Arcade Catastrophe
Page 18
By the time the machine had quit, Nate had a sense that all of the tickets were there. He regretted having to wait for them to unspool, since he knew the duration of the Peak Performance gum was limited.
Cleon returned and opened up the ticket dispenser. “There are still some left on the reel,” he announced. “This model only holds 4,000 at a time, so it must have been fairly full when you started. Congratulations.” He closed up the machine and strode away.
Tickets in hand, Nate went to find Summer. As he moved across the floor, the siren went off at the larger basketball game. Trevor had beaten his other record.
Nate found Summer feeding tickets into the counting machine. “I won in three tries,” she said. “The pattern is complicated but not impossible. Five thousand tickets!”
“That’s crazy,” Nate said. “Why waste time counting tickets? Peak Performance doesn’t last long.”
“I have a ton of tickets to drag around,” she said. “Lots of people crowded to see when I won. Won’t I be sort of obvious if I keep winning huge?”
“Who cares? We’re not breaking any rules. Did the jackpot lower after you won?”
“No. It stayed the same.”
“Take my tickets. I want to try before my gum wears off.”
Nate handed over his shooting gallery winnings and hurried to the Shooting Stars machine. A grid composed of hundreds of tiny bulbs twinkled impressively. Each bulb was either white, red, or off. The white lights swirled and cascaded in complex patterns. Among the white lights, ten red lights zipped through the pattern like hyperactive fireflies.
A horizontal line of ten bulbs in the middle of the grid was enclosed by a red rectangle. The rules explained that if you could freeze the display with the ten bulbs lit, you won a hundred tickets. If you could pause the grid while the ten center bulbs were red, you won the jackpot.
Even with his perceptions enhanced by Peak Performance gum, Nate could see that the center bulbs only glowed simultaneously for the briefest instant. And it would require patience, because all of the reds only gathered there roughly once per minute.
The young woman currently playing hit the button to pause the lights and trapped four white ones in the center rectangle. The machine gave her eight tickets.
When she stepped aside, Nate approached the machine. It required two tokens to play. Nate swiped his card. He watched the flashing pattern of lights, finger poised above the button that would halt them.
The reds were about to synchronize. He would have to get it just right. When he hit the button, all ten red bulbs froze, but there was a single bulb outside the rectangle. He realized that there was an infinitesimal delay between the pressing of the button and the stopping of the bulbs.
Nate swiped his card again and waited. Freezing white lights in the rectangle would be simple. But getting all the reds would be tough even with Peak Performance. He would have to hit the button a tiny bit early.
He saw the reds approaching. He hit the button, trapping ten red bulbs inside the rectangle. Sirens shrieked and lights flashed. Two ribbons of tickets began unreeling.
Cleon hurried over. “You again?” he asked, lowering his tinted glasses just enough to stare at Nate directly. “What is going on?”
“Quick reflexes?” Nate tried.
Cleon stepped close. Nate could smell his cologne. “You know we have security cameras? We’ll review your every move.”
“I’m glad,” Nate said. “You’ll see that I won fair and square.”
“Maybe,” Cleon said, hands on his hips. “But whatever trick you and your friends have discovered, you shouldn’t flaunt it so blatantly. We have lots of games here. It’s a fun place. But you’re here chasing something, and that is no game to us, you read me?”
Nate assumed he was referring to the stamps. “Will the machine deliver all my tickets?”
“It will this time,” Cleon replied. “This monster holds two reels of eight thousand each. But we’ll be shutting down Shooting Stars for the night for maintenance. Same with the shooting gallery. You might consider making an exit.”
Nate scrunched his eyebrows. “Are you throwing me out?”
Cleon shrugged. “I’m not going to haul you over and chuck you out the door, but the way I see it, you’ve already passed the point when you should have walked away. Might be about time to run.”
Cleon sauntered off. He returned as the tickets finished streaming out. Cleon shut down the machine, unplugged it, and hung an OUT OF ORDER sign. Nate met up with Summer and Trevor at the ticket tallying machine.
“All of these games seem super easy,” Trevor said. “I broke the record on the football one as well.”
“I won a couple more of the light games,” Summer said. “Smaller jackpots.”
“Has Cleon talked to you?” Nate asked.
“The guy with the sideburns?” Summer asked.
“He seemed suspicious of me,” Trevor said.
“Me too,” Nate said. “He basically told me to beat it.”
“Did you have to go win the biggest jackpot in the place right after me?” Summer asked.
“We’ve all been winning jackpots like it’s easy,” Nate said.
“It was easy,” Trevor muttered.
“But it shouldn’t be,” Nate replied. “We’ve drawn enough attention. Let’s save the rest of our gum and try again tomorrow.”
Nate was feeding his tickets into a machine. It speedily sucked up the long strips. He noted that they went in much more quickly than the other machines spat them out.
“Is it safe to come back here?” Trevor asked in a low voice. “Might have been dumb to win so much so quickly.”
“We know these guys can be dangerous,” Summer added.
“We’ll need to come ready for trouble,” Nate said. “But no way am I quitting the hunt for one of those stamps.”
Chapter Six
Lindy
Pigeon sat across from Mr. Stott in a back room of the candy shop, spooning mouthfuls of chocolate sludge out of a mug. Mr. Stott had invented the rich concoction, which was essentially chocolate milk with loads of chocolate and not enough milk. Though it was too sugary for some people’s taste, Pigeon loved to overdose on the potent treat.
“They’re there now?” Mr. Stott asked.
“That was the plan,” Pigeon said after swallowing. “Nate wanted to start earning tickets. I know him. He’s already determined to win a stamp. Once he sets his mind on something, he’s hard to stop.”
Cleon returned and opened up the ticket dispenser. “There are still some left on the reel,” he announced. “This model only holds 4,000 at a time, so it must have been fairly full when you started. Congratulations.” He closed up the machine and strode away.
Tickets in hand, Nate went to find Summer. As he moved across the floor, the siren went off at the larger basketball game. Trevor had beaten his other record.
Nate found Summer feeding tickets into the counting machine. “I won in three tries,” she said. “The pattern is complicated but not impossible. Five thousand tickets!”
“That’s crazy,” Nate said. “Why waste time counting tickets? Peak Performance doesn’t last long.”
“I have a ton of tickets to drag around,” she said. “Lots of people crowded to see when I won. Won’t I be sort of obvious if I keep winning huge?”
“Who cares? We’re not breaking any rules. Did the jackpot lower after you won?”
“No. It stayed the same.”
“Take my tickets. I want to try before my gum wears off.”
Nate handed over his shooting gallery winnings and hurried to the Shooting Stars machine. A grid composed of hundreds of tiny bulbs twinkled impressively. Each bulb was either white, red, or off. The white lights swirled and cascaded in complex patterns. Among the white lights, ten red lights zipped through the pattern like hyperactive fireflies.
A horizontal line of ten bulbs in the middle of the grid was enclosed by a red rectangle. The rules explained that if you could freeze the display with the ten bulbs lit, you won a hundred tickets. If you could pause the grid while the ten center bulbs were red, you won the jackpot.
Even with his perceptions enhanced by Peak Performance gum, Nate could see that the center bulbs only glowed simultaneously for the briefest instant. And it would require patience, because all of the reds only gathered there roughly once per minute.
The young woman currently playing hit the button to pause the lights and trapped four white ones in the center rectangle. The machine gave her eight tickets.
When she stepped aside, Nate approached the machine. It required two tokens to play. Nate swiped his card. He watched the flashing pattern of lights, finger poised above the button that would halt them.
The reds were about to synchronize. He would have to get it just right. When he hit the button, all ten red bulbs froze, but there was a single bulb outside the rectangle. He realized that there was an infinitesimal delay between the pressing of the button and the stopping of the bulbs.
Nate swiped his card again and waited. Freezing white lights in the rectangle would be simple. But getting all the reds would be tough even with Peak Performance. He would have to hit the button a tiny bit early.
He saw the reds approaching. He hit the button, trapping ten red bulbs inside the rectangle. Sirens shrieked and lights flashed. Two ribbons of tickets began unreeling.
Cleon hurried over. “You again?” he asked, lowering his tinted glasses just enough to stare at Nate directly. “What is going on?”
“Quick reflexes?” Nate tried.
Cleon stepped close. Nate could smell his cologne. “You know we have security cameras? We’ll review your every move.”
“I’m glad,” Nate said. “You’ll see that I won fair and square.”
“Maybe,” Cleon said, hands on his hips. “But whatever trick you and your friends have discovered, you shouldn’t flaunt it so blatantly. We have lots of games here. It’s a fun place. But you’re here chasing something, and that is no game to us, you read me?”
Nate assumed he was referring to the stamps. “Will the machine deliver all my tickets?”
“It will this time,” Cleon replied. “This monster holds two reels of eight thousand each. But we’ll be shutting down Shooting Stars for the night for maintenance. Same with the shooting gallery. You might consider making an exit.”
Nate scrunched his eyebrows. “Are you throwing me out?”
Cleon shrugged. “I’m not going to haul you over and chuck you out the door, but the way I see it, you’ve already passed the point when you should have walked away. Might be about time to run.”
Cleon sauntered off. He returned as the tickets finished streaming out. Cleon shut down the machine, unplugged it, and hung an OUT OF ORDER sign. Nate met up with Summer and Trevor at the ticket tallying machine.
“All of these games seem super easy,” Trevor said. “I broke the record on the football one as well.”
“I won a couple more of the light games,” Summer said. “Smaller jackpots.”
“Has Cleon talked to you?” Nate asked.
“The guy with the sideburns?” Summer asked.
“He seemed suspicious of me,” Trevor said.
“Me too,” Nate said. “He basically told me to beat it.”
“Did you have to go win the biggest jackpot in the place right after me?” Summer asked.
“We’ve all been winning jackpots like it’s easy,” Nate said.
“It was easy,” Trevor muttered.
“But it shouldn’t be,” Nate replied. “We’ve drawn enough attention. Let’s save the rest of our gum and try again tomorrow.”
Nate was feeding his tickets into a machine. It speedily sucked up the long strips. He noted that they went in much more quickly than the other machines spat them out.
“Is it safe to come back here?” Trevor asked in a low voice. “Might have been dumb to win so much so quickly.”
“We know these guys can be dangerous,” Summer added.
“We’ll need to come ready for trouble,” Nate said. “But no way am I quitting the hunt for one of those stamps.”
Chapter Six
Lindy
Pigeon sat across from Mr. Stott in a back room of the candy shop, spooning mouthfuls of chocolate sludge out of a mug. Mr. Stott had invented the rich concoction, which was essentially chocolate milk with loads of chocolate and not enough milk. Though it was too sugary for some people’s taste, Pigeon loved to overdose on the potent treat.
“They’re there now?” Mr. Stott asked.
“That was the plan,” Pigeon said after swallowing. “Nate wanted to start earning tickets. I know him. He’s already determined to win a stamp. Once he sets his mind on something, he’s hard to stop.”
