Arcade Catastrophe
Page 17
“Has anyone done it?” Nate asked.
“Nope.”
“Then how do you know it’s possible?” Nate asked.
“Chris found out somehow after he got his stamp,” Roman said. “He was the first person to earn one.”
Nate glanced over his shoulder, taking in the assortment of games spaced around the floor. “What game gives the biggest payout?”
“Shooting Stars,” Roman answered. “But playing is like buying a lottery ticket. The lights all move around in crazy patterns, and you have to get the ten red ones to line up in the middle by freezing them at the perfect time. They move too fast to win with skill. People get tickets off of it, but you’ll average more on games like basketball where skill makes a bigger difference. A lot of those redemption games are basically gambling for kids.”
“Redemption games?”
“The kind that pay out redeemable tickets. Arcade lingo. Look, I better get going.”
“You’re not sticking around?” Nate asked.
Roman shook his head. “I’ll come back in the morning when the high scores are reset. My parents don’t want me here, so I shouldn’t hang around all day. I have to be sneaky, make up excuses for where I’ve been. By the way, if you come in the morning, raise the records slowly. If you set the basketball record too high on the first try, we’ll all earn fewer tickets for the rest of the day. Beat the records little by little and you cash in more.”
“You have this down to a science.”
Roman chuckled. “It has sort of been my summer job.”
“A summer job where you lose all your money.”
Roman snorted. “Exactly. That stamp better be cool. Later.”
He gathered his tickets and left.
Summer walked up to Nate. “Good info. We could overhear most of it. I didn’t want to interrupt. He seemed willing to talk to you.”
“I’m not sure how to read him,” Nate said. “He isn’t super friendly, but he’s been pretty helpful.”
Trevor clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “If we’re here for tickets, we should get started.”
“Should we use the gum?” Summer asked.
They had each set out that morning with two sticks of Peak Performance gum. Nate had used one of his, but Pigeon had given up his two before they separated, so Nate now had three.
“Might as well,” Nate said, pulling out a stick of gum.
Trevor and Summer did likewise.
“We should make the most of it,” Nate instructed. “Split up, play fast. Try not to wait in line. We’ll only get the full effect for fifteen minutes or so.”
“The effect will get weaker the more gum we use,” Summer mentioned.
“True,” Nate said. “Mr. Stott has been trying to make the effect more stable, but the results still shrink the more sticks you chew. Do the trickiest stuff first.”
“Where are you going to start?” Summer asked Trevor.
“I want to break Nate’s basketball record.”
“I’ll stay here and nail targets,” Nate said.
“I’ll go try Shooting Stars,” Summer said.
“There might not be enough skill to it,” Nate warned. “It could be all luck.”
Summer shrugged. “I’ll find out soon enough.” She stuck the gum in her mouth. “I’ve always liked the games where you have to stop the lights in the right spot.”
Nate put the stick in his mouth and started chewing. He had given his tokens to Trevor. Summer had one of his cards with token credits. He had the other. He swiped it and picked up the rifle Roman had been using.
Nate aimed through the window at the circling vultures. The targets seemed absurdly easy to hit. On his first turn, he practiced aiming for different parts of the targets, and found that his rifle shot slightly down and to the left from where he aimed. It wasn’t misaligned enough to miss when pointed at the center of a target, but might be enough to mess up the tiny winking star and the engine window shot.
On his next turn, Nate lit up the four buzzards and the four train cars with casual effort. Then he waited for the star and shot when it appeared. The pinprick of light briefly glared red, which it had not done before, convincing him that he had hit it.
The next time the train came by the other window, Nate sighted barely up and to the right of the engine window. When he squeezed the trigger, every target in the shooting gallery flashed. The piano guy started playing, the raccoon peeked out of the honey pot, the bottles spun, the pans clattered, the rattlesnake rattled, the turtle flipped over, the bear trap snapped shut, and all the other movable elements came to life in a burst of motion, light, and sound.
A siren was wailing. Tickets were unspooling. Evidently Chris had been right about a bonus for hitting all ten targets on a single turn.
A man came up to Nate and clapped him on the shoulder. The man had dark, neatly carved sideburns that widened as they got lower. He wore tinted glasses, western boots, blue jeans, and a button-down cowboy shirt with banjoes embroidered on the front. “How’d you know to do that, son?” he murmured, almost making it an accusation.
“I heard a rumor.”
“Who taught you to shoot like that?”
“I was raised by mountain lions.”
The man gave him skeptical look, followed by a slow smile. “You got a name?”
“Nate.”
“I’m Cleon. You just won a whole mess of tickets. Saving up for anything special?”
“Maybe.”
Another siren went off over by the basketball hoops. Cleon turned to face the pulsing light. “Basketball? That record was up in outer space today!”
A new siren went off in the middle of the game floor. Cleon’s jaw dropped. “You’ve got to be ribbing me! Shooting Stars too?”
“What’s going on?” Nate asked, trying to act confused.
“A storm of big winners,” Cleon said. “Uncanny. Have we been hacked or something? What exactly did you shoot?”
“All the far targets.”
“Including . . . ?”
“The buzzards, the train cars, the star, and the engine window.”
Cleon slapped Nate on the shoulder. “You should have 2,500 tickets coming your way. I’ll be back to make sure they all pay out. We’ve got a plague of winners all of a sudden.”
Cleon walked away toward the Shooting Stars machine. Nate waited as the endless strand of tickets emerged from the dispenser. He grabbed the long ribbon and started folding. A modest crowd had gathered to watch the tickets pay out.
“Nope.”
“Then how do you know it’s possible?” Nate asked.
“Chris found out somehow after he got his stamp,” Roman said. “He was the first person to earn one.”
Nate glanced over his shoulder, taking in the assortment of games spaced around the floor. “What game gives the biggest payout?”
“Shooting Stars,” Roman answered. “But playing is like buying a lottery ticket. The lights all move around in crazy patterns, and you have to get the ten red ones to line up in the middle by freezing them at the perfect time. They move too fast to win with skill. People get tickets off of it, but you’ll average more on games like basketball where skill makes a bigger difference. A lot of those redemption games are basically gambling for kids.”
“Redemption games?”
“The kind that pay out redeemable tickets. Arcade lingo. Look, I better get going.”
“You’re not sticking around?” Nate asked.
Roman shook his head. “I’ll come back in the morning when the high scores are reset. My parents don’t want me here, so I shouldn’t hang around all day. I have to be sneaky, make up excuses for where I’ve been. By the way, if you come in the morning, raise the records slowly. If you set the basketball record too high on the first try, we’ll all earn fewer tickets for the rest of the day. Beat the records little by little and you cash in more.”
“You have this down to a science.”
Roman chuckled. “It has sort of been my summer job.”
“A summer job where you lose all your money.”
Roman snorted. “Exactly. That stamp better be cool. Later.”
He gathered his tickets and left.
Summer walked up to Nate. “Good info. We could overhear most of it. I didn’t want to interrupt. He seemed willing to talk to you.”
“I’m not sure how to read him,” Nate said. “He isn’t super friendly, but he’s been pretty helpful.”
Trevor clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “If we’re here for tickets, we should get started.”
“Should we use the gum?” Summer asked.
They had each set out that morning with two sticks of Peak Performance gum. Nate had used one of his, but Pigeon had given up his two before they separated, so Nate now had three.
“Might as well,” Nate said, pulling out a stick of gum.
Trevor and Summer did likewise.
“We should make the most of it,” Nate instructed. “Split up, play fast. Try not to wait in line. We’ll only get the full effect for fifteen minutes or so.”
“The effect will get weaker the more gum we use,” Summer mentioned.
“True,” Nate said. “Mr. Stott has been trying to make the effect more stable, but the results still shrink the more sticks you chew. Do the trickiest stuff first.”
“Where are you going to start?” Summer asked Trevor.
“I want to break Nate’s basketball record.”
“I’ll stay here and nail targets,” Nate said.
“I’ll go try Shooting Stars,” Summer said.
“There might not be enough skill to it,” Nate warned. “It could be all luck.”
Summer shrugged. “I’ll find out soon enough.” She stuck the gum in her mouth. “I’ve always liked the games where you have to stop the lights in the right spot.”
Nate put the stick in his mouth and started chewing. He had given his tokens to Trevor. Summer had one of his cards with token credits. He had the other. He swiped it and picked up the rifle Roman had been using.
Nate aimed through the window at the circling vultures. The targets seemed absurdly easy to hit. On his first turn, he practiced aiming for different parts of the targets, and found that his rifle shot slightly down and to the left from where he aimed. It wasn’t misaligned enough to miss when pointed at the center of a target, but might be enough to mess up the tiny winking star and the engine window shot.
On his next turn, Nate lit up the four buzzards and the four train cars with casual effort. Then he waited for the star and shot when it appeared. The pinprick of light briefly glared red, which it had not done before, convincing him that he had hit it.
The next time the train came by the other window, Nate sighted barely up and to the right of the engine window. When he squeezed the trigger, every target in the shooting gallery flashed. The piano guy started playing, the raccoon peeked out of the honey pot, the bottles spun, the pans clattered, the rattlesnake rattled, the turtle flipped over, the bear trap snapped shut, and all the other movable elements came to life in a burst of motion, light, and sound.
A siren was wailing. Tickets were unspooling. Evidently Chris had been right about a bonus for hitting all ten targets on a single turn.
A man came up to Nate and clapped him on the shoulder. The man had dark, neatly carved sideburns that widened as they got lower. He wore tinted glasses, western boots, blue jeans, and a button-down cowboy shirt with banjoes embroidered on the front. “How’d you know to do that, son?” he murmured, almost making it an accusation.
“I heard a rumor.”
“Who taught you to shoot like that?”
“I was raised by mountain lions.”
The man gave him skeptical look, followed by a slow smile. “You got a name?”
“Nate.”
“I’m Cleon. You just won a whole mess of tickets. Saving up for anything special?”
“Maybe.”
Another siren went off over by the basketball hoops. Cleon turned to face the pulsing light. “Basketball? That record was up in outer space today!”
A new siren went off in the middle of the game floor. Cleon’s jaw dropped. “You’ve got to be ribbing me! Shooting Stars too?”
“What’s going on?” Nate asked, trying to act confused.
“A storm of big winners,” Cleon said. “Uncanny. Have we been hacked or something? What exactly did you shoot?”
“All the far targets.”
“Including . . . ?”
“The buzzards, the train cars, the star, and the engine window.”
Cleon slapped Nate on the shoulder. “You should have 2,500 tickets coming your way. I’ll be back to make sure they all pay out. We’ve got a plague of winners all of a sudden.”
Cleon walked away toward the Shooting Stars machine. Nate waited as the endless strand of tickets emerged from the dispenser. He grabbed the long ribbon and started folding. A modest crowd had gathered to watch the tickets pay out.
