Arcade Catastrophe
Page 12
“Sure,” Nate said, taking out a token.
Trevor claimed a machine on one side of the kid, Nate on the other. Nate and Trevor inserted their tokens. The kid swiped what looked like a credit card through a card reader above the token slot.
“What’s that?” Nate asked.
The kid held up the card. “If you’re going to play a lot, you can buy a card from the counter and use it instead of tokens.”
“Seems easier.”
“It is. You guys ready?”
“Ready,” Trevor said.
Nate punched the start button. Basketballs rolled his way. The hoop wasn’t too far away, but he missed his first shot. The second shot clanged off the rim. The third went in. He tried not to notice the kid beside him shooting balls twice as fast and hardly missing. Nate kept shooting, missing plenty.
Just as Nate started sinking shots with regularity, the hoop slid back for the three-point finale. Nate made only one shot at that distance. His final score was 27. The machine rewarded him by spitting out three tickets.
Nate looked over to see that Trevor had scored 33. The other kid had tallied 101. His machine was gushing tickets again.
“How many tickets are coming out?” Nate asked.
“You get fifty for breaking a hundred,” the kid replied. “The record today is at 114. I put it there. If you break that, the jackpot is 300. They reset the record to 80 every morning.”
“How many tickets do you have?” Nate asked.
“Right now, around eleven hundred. Plus your three. And his four.”
Nate tore off his three tickets and handed them over. “Why so many tickets?” he asked. “What are you saving up for?”
The kid suddenly looked a little shifty. “I don’t know. One of the big prizes, I guess.”
“Like what?” Trevor wondered. “The guitar?”
“Something like that,” the kid replied vaguely. “You guys want to try me again?”
“Why risk all your tickets?” Nate asked.
The kid shrugged. “It isn’t much of a risk, and I get a few extra. Plus I get bored shooting alone.”
“I’ll try again,” Nate said.
“Sure,” Trevor agreed.
Nate shot faster this time. He felt like he had a better feel for it. By the end he had scored 36. Trevor scored 41. The kid had 108.
Nate tore off his four tickets and handed them over.
“You’re not letting him steal your tickets?” asked a voice from behind.
Nate turned. A kid in a Giants cap stood beside a girl with dark hair. They looked about his age. Maybe a little older.
“I knew I’d probably lose,” Nate explained.
The hat kid laughed. “Definitely, not probably. Nobody beats Roman.”
Nate looked over. “Is that your name? I’m Nate.”
“Trevor,” Trevor added from the other side.
Roman nodded at them.
“How many are you up to?” the hat kid asked Roman.
“Low forties,” he replied.
“Low forties?” Trevor asked. “You have over a thousand tickets.”
“He means more than forty thousand,” the girl said.
“Forty thousand?” Nate exclaimed. “Are you compulsive or something? Like one of those gamblers who can’t quit?”
After glaring at the girl, the hat kid turned to Nate. “He’s not addicted. He’s just really good. Something you wouldn’t know about.”
“How good are you?” Nate shot back, feeling insulted. “You on the arcade basketball pro tour?”
“I’m better than you,” the hat kid replied. “Look, you should get lost, we need to talk to Roman.”
Nate knew he should be focused on reconnaissance, but the rudeness was too blatant to ignore. “How about you beat me at basketball first? One game. You on one side, Roman on the other.”
The hat kid chuckled. “I don’t need four tickets.”
“I have more than nineteen dollars in tokens. Whoever wins gets them along with my tickets. If I win, I get Roman’s tickets and whatever you can offer.”
The hat kid glanced at Roman, who shrugged.
“Okay,” the hat kid said. He produced a card like the one Roman was using. “There’s more than a hundred dollars in tokens on here. You beat me, you keep it. If Roman beats me, I’ll buy him lunch.”
“Deal,” Nate said, pulling out a stick of Peak Performance gum and putting it in his mouth.
“You in too?” the hat kid asked Trevor.
Trevor raised both hands. “I’ll just watch.”
The hat kid walked to the game beside Nate and swiped his card.
“What’s your name?” Nate asked.
“Chris,” he said, “but you can call me daddy.”
“We’ll see,” Nate said, inserting a token.
“You guys ready?” Roman asked.
They all hit their start buttons.
Nate grabbed his first ball. The hoop looked enormous, and incredibly close. He began shooting rapidly, never bobbling when he grabbed a new ball, never waiting for the previous shot to drop before grabbing another. He realized he could do it faster if he alternated shots between his left and right hand, but decided that his unending string of swishes was conspicuous enough.
As the hoop retracted to the three-point distance, Nate kept making shots while it was in motion. He continued to drain one after another for three points each. When the buzzer sounded, he had not missed a single shot. He hadn’t even touched the rim. Chris had scored 92. Roman had earned 109. Nate had 140.
A siren went off as tickets unspooled from all three basketball machines. After the tickets stopped for Chris and Roman, Nate’s kept coming.
“I don’t believe it,” Roman said in awe. “Were you scamming me?”
“How’d you do that?” Chris accused.
“Didn’t seem hard, daddy,” Nate said, suppressing a smile. “The hoop is close. How’d you miss so many?”
Chris scowled.
“I’m not sure ‘daddy’ suits you,” Nate went on. “Maybe granddaddy?”
“What’s your best all-time score?” Chris asked Roman.
“A hundred and seventeen. Yours?”
“One-ten. How’d this joker shoot 140?”
“Maybe grandmommy?” Nate tried.
“I was watching,” the girl said. “He was really fast, and he never missed. Not once.”
“Let me see your hand,” Chris said, stepping close and grabbing Nate by the wrist. He apparently didn’t find what he was looking for, so he checked the other hand. Nate didn’t resist the inspection.
Trevor claimed a machine on one side of the kid, Nate on the other. Nate and Trevor inserted their tokens. The kid swiped what looked like a credit card through a card reader above the token slot.
“What’s that?” Nate asked.
The kid held up the card. “If you’re going to play a lot, you can buy a card from the counter and use it instead of tokens.”
“Seems easier.”
“It is. You guys ready?”
“Ready,” Trevor said.
Nate punched the start button. Basketballs rolled his way. The hoop wasn’t too far away, but he missed his first shot. The second shot clanged off the rim. The third went in. He tried not to notice the kid beside him shooting balls twice as fast and hardly missing. Nate kept shooting, missing plenty.
Just as Nate started sinking shots with regularity, the hoop slid back for the three-point finale. Nate made only one shot at that distance. His final score was 27. The machine rewarded him by spitting out three tickets.
Nate looked over to see that Trevor had scored 33. The other kid had tallied 101. His machine was gushing tickets again.
“How many tickets are coming out?” Nate asked.
“You get fifty for breaking a hundred,” the kid replied. “The record today is at 114. I put it there. If you break that, the jackpot is 300. They reset the record to 80 every morning.”
“How many tickets do you have?” Nate asked.
“Right now, around eleven hundred. Plus your three. And his four.”
Nate tore off his three tickets and handed them over. “Why so many tickets?” he asked. “What are you saving up for?”
The kid suddenly looked a little shifty. “I don’t know. One of the big prizes, I guess.”
“Like what?” Trevor wondered. “The guitar?”
“Something like that,” the kid replied vaguely. “You guys want to try me again?”
“Why risk all your tickets?” Nate asked.
The kid shrugged. “It isn’t much of a risk, and I get a few extra. Plus I get bored shooting alone.”
“I’ll try again,” Nate said.
“Sure,” Trevor agreed.
Nate shot faster this time. He felt like he had a better feel for it. By the end he had scored 36. Trevor scored 41. The kid had 108.
Nate tore off his four tickets and handed them over.
“You’re not letting him steal your tickets?” asked a voice from behind.
Nate turned. A kid in a Giants cap stood beside a girl with dark hair. They looked about his age. Maybe a little older.
“I knew I’d probably lose,” Nate explained.
The hat kid laughed. “Definitely, not probably. Nobody beats Roman.”
Nate looked over. “Is that your name? I’m Nate.”
“Trevor,” Trevor added from the other side.
Roman nodded at them.
“How many are you up to?” the hat kid asked Roman.
“Low forties,” he replied.
“Low forties?” Trevor asked. “You have over a thousand tickets.”
“He means more than forty thousand,” the girl said.
“Forty thousand?” Nate exclaimed. “Are you compulsive or something? Like one of those gamblers who can’t quit?”
After glaring at the girl, the hat kid turned to Nate. “He’s not addicted. He’s just really good. Something you wouldn’t know about.”
“How good are you?” Nate shot back, feeling insulted. “You on the arcade basketball pro tour?”
“I’m better than you,” the hat kid replied. “Look, you should get lost, we need to talk to Roman.”
Nate knew he should be focused on reconnaissance, but the rudeness was too blatant to ignore. “How about you beat me at basketball first? One game. You on one side, Roman on the other.”
The hat kid chuckled. “I don’t need four tickets.”
“I have more than nineteen dollars in tokens. Whoever wins gets them along with my tickets. If I win, I get Roman’s tickets and whatever you can offer.”
The hat kid glanced at Roman, who shrugged.
“Okay,” the hat kid said. He produced a card like the one Roman was using. “There’s more than a hundred dollars in tokens on here. You beat me, you keep it. If Roman beats me, I’ll buy him lunch.”
“Deal,” Nate said, pulling out a stick of Peak Performance gum and putting it in his mouth.
“You in too?” the hat kid asked Trevor.
Trevor raised both hands. “I’ll just watch.”
The hat kid walked to the game beside Nate and swiped his card.
“What’s your name?” Nate asked.
“Chris,” he said, “but you can call me daddy.”
“We’ll see,” Nate said, inserting a token.
“You guys ready?” Roman asked.
They all hit their start buttons.
Nate grabbed his first ball. The hoop looked enormous, and incredibly close. He began shooting rapidly, never bobbling when he grabbed a new ball, never waiting for the previous shot to drop before grabbing another. He realized he could do it faster if he alternated shots between his left and right hand, but decided that his unending string of swishes was conspicuous enough.
As the hoop retracted to the three-point distance, Nate kept making shots while it was in motion. He continued to drain one after another for three points each. When the buzzer sounded, he had not missed a single shot. He hadn’t even touched the rim. Chris had scored 92. Roman had earned 109. Nate had 140.
A siren went off as tickets unspooled from all three basketball machines. After the tickets stopped for Chris and Roman, Nate’s kept coming.
“I don’t believe it,” Roman said in awe. “Were you scamming me?”
“How’d you do that?” Chris accused.
“Didn’t seem hard, daddy,” Nate said, suppressing a smile. “The hoop is close. How’d you miss so many?”
Chris scowled.
“I’m not sure ‘daddy’ suits you,” Nate went on. “Maybe granddaddy?”
“What’s your best all-time score?” Chris asked Roman.
“A hundred and seventeen. Yours?”
“One-ten. How’d this joker shoot 140?”
“Maybe grandmommy?” Nate tried.
“I was watching,” the girl said. “He was really fast, and he never missed. Not once.”
“Let me see your hand,” Chris said, stepping close and grabbing Nate by the wrist. He apparently didn’t find what he was looking for, so he checked the other hand. Nate didn’t resist the inspection.
