Fun House

“Why not?”

Another shrug. “I took the night off.”

Ceepak gives Marty Mandrake his trademark slow and quizzical head tilt-it’s very similar to how a dog will cock its head when it doesn’t understand what you mean by repeating “roll over” over and over.

“You ever take a night off, officer?” Mandrake says with a wink.

Ceepak doesn’t wink back.

“I let Layla and Rutger run things.”

Ceepak takes a step forward. “Where exactly were you, Mr. Mandrake?”

“What?”

Ceepak whips out his trusty notebook and stubby pencil. “We need to account for everybody’s whereabouts.”

“You saying I need an alibi?”

“No. I am asking: ‘Where were you last night?’”

“I was down in Atlantic City. Trust me-I left a trail of credit card charges. A very deep trail. Satisfied?”

“For now. Yes.”

Now Ceepak turns to Layla.

“Were you at the club, Ms. Shapiro? Big Kahuna’s.”

“For the pre-light and first roll. I, too, needed a night off.”

“And where were you?”

She doesn’t give Ceepak any guff, because she just saw how well that tactic worked for her boss.

“I had a date.”

“With whom?”

“A guy.”

“Does this ‘guy’ have a name?”

“They usually do.”

Ceepak waits. Me, too. Curious to see who has replaced me in the whoo-hoo department.

“Phil. No, I’m sorry. Bill. Billy. I met him at the bar.”

“Do you have proof to substantiate your claim?”

“You want to see the used condom?”

Ceepak’s face reddens. “A local phone number will suffice.”

She pulls out her iPhone. Diddles her fingers across the glass.

“I’ll text you the text he texted me after I sent him home at three. Parental discretion is advised. Billy’s totally into sexting. You do not want to open the attachments.”

In my pocket, I can feel my cell vibrating. I let it roll into the message center.

Ceepak puts away his note pad.

“Where is the dance club footage?”

“Still in the cameras,” says Mandrake. “The crew worked late. Didn’t wrap until three, maybe four in the morning. We had to give them an eight-hour turnaround. It’s a union rule. And then boom: Unit Two is down on the boardwalk, covering you guys doing your thing in the Knock ’Em Down booth; Rutger’s here at the house rolling on reactions from Soozy; Unit Three’s down on Ocean Avenue with Jenny.”

“We’ll talk to Mr. Reinhertz first,” says Ceepak.

“Rutger?” Mandrake makes a big deal of looking at his watch. “Jesus, guys-you’re killing me. We’re on a tight schedule.”

“Us too,” says Ceepak. “We’ll be with Mr. Reinhertz.”

Ceepak and I head out the door and tromp down the metal steps. We start hoofing it around the corner, heading for the Fun House.

Suddenly, Ceepak stops in his tracks.

So I stop too.

Ceepak looks me square in the eyes. I have never seen so much parental concern; especially not from my parents.

“I’m sorry that didn’t work out, Danny.”

“Huh?”

He nods back toward the trailer. “Ms. Shapiro. Rita and I both imagined that you two might become romantically involved.”

I shrug. “We only dated a few times.”

Ceepak stuffs his hands into his pockets. Drops his head slightly. We shuffle up the block. All of a sudden, I feel like I’m on the cover of an L.L. Bean catalog, walking in the woods of Maine, having a man-to-man chat with my dad, who would never actually talk with me this much about “girl trouble.” He’d just tell me to go see my mother or send me to the library to ask for a brochure.

“Given how you two met,” Ceepak continues, “it is understandable that there would be an immediate and overwhelming physical attraction.”

He means the fact that Layla Shapiro and I had met when, together, we defused a very tense hostage situation in the control room of the Rolling Thunder roller coaster. And, by defused, I mean we both could’ve been killed.

“Yeah,” I say. “They say an adrenaline rush is a surefire aphrodisiac.”

Ceepak nods. “But now young faces grow sad and old and hearts of fire grow cold.”

I grin. The big lug has the heart of a poet. Or, at least, he knows how to borrow from one: Springsteen.

We say no more. We don’t have to. The Boss and his music fill in all the gaps.

We keep walking.

Then Ceepak stops again.

There’s a light bulb over his head. It’s a street lamp, but I can tell he’s having an idea too.

14

“We need to contact Gus Davis,” says Ceepak.

“He was working the security detail last night?”

“Roger that. He would have been at the dance club with the cast. Might be able to fill us in on any details about what transpired there.”

We move into a patch of shade under one of the few trees on the block so Ceepak can read his cell phone screen. He puts it on speakerphone mode so I can hear.

“I quit,” are the first words out of Gus’s mouth, before Ceepak says anything.

“Gus, this is John Ceepak.”

“Yeah, I know. My grandkids figured out how to make this caller I.D. thing work. Freaking phone company.”

“Danny and I need to ask you a few questions.”

“You want to know how freaking sick I am of baby-sitting those drunken ding-dongs? You want to know how much I don’t need their royal pain in my butt? They’re freaking animals. You don’t need retired cops running security; you need zookeepers.”

“Gus, have you heard the news this morning?”

“What? That crap about the school board?”

“No. Paul Braciole. From Fun House.”

“Paulie. He the one with the drug problem? Always wants to flash you his high beams?”

“10-4.”

“What about him?”