Funland - By Richard Laymon Page 0,7

booth were crowded to the ceiling with brightly colored stuffed animals. “Step right over here,” she said. “Come on, lover boy, don’t be shy.” She tossed a softball from hand to hand. One foot was propped up on the low wall at the front of the booth. Her legs looked sleek. A money apron draped her lap like a towel, hiding whatever shorts she must be wearing. Her breasts, loose under her tank top, swayed from side to side as she tossed and caught the ball. “A dollar buys a throw. Knock the bottles down, you win a prize. You can’t win if you don’t try.”

Blushing, Jeremy shook his head, mumbled, “No, thanks,” and hurried away.

Should’ve tried it, he thought. Shit. Now she’ll think I’m a dip.

I could’ve gotten a better look at her, too. Her face wasn’t any great shakes, but the rest of her…

“Heya, bud.”

Jeremy stopped fast as a bum sidestepped into his path and grinned brown teeth.

“Heya, bud. Gimme a quarter, huh? You’re a good kid, huh? Know what I mean?” He reached out a grimy hand. “A quarter ain’t gonna bust you, huh? Give a guy a break.”

Jeremy felt as if ice had been jammed against his groin. “I don’t have a quarter,” he said. His voice sounded whiny. “Sorry.”

“Gimme a buck, kid.” The bum’s waiting hand jiggled up and down. “You’re a good kid, huh? I ain’t had a bite to—”

“Fuck off, dog turd!”

Jeremy flinched and staggered backward as someone lunged past him and whapped the bum in the face with a cowboy hat.

“Get outta here! Get! Vamoose.”

The bum, ducking and covering his head, rushed away.

The kid—he looked about Jeremy’s age or a little older—frowned and brushed off the crown of his hat. “Now I’ve got his fucking cooties on it,” he muttered.

“Sorry,” Jeremy said.

“That’s how you’ve gotta treat these scum-suckers.” He mashed the hat onto his head and swept his hands along the brim to tighten its curl. Smiling, he held out a hand to Jeremy. “Name’s Gibson. George Gibson. My buddies call me Cowboy.”

Jeremy shook his hand. The kid gave it a hard squeeze. “I’m Jeremy. Jeremy Wayne.”

“Hey, Wayne—like the Duke.”

“Yeah. Thanks for getting rid of that creep.”

“No sweat, Duke. Mind if I call you Duke? Jeremy’s kind of a wimp name, but you already know that, don’t you. Just like George. I hate that name George. You with someone?”

Jeremy hesitated. The kid seemed friendly, but maybe he was up to something. Maybe he was even in with the bum, and this was some kind of a trick they pulled to get money out of suckers. Or maybe he wanted to get Jeremy off somewhere and mug him. Or maybe he was a fag.

“Hey, you’re here with your squeeze, just say the word. She in the can or something?”

“I’m here by myself,” Jeremy admitted.

Cowboy slapped his arm. “Hot damn, so am I. I’ll show you around. You look like a guy could use a friend.”

“I don’t know. I…”

“Let’s go. Head ’em up, move ’em out.”

Cowboy turned away and started walking, his boots clumping on the boardwalk. Jeremy stayed at his side. Why not? he thought. The guy seems okay. If all he really wants is to be friends…

“Where you from, Duke?”

“Well, I live here now. We just moved in.”

“Yeah? Where?”

“Here in Boleta Bay.”

“Yeah? Where?”

Does he want my address? “I don’t know,” Jeremy lied. “A few blocks from here. Up on a hill.”

“I live on Lilac Lane. There’s a wimp name for a street, huh? Lilac.”

Jeremy knew the street. It was one block north of Poppy. This kid was a neighbor. “Our place is on Poppy.”

“Well, I’ll be skinned.” He slapped Jeremy’s arm again. “What grade’ll you be going into?”

“I’ll be a junior.”

“Hey, me too!”

“Small world,” Jeremy said. He thought it sounded lame. If he wasn’t careful, Cowboy might get the idea he was a dork. He’d lived with that image long enough. Here was a chance to start fresh, to leave the old Jeremy behind, to be accepted as a regular guy. “Shit,” he said, “I’ve been hoping I’d find someone to do my homework for me.”

“Haw! Bite my butt. You had one of the waffle cones yet?”

Jeremy shook his head.

“Come on, I’m buying.”

At the stand, Cowboy dug a wad of bills out of his jeans, ordered two “Super-Waffles,” and paid for them.

Three-fifty each.

“Gosh, thanks a lot,” Jeremy said as Cowboy handed over one of the treats—a cone of crisp, sweet waffle at least twice the size of a normal sugar cone, and

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