Rolling Thunder

And crazy Skippy is back.

“You must think I’m a fucking moron, Asshill. I know all the fucking tricks. I went to the police academy, remember?”

I tug on a baggy pair of swim trunks: Tommy Bahamas that hit me mid-thigh. White tropical flowers and green ferns on washed-out black fabric. It could be worse. The SWAT team lady could’ve brought me a Speedo.

“I’m good to go,” I say.

My dressing circle parts.

“Okay, Skip. Danny’s dressed. He’s coming over.”

“Put Ceepak on the line.”

“I’m not sure if Officer Ceepak is here right now.”

“Put him on the goddamn line or I’ll send one of the fucking girls out the door dead.”

“Hang on.”

Ceepak steps forward. Parkhill unclips his tiny microphone, hands it to him.

“This is Ceepak.”

“That motherfucker tried to lie to me. Said you weren’t there.”

“How can I help you, Skip?”

“You have to promise me something.”

“What?”

“That you will not follow Danny! That you won’t sneak up behind him so you can bust in here and ream me out again like you did that time in the middle of goddamn Ocean Avenue where everybody and their brother could see what a dipshit you thought I was.”

“I will not follow Danny.”

“You still live by that stupid code? The one Santucci used to rag you about?”

“Affirmative.”

“So you can’t lie to me, right?”

“Correct.”

“So when you say you won’t follow, Danny.…”

“You have my word. I will not follow Danny.”

“Okay. Good. You’re a good cop, Mr. Ceepak. I could’ve become a good cop, too. Right?”

“Yes, Skip. You could have.”

“Could” being the operative word in that sentence. Hell, anybody can. Skippy, however, didn’t.

Parkhill gives us a “let’s move on” hand signal.

“Danny is on his way,” says Ceepak. “Here is Officer Parkhill.” He hands the microphone back to the negotiator.

“Okay, Skip. Danny’s coming over.”

I make my way out of the food booth, hit the boardwalk, pause, and take in a deep breath. I’ve got twenty yards of open planking to cross before I enter the Rolling Thunder. I’ve also got goose-bumps-and not because it’s 65 degrees and I’m half naked.

What if Skippy’s still jealous about me getting the cop job he always wanted? What if this swim trunks deal is just his twisted way of making me an easy, unarmed target?

I’m about to start walking again when somebody taps me on the shoulder.

Ceepak.

“Which way are you going?” he asks.

I point at the entryway to the Rolling Thunder roller coaster. The jagged thunderbolt neons are dead ahead.

“Good. I’ll go out the back way, crawl underneath the boardwalk, find that access panel. I just wanted to make sure you and I weren’t taking the same route.”

In other words, he’s keeping his word.

He’s not following me.

He’s just covering my ass.

41

I have to step over Dominic Santucci’s body.

I also have to not puke.

Skippy blew open the poor guy’s guts. I’m reminded of how Santucci was there the day I saw my first dead body ever, on the Tilt A Whirl in Sunnyside Playland. Now, I’m looking down at his. There’s a swarm of flies flitting over his black and bloody intestines.

I have to keep moving.

I climb up the short ramp to the covered waiting shed and I see Skippy’s second victim. This time I want to cry. The guy was just a kid in a black heavy metal T-shirt who watched too many movies and, to mangle some Springsteen lyrics, tried to walk like the heroes he thought he had to be.

Guess you could say the same about me.

I keep walking. Toward the stranded roller coaster.

Toward the control room.

The door creaks open. There’s nothing but blackness on the other side.

“Danny?” It’s Skippy.

“Yeah.”

“You look ridiculous, man.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m just yanking your chain, pal. Try wearing a skirt to work everyday.”

Right. Mr. O’Malley never missed an opportunity to humiliate his son on a daily basis.

“I’m like Ceepak,” says Skippy. “I never lie. So, as promised, I’m sending out one of the girls.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

“Go,” he yells. “Now!

Richard Heimsack stumbles out of the dark doorway. I think Skippy shoved him. He shields his eyes with a hand. Guess Skippy doused the lights inside the control hut so the snipers couldn’t see him, even though they probably could with night vision scopes. Anyway, the darkness in the metal box means the flashbooms will be more effective than the sunshine blinding Richard Heimsack right now.

“Keep moving,” I say to the college kid through clenched teeth.

“I …”

“Keep moving, man. Don’t look back. Take good care of Sam, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”

He rushes past me.

“Look at him run. Biggest pussy in the bunch. Heimsack. What a name. I called him Ballsack even though he doesn’t have any. Come on, Danny. Come on in.”

He gives me a big smile and a happy hand gesture like we’re both ten again and he’s inviting me to climb into the giant sand castle he just built on the beach.

I make my way across the parked roller coaster. I chance a glance under the tracks. I don’t see Ceepak. Then again, he had a much longer distance to travel, most of it on his belly.

I go through the open door in the middle of the twenty-foot-long, ten-foot-deep aluminum-sided rectangle.

Ceepak’s gonna need good aim to toss a grenade from the front end of the first roller coaster car into this