lifting a sledgehammer.
“And these,” Randy said.
“Baseball bats?”
Mose shrugged.
“The idea is to
bring
that boat up, not smash it up.”
Tough Boy frowned. “Aw, man, I thought we was going bus’ um up. Would be more fun, ah?” The morning sun gleamed in his brown eyes.
“What we really brought those bats for is for your friend,” Rico said. “Him and those punks, they show up again.”
“Let’s hope they don’t.”
“No,” Mose said, taking a bat from Randy. “Let’s hope they do.”
Billy, Tough Boy, and I put on bamboo goggles and went down first. Rico’s wound, luckily, hadn’t gotten infected from his jump into the dirty water. Today I told him, “Stay out. We’ll hand you stuff and you can pile it up somewhere.”
“Fine,” he said. “But you need me, you say so, ah?”
“You got it.”
I was glad to have those bamboo goggles, even though they were the old-style Japanese kind. The water was murky. We needed all the help we could get.
Since it was impossible for us to get the engine out, we concentrated on the easy parts, anything to lighten the load, whatever we could take out or off.
We removed the tiller arm, the canvas tarp Papa sometimes used for shade, and a bucket of lead weights. Rico set them out in the dirt and weeds to dry out. A bite at a time, I kept thinking, a bite at a time.
Speaking of bites, it was two o’clock and I was starving.
“Anybody bring food?” I said.
We glanced at each other.
“How’s about water?”
Nobody. How dumb was that? I thought, shaking my head. For sure, I wouldn’t forget next time, but for now we had empty hands and empty stomachs.
We searched our soggy pockets and between us came up with one dollar and forty-two cents.
“Rico,” Mose said. “Try see what you can buy with this. Go the Chinese store up McCully. You know the one?”
“What should I get?”
“T-bone steak,” Tough Boy said.
Rico grinned. “You like that well done?”
“Raw, like a man.”
“Pfff,” Rico said. He headed toward the street.
Halfway across the field, he stopped.
Right on time, I thought, sighing. This was getting old.
Mose, Tough Boy, and Randy picked up the bats.
“How come those punks always know when we’re here?” Mose said. “Spying on us, or what?”
“Let um come,” Tough Boy said. “They can spy this bat up close.”
There were nine of them this time, Keet striding like a rooster out in front with that same sharpened stick. His eyes were pinched. Birds pecking in the dirt rose and flew off in his path.
No matter how tough Mose and Tough Boy talked, if things got ugly, we’d be the ones getting hurt, not those nine guys. So far Keet Wilson was pretty much all talk. But now he had bigger backup.
They spread out, silent.
Keet stopped about five feet out. He looked at me.
No way would I speak first.
Finally, he said, “You never did listen. Neither does your mama. I tell her how to make my bed and she always does it wrong. Must be something messed up about you people … some part of your brains missing?”
Rico snapped. “Beat it, haole, before I broke your face. You starting to make me mad.”
Keet’s grin vanished.
His army closed in.
Keet flinched when Mose tossed Rico a bat, his eyes never straying off Keet’s.
“Pssh,” Rico spat. “Scared, ah, you? How’s about you and me go man to man? Ah? What you say? Just us two. Come on, we go.”
Keet shoved Rico.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Billy said, stepping between them. “This is stupid.”
Keet spat on Rico’s foot.
Rico pulled the bat back to take a swing at Keet’s head.
Every club, stick, and baseball bat flew up, ready.
“Stop!” Billy shouted. “Just hold on.”
Nobody moved. In the distance a siren wailed, but not for us.
“Why get everybody into this?” Billy said. “Let Keet and Rico go at it alone, like Rico said. Man-to-man, with no weapons. No need for all of us to fight.”
Still, nobody moved. You could almost hear
“And these,” Randy said.
“Baseball bats?”
Mose shrugged.
“The idea is to
bring
that boat up, not smash it up.”
Tough Boy frowned. “Aw, man, I thought we was going bus’ um up. Would be more fun, ah?” The morning sun gleamed in his brown eyes.
“What we really brought those bats for is for your friend,” Rico said. “Him and those punks, they show up again.”
“Let’s hope they don’t.”
“No,” Mose said, taking a bat from Randy. “Let’s hope they do.”
Billy, Tough Boy, and I put on bamboo goggles and went down first. Rico’s wound, luckily, hadn’t gotten infected from his jump into the dirty water. Today I told him, “Stay out. We’ll hand you stuff and you can pile it up somewhere.”
“Fine,” he said. “But you need me, you say so, ah?”
“You got it.”
I was glad to have those bamboo goggles, even though they were the old-style Japanese kind. The water was murky. We needed all the help we could get.
Since it was impossible for us to get the engine out, we concentrated on the easy parts, anything to lighten the load, whatever we could take out or off.
We removed the tiller arm, the canvas tarp Papa sometimes used for shade, and a bucket of lead weights. Rico set them out in the dirt and weeds to dry out. A bite at a time, I kept thinking, a bite at a time.
Speaking of bites, it was two o’clock and I was starving.
“Anybody bring food?” I said.
We glanced at each other.
“How’s about water?”
Nobody. How dumb was that? I thought, shaking my head. For sure, I wouldn’t forget next time, but for now we had empty hands and empty stomachs.
We searched our soggy pockets and between us came up with one dollar and forty-two cents.
“Rico,” Mose said. “Try see what you can buy with this. Go the Chinese store up McCully. You know the one?”
“What should I get?”
“T-bone steak,” Tough Boy said.
Rico grinned. “You like that well done?”
“Raw, like a man.”
“Pfff,” Rico said. He headed toward the street.
Halfway across the field, he stopped.
Right on time, I thought, sighing. This was getting old.
Mose, Tough Boy, and Randy picked up the bats.
“How come those punks always know when we’re here?” Mose said. “Spying on us, or what?”
“Let um come,” Tough Boy said. “They can spy this bat up close.”
There were nine of them this time, Keet striding like a rooster out in front with that same sharpened stick. His eyes were pinched. Birds pecking in the dirt rose and flew off in his path.
No matter how tough Mose and Tough Boy talked, if things got ugly, we’d be the ones getting hurt, not those nine guys. So far Keet Wilson was pretty much all talk. But now he had bigger backup.
They spread out, silent.
Keet stopped about five feet out. He looked at me.
No way would I speak first.
Finally, he said, “You never did listen. Neither does your mama. I tell her how to make my bed and she always does it wrong. Must be something messed up about you people … some part of your brains missing?”
Rico snapped. “Beat it, haole, before I broke your face. You starting to make me mad.”
Keet’s grin vanished.
His army closed in.
Keet flinched when Mose tossed Rico a bat, his eyes never straying off Keet’s.
“Pssh,” Rico spat. “Scared, ah, you? How’s about you and me go man to man? Ah? What you say? Just us two. Come on, we go.”
Keet shoved Rico.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Billy said, stepping between them. “This is stupid.”
Keet spat on Rico’s foot.
Rico pulled the bat back to take a swing at Keet’s head.
Every club, stick, and baseball bat flew up, ready.
“Stop!” Billy shouted. “Just hold on.”
Nobody moved. In the distance a siren wailed, but not for us.
“Why get everybody into this?” Billy said. “Let Keet and Rico go at it alone, like Rico said. Man-to-man, with no weapons. No need for all of us to fight.”
Still, nobody moved. You could almost hear
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