CHAPTER 26

 

My dad still looks like the most handsome boy on the beach, as he was called in his younger days, even decked out in his police-blue pants, sky-blue polo shirt, and navy-blue cop cap.

Flattop, of course, has a much more official-looking uniform. He also has a badge and a holstered pistol.

I can’t resist making Dad and his boss the stars of my improvised balloon booth show.

“Well, well, well,” I say into my microphone. “Here come two real straight shooters, ladies and gentlemen. Seaside Heights’ Finest. Quick Draw McGraw and his partner Mega Mighty Mac Hart. Which one of these two boys in blue will be crowned Top Cop here at the balloon pop?”

Dad smiles.

“What do you say, Tom?” Dad says to his senior partner. “Want to give it a try?”

“What?” says the cop with the gray bristle-brush hair. “You think you can outshoot me, rookie?”

Dad shrugs. “I don’t get paid to think, sir. But I’m pretty decent with a squirt gun. My daughters taught me.…”

“Let’s do this thing,” says his senior partner, Tom, grabbing a gun.

Seeing Dad and Tom assuming their firing stances, jockeying for any slight advantage, reminds me of Bob and Bill doing the same thing. I guess boys never really grow up even when they become men.

The spectacle of two cops in a water pistol shoot-out makes my already-swollen crowd grow even larger. Vinnie’s money box is bulging with cash. He’s practically drooling. Guys are paying double to shoot it out against the two police officers.

I gulp a little.

I sure hope Dad wins. If he doesn’t, I’m afraid several hundred people are going to laugh at him.

When all the firing slots are filled, Vinnie rings the bell. The water whooshes through the guns. The tin targets are blasted with sizzling water streams. The balloons start inflating.

I call the play-by-play.

“Officer Tom takes an early lead. But, look out, Mac Hart is hitting the dead center of his clown’s bull’s-eye. He’s throwing his water straight down the middle and over the plate—just like he did when he played baseball for the Yankees.”

Dad laughs but keeps his aim steady.

“Sure, it was the minor-league Oneonta Yankees, but Mac Hart knows how to fire one into the catcher’s mitt or the clown’s mouth.”

I swing into the kind of catcher chatter I used to do behind the plate when I played on an otherwise-all-boys Little League team (back when summer vacation didn’t mean I had to have a job and serious responsibilities).

“Hey, squirt gunner can’t squirt. Hey, balloon, balloon. Pop!”

BANG!

Dad’s balloon bursts first. The crowd roars. I do a happy dance like Snoopy did in You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown.

Dad’s prize, besides bragging rights, of course, is pretty awesome. Vinnie is extremely generous. He hands Dad a teddy bear decked out in a New York Yankees uniform. That’s a level-ten prize—and he’s definitely earned it!

“I’ll beat you next time,” says his new buddy Tom, slapping Dad on the back and laughing.

“Yes, sir,” says Dad. “I’m sure you will.”

“Especially if you want to win that full-time job after Labor Day,” says Tom.

Dad smiles and hands the giant stuffed bear back to me. “Can you take it home for me, Jacky?” he asks. “I can’t really walk the beat with a teddy bear tucked under my arm. No matter how awesome he looks.”

Dad and I are actually having a pretty sweet moment.