taffy, which she gave only to his friends. That solidified the little pack. Now, Jimmy panted like a hound dog after the hunt.
“Hey Johnny, did you see that creepy old Mr. DeMarco after you rang the bell?” Jimmy asked, breathless. He always liked to be included in the conversation. If that meant he had to butt in that was fine.
“Nah—was he a Negro?” Johnny asked, taking no offense at Jimmy’s change of topic. He was used to the ways of his pack.
“Probably,” Kevin said.
“No, but he must have been a hundred ten years old. His hair looked like steel wool. Long gray strands would break off if you touched them.”
“Are you pulling my leg Jimmy?” Johnny asked, ready to thump Jimmy if he were. Johnny was not too swift, but he was mean as a dog when he got riled. That was one reason why he had cronies who followed him around.
“Nah,” Jimmy said a little intimidated. “Ask Billy, he saw it too.”
“He’s not fibbin’ Johnny,” Billy Hawkins said. “I seen the guy too. He looked real mean, like he might kill someone. Boy he was old. His front teeth was missing, and his nails were yellow as pee. Like a dead man, if you know what I mean. I ain’t kiddin’.”
Each let out a sigh of astonishment. All except Johnny.
“You’re such a liar Billy,” Johnny finally said.
“It’s true,” Billy and Jimmy replied in unison. Billy added, “Swear on my mother’s grave.” The other boys knew Billy’s mother wasn’t dead. They also knew what it meant when one of them used this retort. If it was a lie, the person who they swore upon was supposed to die. If you used your mother, it meant you were telling the truth.
“Okay,” Johnny said. “Let’s play ledge.” He bounced his rubber ball against the ledge and caught it.
“Yeah,” a couple of boys screamed out.
Kevin put his hands over his ears.
As they started playing, Johnny said, “Let’s make this game worth something.” It was not unusual for them to bet on games or points. Nothing too expensive, a few cents, or a piece of candy usually. “We’ll do it right. No sissy bets. Let’s bet for dares.”
“What do you mean?” Jimmy looked dumb since all the other boys seemed to understand.
“Well, let’s bet a dare—whoever loses has to do the dare,” Johnny said.
They would do it, he knew—he was the leader—they all followed him on blind faith, pure and simple, like they did with their parents.
“I think I need to go home.” Billy knew he was terrible at ledge.
“No way!” Johnny’s face went all twisted and mean. “Everyone has to play.”
All the boys tossed pennies to see who would go first. Johnny’s landed closest, then Kevin’s. The last three players were Tony, Jimmy and Billy.
Johnny got to throw the rubber ball until he didn’t score anymore, or until he missed catching it, which took a few minutes. The object was to reach one hundred points, so his scoring sixty points was exceedingly good. Especially since most were five pointers.
Now it was Kevin’s turn to throw. Since he was small for ten years old, and awkward, he didn’t throw the ball the correct way, underhanded. He pitched it overhand to get it to the ledge. It hit too hard. Shooting back in an arc so high and far that he had to run five feet behind it to catch it. But though he almost tripped over his own feet he caught the ball. Five points.
“Hey—I had to run to get that one—I should get ten points,” Kevin suggested, trying to persuade the other boys.
“It hit the lower ledge—five points,” Johnny said acting as referee. “It doesn’t matter anyway, I’m gonna win.”
“No way,” the three other boys said. Meaning Kevin lost and only got five points. Even Billy was on Johnny’s side—probably because Billy was just a little better at the game than Kevin. With ten points for the throw, Kevin might beat him. There was no way Billy wanted that, especially when the winner—Johnny of course—got to pick the
“Hey Johnny, did you see that creepy old Mr. DeMarco after you rang the bell?” Jimmy asked, breathless. He always liked to be included in the conversation. If that meant he had to butt in that was fine.
“Nah—was he a Negro?” Johnny asked, taking no offense at Jimmy’s change of topic. He was used to the ways of his pack.
“Probably,” Kevin said.
“No, but he must have been a hundred ten years old. His hair looked like steel wool. Long gray strands would break off if you touched them.”
“Are you pulling my leg Jimmy?” Johnny asked, ready to thump Jimmy if he were. Johnny was not too swift, but he was mean as a dog when he got riled. That was one reason why he had cronies who followed him around.
“Nah,” Jimmy said a little intimidated. “Ask Billy, he saw it too.”
“He’s not fibbin’ Johnny,” Billy Hawkins said. “I seen the guy too. He looked real mean, like he might kill someone. Boy he was old. His front teeth was missing, and his nails were yellow as pee. Like a dead man, if you know what I mean. I ain’t kiddin’.”
Each let out a sigh of astonishment. All except Johnny.
“You’re such a liar Billy,” Johnny finally said.
“It’s true,” Billy and Jimmy replied in unison. Billy added, “Swear on my mother’s grave.” The other boys knew Billy’s mother wasn’t dead. They also knew what it meant when one of them used this retort. If it was a lie, the person who they swore upon was supposed to die. If you used your mother, it meant you were telling the truth.
“Okay,” Johnny said. “Let’s play ledge.” He bounced his rubber ball against the ledge and caught it.
“Yeah,” a couple of boys screamed out.
Kevin put his hands over his ears.
As they started playing, Johnny said, “Let’s make this game worth something.” It was not unusual for them to bet on games or points. Nothing too expensive, a few cents, or a piece of candy usually. “We’ll do it right. No sissy bets. Let’s bet for dares.”
“What do you mean?” Jimmy looked dumb since all the other boys seemed to understand.
“Well, let’s bet a dare—whoever loses has to do the dare,” Johnny said.
They would do it, he knew—he was the leader—they all followed him on blind faith, pure and simple, like they did with their parents.
“I think I need to go home.” Billy knew he was terrible at ledge.
“No way!” Johnny’s face went all twisted and mean. “Everyone has to play.”
All the boys tossed pennies to see who would go first. Johnny’s landed closest, then Kevin’s. The last three players were Tony, Jimmy and Billy.
Johnny got to throw the rubber ball until he didn’t score anymore, or until he missed catching it, which took a few minutes. The object was to reach one hundred points, so his scoring sixty points was exceedingly good. Especially since most were five pointers.
Now it was Kevin’s turn to throw. Since he was small for ten years old, and awkward, he didn’t throw the ball the correct way, underhanded. He pitched it overhand to get it to the ledge. It hit too hard. Shooting back in an arc so high and far that he had to run five feet behind it to catch it. But though he almost tripped over his own feet he caught the ball. Five points.
“Hey—I had to run to get that one—I should get ten points,” Kevin suggested, trying to persuade the other boys.
“It hit the lower ledge—five points,” Johnny said acting as referee. “It doesn’t matter anyway, I’m gonna win.”
“No way,” the three other boys said. Meaning Kevin lost and only got five points. Even Billy was on Johnny’s side—probably because Billy was just a little better at the game than Kevin. With ten points for the throw, Kevin might beat him. There was no way Billy wanted that, especially when the winner—Johnny of course—got to pick the
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