that answering questions could lead to trouble.
“How about it . . . piece of apple pie? Got cherry too but the apple’s better.” The waitress bent down and said it like it was their secret.
“No, thanks.” He let his eyes flick upwards for a fraction of a second to the smiling face.
“Okay,” she said pleasantly, then turned and disappeared through the swinging doors into the kitchen.
Billy drenched his last two french fries in the gravy floating on the bottom of his plate and washed them down with the remainder of the orange pop. He stood up then, not sure whether to leave the money on the counter or to let the waitress know he was leaving and wanted to pay. He looked around again and, seeing that none of the other customers was paying any attention to him, decided to leave the money and go.
Once outside the café, he realized he had no idea what he was going to do next. He was angry with himself for not coming up with a plan while he’d been in the café. That had been his reason for going in there in the first place. That and to ease the hunger pain that had been building for several hours prior to the french fries.
Now here he was on the sidewalk, not hungry any more, but with no more idea of what he was going to do than he’d had an hour before. He thought about going back inside and ordering something else while he planned his next move, but he remembered that forty-five cents wouldn’t even buy him another orange pop, and besides, the people in there, especially the pretty waitress, would think he was a total geek if he went back in so soon after leaving.
The door of the café opened and Billy turned to watch as the boy in the worn coat came out and walked toward a pick-up truck that was parked on the street, its nose angled in to the curb. Seeing him reminded Billy that he’d left his own windbreaker in the café. That meant he’d have to go back in — geek or no geek.
But he didn’t go right away. He hesitated, watching, he wasn’t sure why, maybe to see where a person in a ragged coat went, what he did. Before the older boy got to his truck, two others of about the same age came out of the combination pool hall and arcade that sat next to the café.
“Well, lookit here, would you,” the taller of the two said in a loud voice. “If it isn’t the of Bearman hisself, all gussied up and lookin’ pretty to come to town.”
“Hey Bearman, what’s your hurry?” the second said, as two more boys came out of the pool hall.
One of them pinched his nostrils together. “Ooh, Bearman, you have GOT to do something about that stink. Shit don’t stink as bad as you do, Bearman. Maybe that’s from bein’ up there in the hills with all them animals.”
“What exactly is it you do up there with them animals, them bears and everything?” the first speaker said. Billy saw that the first boy had put himself between the one they called Bearman and the pick-up truck. The fourth member of the group joined in now and Billy realized that what he was hearing and seeing wasn’t like the kidding around he heard every day at school. He shivered, only partly because he had no jacket and the night was cool. There was something ugly, something scary about what was happening.
The four boys had Bearman surrounded. So far Bearman hadn’t said anything, and it was impossible in the darkness of the street for Billy to know what the dark face was showing.
“Hey, Bearman, nice truck, yeah, real nice truck.” The fourth boy’s voice was nasal and irritating. “I sure wish you wouldn’t park it next to my car, though, Bearman. I’d hate for that shit stink of yours to get all over my car.”
Billy looked at the car that was parked next to the pick-up truck. It was red, a sports car of some kind, and for a second he wondered how four people could fit inside. His attention came back to the scene on the street as Bearman tried to push his way through the ring that encircled him. One boy stepped aside as if to allow him to pass, then stuck the pool cue he was holding between Bearman’s legs. Bearman fell hard on the pavement and the four boys laughed and closed the circle back in on him.
“Now, I don’t want to have to tell you again,” the tall one said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to bring your shit truck and your shit stink to town, so I don’t wanna see you here anymore, you understand me, Bearman?”
Bearman had got up on one knee. Billy still hadn’t heard him say anything. As Bearman struggled to rise, one of the boys, Billy couldn’t tell which one, raised a pool cue over his head.
“Hey!” Billy stepped out from the shadow of the café.
All four of them turned to face him.
“What do you want, you little puke?” One started toward Billy.
“There’s . . . there’s a cop in the restaurant and he’s coming out.” Billy looked over his shoulder as if he were watching someone through the window of the café.
“All right, let’s go.” The tall boy jerked his thumb in the direction of the pool hall and he and his companions disappeared noisily inside.
Billy shrank back into the shadows and watched. Bearman struggled slowly to his feet, not looking at the pool hall or at Billy. He climbed into the truck, started it and backed out into the street. But instead of driving off down the darkened road, he manoeuvred the truck into a position right behind the sports car, inching ahead until his front bumper rested against the back of the car, which gleamed even in the dark of the street.
Billy watched spellbound as Bearman revved the motor of the pick-up truck, then suddenly roared ahead, forcing the sports car up onto the sidewalk. He didn’t stop there. The pick-up’s engine screamed still louder and the sports car shot ahead again.
What followed was like a scene from a war movie. The sports car hit the front wall of the pool hall hard enough that it didn’t stop. The noise was almost as spectacular as the sight of the car disappearing, some of it into the pool hall, the rest beneath the crumbling wall and broken glass of the building. The roar of the pickup’s engine, the shattering of wood and glass and the yelling of the pool players inside turned what had been a sleepy small-town night into a scene of deafening confusion.
Billy yelled “Yes!” as loud as he could yell. He wasn’t sure why he’d done it, but it had felt good to holler, even if no one could possibly have heard him over the noise that seemed to be everywhere.
Bearman backed the truck into the street again, and with his arm resting lightly on the window ledge of the door, looked in the direction of Billy, who still hadn’t come out of the shadow of the building. The street was quieter now, though Billy could still hear enraged voices coming from behind the rubble that had been the front wall of the pool hall.
“Hey, Kid,” Bearman called, “I never saw no cop in that restaurant.”
“Yeah, I know,” Billy said.
“Well, thanks.” Bearman turned as if to drive away, then seemed to change his mind. He looked again at Billy.
“Need a ride some place?” The voice was low, and though angry shouts were still coming from behind what used to be a pool room, Bearman spoke as if he were asking about the weather.
Billy made up his mind instantly.
“Yeah!” He dashed out of the shadows to the passenger side of the pick-up.
As he climbed in, he saw the owner of
