The next evening Vince, Staples, and I went to play miniature golf. It was another one of Staples’s “brownie point” outings. I wasn’t sure where the phrase “brownie points” came from, but I was starting to pretty much hate it. Because in our case it didn’t involve scoring any points or eating any brownies. For us it simply meant getting slugged in the limbs a lot. Well, okay, maybe Staples had stopped doing that as much now that he knew his sister was mixed up in some sort of school war.

And so, yeah, maybe he wasn’t quite the same bloodthirsty psycho he had been a year ago, but he was still plenty mean when he wanted to be. And being around him made me nervous. I mean, could anyone blame me if I never would truly trust the guy again?

“So I think the next step is that I should meet up with this Ken-Co kid to see if we can make a bargain with him somehow. I mean, paying him back in full will be basically impossible.” I hit my ball toward this ramp that would send it soaring over a mini waterfall. It was a pretty cool mini-golf course that Staples had taken us to; I’d give him that much.

“Wait, you have enough to cover it, don’t you?” Staples said as he watched my ball sail not only over the waterfall but also right over the hole and bounce off some rocks that were technically out of bounds. “I mean, what happened to all your cash? You guys used to be loaded.”

I glanced at Vince, who was pretending to study the hole we were on.

Our dwindling cash supply was a touchy subject with him. Not because he was greedy or obsessed with money, necessarily. He was just overly cautious. It stressed him out anytime our cash dropped under three thousand dollars because a good business always has a lot of disposable cash or something like that. I usually zoned out when Vince would get into one of his financial mumbo-jumbo lectures.

“We’ve spent most of it,” I said. “Some cleaning up the mess last year, some just for fun over the summer, and some paying out old debts to longtime employees like Joe and Tyrell. Stuff like that. Plus, the Cubs are terrible again, so the Game Fund just didn’t feel worth keeping anymore. And yeah, we’ve been getting a cut from Jimmy, but a cut is still just a cut. Fifteen percent does not equal four grand, not even in the best of years, and this has only been, what, like a month, maybe? How much money do we have left, anyway, Vince?”

I had a general idea, but Vince was our money guy so he’d know for sure.

“Last I checked we were down to $1612.86 in all of our Funds combined,” Vince said. “Those are all of our liquid assets.”

“That’s it?” Staples said as he drained his second putt into the cup.

“Hey, it goes faster than you realize when there’s not as much money coming in,” I said, scooping my ball out of the hole after logging a six.

Staples just shook his head in disbelief. I could see why he was shocked. Way back when he’d stolen all of our Funds, there’d been over six grand all combined. We were worth just a fraction of what we used to be.

“Where does that leave us?” Staples asked.

“I think I’ll have to go pay this Ken-Co a visit. To see if we can work out some sort of deal or payment plan or something. I mean, he runs a pretty good business from the sound of it, so I’m sure he’s a reasonable dude. Besides, he’s only a fourth or fifth grader, supposedly.”

“I still can’t believe we’re digging Jimmy out of this pro bono,” Vince said.

“Well, it’s more about helping Staples and all the other kids than it is helping Jimmy, but I know what you mean. It does feel like he’s getting a free ride here, doesn’t it? We’ll probably have to neutralize him somehow once this is all over.”

“And I also can’t believe we’re getting involved again. I mean, we could have been out, Mac!”

“I know, but what choice do we have now? The only thing left that we can do is fix this and then get the business shut down for good. Ken-Co can have this town if he wants; our school has to be out after this, completely.”

As I said that, I hit my ball and it passed through a mechanical alligator’s opening and closing mouth, came out the tail, and dropped into the cup.

“Yeah!” I said. “Hole in one!”

I jumped up and did a celebratory dance like I’d just scored a touchdown. I was really just kidding around; I didn’t care that much about a game of mini golf.

“Nice job, buddy,” Staples said, and then proceeded to slug me in the arm so hard that my celebration instantly came to a close and I almost went tumbling down the side of the fake miniature mountain that the course was built on.

Vince laughed at me and lined up for his putt.

As Staples walked by him, he clipped Vince’s putter with his own during Vince’s backswing, and Vince’s ball ricocheted off the side wall and bounced down the side of the mountain we’d been working our way up.

Now it was Staples’s turn to laugh as Vince sighed and started off down the mountain to retrieve his ball, apologizing to other golfers as he stepped across neighboring holes. I shook my head. We needed to get this mess resolved before Staples accidentally killed us while goofing around. I could just see the headline now: LOCAL TEEN’S ARM EXPLODES FOLLOWING RECEIPT OF 158TH CONSECUTIVE PUNCH.