled on, his patience fraying with every word.
“…and video games? Even worse! They turn kids into zombies, mindlessly feeding quarters into ‘em. Who knows what’s staring back at you inside them screens?”
“C’mon, you can’t be serious, Uncle.” Danny rolled his eyes.
“I’m dead serious!” Herbie leaned forward, his voice dropping. “Maybe it’s evil spirits or something, creeping inside and taking hold of people. A ghost in the machine—you never know. Bad things happen, Danny—especially at the place next door. They say it’s cursed—some sorceress or enchantress laid a hex on the place years back. You mark my words, stay away from that arcade. One day, Pandora’s Box is gonna open there, and I don’t want you caught in the middle!”
“Oh, that’s ridiculous; that fear stuff is just brought on by your Catholic superstitions.”
“Don’t blaspheme, kid!”
“Okay, okay––sorry. Geez.”
“Look at me, Danny. I’m not telling you what to do—I just don’t trust them video games or the place next to my restaurant.”
Danny sighed heavily. “I don’t even care about video games, alright? All I care about right now is beating that guy’s high score. You wouldn’t understand, but it’s something I just gotta do—alright?”
“Y’know,” Herbie said, “I understand better than you think I do. Maybe I should’ve had a talk with you about this sooner. This ain’t really about pinballs and high scores, you know. You’re just spinning your wheels. All that nonsense with your dad got you all tied up in knots right now. I know it’s been hard on you, losing your cousin and mama. Hell, it’s been hard on me, too—I loved my sister dearly. You’re pretty much a man now, so my advice is—if you want to challenge yourself, get out in the world and test your limits. Don’t rot behind a pinball machine or in your bedroom, alone with your grief for company.”
“Look, I hear you, but I’m dealing with all that grief stuff with my head shrinker, okay? She agrees that pinball is actually therapeutic for me. Especially since Dad took my car.”
“I know it’s been rough at home, kid. If you ever want to move outta your father’s place, you can always stay with us. You know your Uncle Herbie will take care of you. I can even lend you some money so you could get out in the world and get some adventure.”
“That’s nice and all for you to offer, but…” Danny began to say, then paused as he felt his moral compass beginning to twitch. Although he trusted Herbie like a father and found his offer comforting, what he was doing felt wrong and unsettling to Danny. His therapist had suggested he communicate the things that bothered him instead of holding them in. Danny decided to take his therapist’s advice as he continued, “…I kinda feel guilty about collecting money for your loans and bets while I make the food deliveries sometimes. Don’tcha ever worry about the sheriff?”
“What’s the matter, kid? It’s not like I’m asking you to break anyone’s legs; you’re just delivering and picking up. And don’t worry about the sheriff; he and the mayor have their mitts in everything around here. They know. I’m justa middleman, you could say—nothing compared to some of the other stuff the mayor and sheriff got going on.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Danny, you’re gonna find that life’s not so black and white. Things can go from legal to illegal and back again—just like that! It’s all about how it benefits those in power. Up until recently, even pinball machines were illegal.
“Pinball?” Danny echoed in surprise.
“Yeah! Silly ain’t it? Pinball! I mean, hell—this town was built on shady enterprises ever since the mines were established over a century ago. But when the mines dried up, the town nearly fell apart. Then prohibition came along—bad for some, good for others. Prohibition, ha! It changed everything, especially for people like your late grandfather.”
Herbie paused, his gaze drifting towards the end of the game room where a photo hung—a solemn depiction of his late father, framed like a relic of a forgotten era. “Heck, kid—this very spot is where he ran a semi-renowned speakeasy.” Herbie waved his arms and continued, “My hand to God, it’s the truth! And if you doubt me, there’s a hidden door right over there on the back wall, beneath my father’s memorial picture.” Herbie bowed his head and whispered, “God rest his soul.” Then he made the sign of the cross over his chest in silent prayer and kissed his hand in reverence.
“A hidden door?” Danny muttered, looking where Herbie was pointing. “What’s it for?”
“Well, that led to a room next door where they held an illegal casino. So there, you see? Our family’s legacy, for better or worse, isn’t so squeaky clean.”
Danny frowned at his uncle, folded his arms, and asked, “Why bring all this up now, Uncle?” His tone carried a mix of frustration and curiosity, the weight of their shared history pressing against his thoughts.
“I’m tell’n ya, kid, because you seem so hung up on what’s right and wrong. The world is filled with shades of grey.” Herbie paused for a moment and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. “Bottom line, kid, you gotta do what’s right for you.” He stopped again, massaging his temples with his fingertips.
“You okay, Uncle?”
“My eyes been bothering me—gotta see the doc. He’s gonna dilate ‘em, and I gotta wear them goofy sunglasses—it’s exhausting! My eyes gonna be all sensitive to the light.” Herbie groaned. Anyhow, all I’m saying is—don’t be too afraid of the so-called grey areas, and also, sort yourself out. I’ll dare ya if I have to!” Herbie laughed.
“Uncle, I’m not even a senior in high school yet. I just wish I could enjoy my summer curled up in my bed—without anyone climbing on my back about it.”
“Stubborn and headstrong, just like your mama,” Herbie said as he gave Danny a wink and patted his cheek.
The weight of Herbie’s words overwhelmed Danny. His mother’s absence intensified as he whispered, “I miss her, Uncle Herbie.” His eyes swelled again, and he wrapped his arms around his uncle’s burly frame. His tears dampened his uncle’s barrel chest as Herbie paused for a moment, then gave him a rigid hug and a stiff pat on the back.
“I miss her too, kid.” Herbie sighed and grunted. It was clear Herbie held back his grief as his eyes reddened, and a stray tear ran down his cheek. He smeared it off with the back of his hand, sniffing his nose and clearing his throat.
Danny knew from experience that Herbie had reached his emotional threshold, and he released his uncle.
“Okay, well…” Herbie started to say as he walked away. He wiped his hand over his face and then turned around to look at Danny. “I need you to come in early tomorrow. I have a bunch of deliveries for you to make first thing, alright?”
Danny nodded, dabbing his tears away with the sleeves of his arm. “Okay, now can I get back to my game?” He smirked. “It’s therapy. I’m sorting myself out, okay, Uncle?”
“Sure, kid, whatever you say. Just make sure you turn off them breakers like I showed ya and then lock the front door when you leave.”
Danny watched his uncle march to the front door and leave. The rattle of keys and the creak of the door lock echoed through the lonely restaurant. The stillness enveloped Danny, drawing his thoughts to the unsettling events of the evening.
He thought of Brock and his foreboding omens, Freebird and his crushing high score, Uncle Herbie’s lectures, and his enigmatic Grandfather Cavallo. As his mind wandered, Danny glanced at the taunting high score before him. Then his attention drifted upward to his grandfather’s film noir-esque photo—a black-haired, dapper man whose presence seemed to command the room.
Danny wondered if he would ever unravel the layers of meaning behind his grandfather’s gaze. He had always been captivated by the glint of satisfaction in his grandfather’s dark eyes, a subtle yet intriguing expression filled with hidden stories.
It was the face of a man risen from the depths of poverty to the zenith of American prestige, a world of jazz-filled nights and the rebellious spirit of the Roaring Twenties. And now, with his newfound knowledge, Danny recognized the confidence of a man who had beaten a system that most never dared to challenge. Those who did and failed were apprehended and condemned to a lifetime of imprisonment.
Danny didn’t want to be a conformist, but he didn’t want to end up in and out of correctional institutions like his cousin, either.
Today, a large part of the mystery surrounding his grandfather unraveled for him—unexpected and exhilarating. A truth was revealed, and more: his uncle and mother always told him how much he resembled his grandfather. Their words echoed in his mind—What did that mean? Especially now, with his family’s criminal legacy weighing on him, casting a long shadow over his future. He turned everything over in his mind and pondered if this was truly his destiny. Would his life be shaped by rebellion—or doomed to crime?
Drawn into the mystery, Danny hastened to the wall just behind the scoreboard. His fingertips skimmed the cool brick facade until they found a vertical line. He traced its contours, revealing a door he had never known existed—all these years. Dumbfounded, he shook his head and stepped back, hoping a fresh perspective might reveal the secret door’s hidden latch. Could he figure it out on his own, or would he have to swallow his pride and ask his uncle for help? His exhilaration surged as possibilities flooded his mind.
A sudden flash from the game caught his eye, and the glare of the scoreboard loomed over him—unrelenting, commanding, like his father. He couldn’t be second best. Not on Wizard!, and certainly not to someone named Freebird. Not when he could hold onto the one thing in his life he could control—the Wizard! scoreboard. The clandestine door and its secrets would have to wait. The nagging score demanded his complete focus, pulling him away from everything else.
His eyes lingered on the scoreboard, then drifted to the stunning backglass artwork of Wizard!—a tribute to Tommy, its actors immortalized in their iconic movie-themed pose. Smirking, Danny made a quiet prayer to the illustration: “May the pinball gods watch over me and grant me victory tonight.”
Steadying himself, he returned to his game, smiling at the satisfying mechanical pop as the ball released into the launching chamber. He pulled the spring plunger back and released it, propelling the chrome ball up the shooter lane.
His brow relaxed as his fingertips slipped off the plunger knob. He watched with anticipation, listening to the ball rocket forward and zing around the back curve. A surge of exhilaration from the hypnotic lights and mechanical clangs synced with his pounding heart. The ball ricocheting off the bumpers set off a chorus of bells and metallic dings that resonated in his ears.
For the first time all day, his mind was quiet. The world outside—the chaos and grief that had haunted him—faded into a distant haze, leaving only the mechanical symphony of the game. The exhaustion that had weighed him down fizzled away, replaced by a fierce determination to beat the high score Jessie left behind… even if it took all night.
The keys on his belt buckle jingled against the lockdown bar of the machine. With a steady hand, he skillfully nudged the game table just enough to position his ball to his advantage without tripping the tilt sensor.
The tilt sensor prevented players from abusing the machine or cheating—bump the cabinet too hard or too much, and you could lose the game.
Danny loved everything about pinball: tilt sensors, bumpers, flippers, the backglass art, and the gleaming ball rolling across the playfield. To Danny, pinball was the epitome of analog elegance—a stark contrast to the cutting-edge digital world his father, Vincent Zoran, had built his career on.
Vincent sold high-tech computers, video systems, and sound equipment to corporations worldwide. It was a world his father tried to press upon him, fueling a psychological aversion in Danny to anything digital, including video games. So Danny embraced the elegant simplicity of pinball machines and record players—low-tech, as he called it. Now, standing at his machine of solace, he felt the familiar thrill building in his chest.
The metal ball zipped up the ramp, slipping through the flipping star gateway with a sharp clink—into a labyrinth of flashing lights, ringing bells, and bouncing bumpers.
His fingers danced over the flippers, his eyes darting to follow the ball’s path. Each hit racked up points, and Danny grinned as the rhythm of the game consumed him. The room faded away, leaving only him, the game, and the high score to conquer. Nothing else mattered.
He was well into the zone now, so consumed with the thumpers and targets that he didn’t notice how close he was to beating Jessie’s score.
When he finally glanced up at the scoreboard, a surge of elation shot through him.
“Woah! I’m gonna topple him!” he cried, his voice brimming with anticipation. His heart raced as the points climbed steadily toward Jessie’s crowned score.
Danny braced himself for victory—but then, an unnerving roar filled the room, deep and guttural, like a furious growl.
Danny shivered as goosebumps rose on his arms, his ears popping. For a fleeting moment, the lights flickered.
Danny froze, his eyes darting upward and all around as he muttered, “What the…”
BOOM!
The ground jolted violently, shaking Danny’s world as crashing and clattering erupted around him. Pictures crashed down from the walls, glass shattered onto the floor, and pans clanged in the kitchen. Danny staggered, clutching the pinball rail for balance as the floor bucked beneath him.
BZZZZZZZT!
It was the dreaded buzz of the tilt indicator.
Game over.
The shaking stopped. Danny’s hands hovered above the buttons, trembling as the weight of the defeat sank in. The machine fell silent and lifeless. Only the ball remained, rolling down the table’s decline. Desperate, Danny tried to stop the ball from slipping into the out hole, but the flippers wouldn’t respond. He pounded the side buttons in frustration, but there was nothing he could do. Helplessly, he watched the metal sphere roll down, each rotation a cruel reminder of how close he had come—into the drain, into oblivion. Along with his hope of crushing Jessie’s high score.
He looked up at the scoreboard: 86,271. His face flushed—he had only needed thirteen more points. Danny felt robbed of a sure victory. It wasn’t just the high score he lost—it was the brief escape from everything that weighed on him.
“Dammit!” he shouted, pounding his hand on the corner of the machine. He sighed, took a few deep breaths, and looked at his watch: 11:16 p.m. “Ah, maaaan—I wasted all that time for nothing!” he grumbled, shaking his head.
Fatigue and frustration settled in, the bitter taste of defeat lingering. He wished now he had stuck to his original plan—just heading home and straight to bed.
Danny gathered his things, turned off the breakers, and stepped out into the cool night air. As he struggled to lock the front door, balancing a large pizza in his other hand, the anguish of defeat gnawed at him. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Earthquakes just suck!”
“Is all that pizza for me?” a feeble voice from behind asked.
Danny flinched, spinning around so fast the box of pizza slipped from his grip and tumbled to the pavement. Its contents scattered across the ground. He spotted Brock, standing in shadow.
“Geez! Don’t—do—that!” Danny gasped, his heart racing. “Man, ya wanna give me a heart attack?” He laughed, catching his breath.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Brock said, shuffling his feet. “I’ve just been waiting here like you asked me to.”
“Oh no—your food!” Danny’s eyes widened in alarm. “I’m soooooo sorry! Forgive me—I completely forgot.” He stared down at the mess of pepperoni, cheese, and tomato sauce, splattered on the sidewalk. “Ah, geez,” he groaned.
“S-okay, sir,” Brock said in a soft voice, crouching to retrieve two dirt-seasoned slices from the sidewalk.
“Don’t!” Danny raised a hand, shaking his head. There’s some clean ones still in the box…”
Unfazed, Brock smiled through his grimy beard and nodded casually, slipping one slice into his pocket as he brushed grit off the other.
Danny stared, dumbfounded by Brock’s lack of concern, then shrugged, pushing the dirty pizza back into the box alongside the clean. “Did you want the rest of this?” he asked, setting the box on his bicycle’s rear carrier, watching Brock for an answer.
Meanwhile, a roaring sound rumbled in the distance.
Danny ignored the noise, watching Brock open his mouth wide, ready to shove the dirty pizza in his mouth.
The roar grew. It was the sound of a revving engine booming.
The pair looked up in alarm as a large red truck zoomed past them. Brock flinched, clutching the slice of pizza, his eyes wide with fear as the tires screeched to a halt. The wheels spun with fury, smoking and screaming on the asphalt as the vehicle spun sharply into a hard stop, its high beams flared on, targeting Danny and Brock.
Brock stepped back, tugging at Danny’s sleeve, who stood rooted with a defiant scowl. Danny’s jaw tightened as he glared into the intense light. He sighed and raised an arm to shield his eyes. Brock crouched low behind Danny, shielding his eyes with the greasy pizza slice.
The truck idled for an eerie moment, its engine emitting a low menacing growl. Then, revving up to a deafening roar, the monstrous wheels spun again, shrieking as the towering vehicle lunged forward. Its path aimed directly at Danny and Brock, closing the distance fast.
It came dangerously close—mere yards separated them from its grill. The tires locked with a jarring screech, momentum driving the truck as it skidded haphazardly onto the curb, its front wheels jutted over the edge, stopping just short of where Danny and Brock stood.
The engine cut off, leaving an unnerving silence in its wake. The wheels smoldered, filling the air with the acrid stench of burning brakes and rubber.
Danny crinkled his nose, coughing as he watched a short-statured male with a buzz cut hop down from the truck’s driver side. The adolescent chuckled as he adjusted the leather sleeves of his red and yellow letterman jacket with exaggerated flair. Blake, as Danny knew him, motioned with a sharp nod for one of the passengers to join him.
Aaron climbed down from the cabin, his lanky frame standing noticeably taller than Blake’s compact build. Aaron’s greased black hair glistened under the dim streetlight, freckles dotting his nose and cheeks. Karen, the trophy girl, remained in the passenger seat, arms folded. She peeked out the window, rolling her eyes as she let out a long sigh.
Danny glanced at Blake and Aaron, shaking his head in annoyance.
“Wizard, I was hoping I’d find ya!” Blake called out as he barreled toward Danny, landing a playful tackle and shove.
“Hey, Blake,” Danny said in a low tone. He casually patted Blake on his shoulder.
“Ha ha! The looks on your faces!” Blake laughed, throwing his arms around Danny in a bear hug. “C’mon, is that any way to greet your buddy?”
Danny stiffened, making no effort to mask his irritation as Blake squeezed him.
“So, you hardly ever go out with us anymore,” Blake complained, throwing his arms up.
“We hung out the other day at the restaurant,” replied Danny.
“Yeah, but you don’t go out to places with us. All you do is play pinball or stay at home.”
“We just saw Jaws last week.”
“Only cuz I begged ya to come with us.”
“You only did it because my uncle gave you guys free drinks and pizza.”
“Well, this time he promised me a free calzone!” Blake laughed. “C’mon, man—come out with us tomorrow, let’s go see Jaws again, and then we’ll see what’s for kicks afterward. Plus, Larry’s gonna have a late-night shindig at the lake, too.”
“I don’t…”
“We’ll be here tomorrow… around noon. I’ll have Karen bring a friend—you’ll like her!”
“Aw, c’mon––I don’t want a blind date!” Danny grumbled, burying his face in his hands.
“What’re ya guys talking about?”
“What friend of Karen’s?” Aaron asked. “Don’t even think about setting him up with Selene!” He pulled a cigarette pack from the pocket of his dark, preppy pants. He tapped the pack against his palm, slid out a cigarette, and lit it with his Zippo. He exhaled a smoke ring with practiced ease, smirking at Blake and Danny. Neither of them reacted.
Aaron turned toward the truck, where Karen remained seated, gazing into her compact mirror as she puckered her lips. Aaron’s smug grin faltered. With a flick of his wrist, he opened his lighter again, and frowned, swaying his finger over the flame.
Brock’s eyes widened as Aaron toyed with the fire.
Aaron glared at Brock. “Why you eye’n me, old man? Wanna light or something?” Aaron held out the Zippo, glaring at Brock. He wrinkled his nose and stepped closer. “Geez, this zombie reeks!” Aaron cried out, recoiling and cringing.
Brock flinched and dropped his slice of pizza as he recoiled from Aaron, raising his hand defensively as the flame came near.
“Ha ha, look at this bum––scared of a lighter!” Aaron sneered, his braces glinting behind the flicker of his flame. His scalp was exposed as he leaned closer, red roots peeking through the black facade of hair dye.
“Enough already,” Danny protested. “Can’t you see? He’s traumatized or something?”
“Lookit!” Aaron pointed at Brock. “He already has burn marks on his skin—should be used to flames by now! Maybe we can burn away his nasty stench!”
“Stop! Stop!” Brock cried, burying his face in his hands and trembling on the ground.
“C’mon, you’re a loser, you don’t even want to live, you just won’t admit it,” Aaron taunted, his voice brimming with malice.
“Aaron!” Danny shouted, his tone sharp.
“What?” Aaron snapped, turning to Danny. “Everyone tries to help him, and he won’t even help himself. Blake’s dad even offered to get him a place to stay and a job,” he said, turning to Brock, his expression darkening. “You don’t help anyone or do anything. You’re worthless! Why don’t you just end it now, or better yet––let me do it for you!”
Danny stepped forward, shoving Aaron back. “I said that’s enough! Just leave him alone.”
“Or what, Danelle?” Aaron spat, shoving Danny in return. “The guy is a loser, and so are you!”
Danny clenched his fist, his glare unwavering. “I think you’re the only loser here, man.”
Aaron smirked and shifted into a defensive karate stance. “Let’s see how big you talk after I sweep the floor with you, Danny.”
“Guys, cool it,” Blake said, stepping between them, his hands raised.
“Honestly?” Karen shouted from the truck window, her voice filled with disdain. “I can’t believe I ditched Selene to watch a bunch of turkeys trippin like idiots!” She twisted open her purple glitter nail polish and gingerly began painting her nails.
“Put a lid on it, Karen!” Blake hollered up at her.
A short siren blast broke the tension. The group looked up to see Sheriff Raynor as he pulled up in his patrol car, blue and red lights flashing. “What’s going on here?” the sheriff demanded, poking his head out of the window.
“N-nothing, sir!” Blake said, quivering.
“Looked to me like you were harassing this man.” The sheriff pointed down at Brock. “He’s a war hero and a friend of mine. You’ve no idea what he’s been through! So, show some respect.” Sheriff Raynor exited his car and squinted his eyes as he scanned around the scene. He looked down at Brock. “You okay?”
“Y-yessir,” Brock replied, looking up at the sheriff with a solemn nod.
The sheriff exhaled through his nose, scrutinizing each of the kids. “Well, I suppose there’s no harm done then,” the sheriff said. He then turned to Blake, “But I just got a call from the janitor of Redgrave High. He tells me some kids in a red truck were doing donuts on the school football field, spinning out and tearing up the lawn. I sincerely hope that wasn’t you guys.”
“Nooooooo. We were at Herbie’s all night. Ask Danny here!” Blake said with a sheepish grin.
“Yeah, that’s right, we were at Herbie’s!” affirmed Aaron.
The sheriff looked at Danny and Aaron for a moment, shook his head, then looked up at Karen, who was blowing on her sparkling fingernails. “That true, Miss Karen?”
Karen gave a deep sigh as she chomped on her wad of gum and continued working on her nails. “Yes, sheriff,” she said as she blew a bubble that gave a loud crack.
The sheriff smirked as he watched Karen, self-absorbed and admiring her nails. Then he crouched, inspecting the muddy truck tire below Karen. His eyes narrowed as he plucked a blade of grass from the rim of Blake’s oversized wheel. He examined it briefly, tossed it aside, and glared at Blake, “Best not let me catch you parked up on the curb again, boy.” With a look of content, the sheriff smacked his lips, nodded, and pulled up his belt.
“Y-yesir,” said Blake, his cheeks flushing red against his tanned skin.
“Oh, and Blake, you better tend to your lil missy. She’s looking a mite bored.” The sheriff chuckled before his face soured again. “I better not hear about any more ruckus involving you tonight, boy. Now, get going!” The sheriff got back in his car and drove off.
Blake exhaled with a look of relief. “Man, that was a close call.” He cleared his throat and looked at his group. “Hey, let’s go up to the V-lots!”
“It’s gonna storm tonight, sir. Be careful,” Brock said in a low voice.
“Storm, eh? Yeah, someone else also told me that, too. Well, let’s go back to my place and crack open a few,” Blake said. “You joining us, Wiz?”
“Thanks,” replied Danny, “but I’m just going straight home to bed.”
“Suit yourself. Mind giving us some of your slices then?” Blake grinned.
“Um—I guess.” Danny chuckled. “Help yourself; it’s a special.”
“Right on! Can we take the whole box?”
“Suit yourself; I lost my appetite.” Danny looked down at Brock. “How about you, sir—want any more?”
“No, thank you; I’m fine,” Brock said as he picked up the slice from the floor and slipped it into his large coat pocket.
The others had a look of disgust on their faces, but no one said a word. Danny just smirked and looked away.
“What kind is it?” asked Blake.
“Oh, justa leftover pepperoni and cheese with, uh, some—secret seasoning.” Danny chuckled as he handed Blake the box.
“What’s so funny?” Aaron asked with a tone of suspicion.
“Oh, nuthin,” Danny replied. “Let me know how you guys enjoy the pizza.”
“Yeah, thanks! See ya tomorrow?” Blake asked.
Danny nodded as Blake grinned and zoomed off in his truck with the others.
Danny turned to Brock. “Let me help you up, sir,” he said, steadying Brock as he rose. “I’m really sorry about Aaron.”
“It’s okay, son. Wasn’t your fault. This ain’t the first time this man’s gotten himself harassed by some rich white kids.”
“Honestly, he’s really a jerk to everyone,” Danny said as he looked down at his watch. “Geez, it’s almost midnight! I gotta get going. Sorry again about Aaron; I don’t like him much myself.” Danny hopped on his bicycle, pausing to glance back at Brock. “You take care, now.”
As Danny rode off, thick droplets of water splashed down, sporadic at first but quickly growing in number and intensity. He felt the chill of the wind pick up, then heard the thunder growl, like a promise of a storm to come, or something more ominous.
That’s when he thought again about Brock’s warning. The old man’s eyes, filled with concern and sadness, were seared into Danny’s mind, as he wondered, What could it mean? He pedaled on with haste and caution.
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