Shark Read online

  A tournament was beginning when I entered Minnesota’s. Ten dollars a player, winner takes all. There were a dozen of us there, so you could walk away with over a hundred bucks. The tournament was immediate elimination. Game to game, table to table, lose and you were done.

  I had ten dollars, so I threw it in, figuring that if I ended up winning, it would be a good day. I could use it to take Mom and Wendy out for dinner.

  “Shit, are you in this, Shark?”

  I turned to find War leaning against the table. “I guess I am now.”

  “I’m going to have to step up my game.” He put his hand out, and I shook it. “Good luck,” he said.

  “Same to you.”

  For the first game I was paired up with this older man whose belly was so big he had to shift sideways whenever he sidled up to the table. He wasn’t much competition, and I think he knew it, but he was clearly enjoying the atmosphere. I made fairly short work of him, and he gave me a good, firm handshake when it was over. Some of the other tables took longer, so I sat and watched, seeing what kind of game everyone played.

  My next opponent was a lady with kinky brown hair, glasses, a pool glove and a pink cue. I’d seen her around before. She played a nice steady game, always making clean shots and bringing the cue ball into place for her next shot.

  We flipped for break, and I won.

  “Uh-oh,” she said.

  “What?” I replied.

  “I’ve seen you play, kid. And I have a feeling this tournament is about to be over for me.”

  I got a beautiful break. All the low balls sat there, waiting to find their home in the pockets. I worked the table, chalking between shots. Two balls in one pocket, brought the cue ball back to get two more quickly. Chalk, chalk. I went into a different head space, and soon all I had left was the eight, which was sitting right in the middle of the table, a wall of high balls surrounding it. I hammered the cue ball to get the eight ball moving, then sat down.

  “Thank you very much for letting me play,” the woman said. I’d heard someone call her Tracy before.

  “I didn’t have many options, Tracy,” I said, immediately realizing I sounded dickish. I attempted to recover. “I’ve seen you play, and now I’m the one whose tournament might be over.”

  “Sweet of you to say,” she replied. She sank four in a row before the cue ball drifted into a side pocket after coming off a bumper strangely. I brought it out of the pocket and quickly sank the eight.

  “And…I’m done,” Tracy said.

  “Good game,” I said.

  “That was about as good as I get.” She smiled, and I felt bad about being a jerk before. I do that sometimes. I say things without thinking how they’re going to sound.

  “Thank you for the game,” I said.

  “You’re welcome.” She leaned into me. “I hope you win it all. You deserve it.” I felt a bit uncomfortable. To be honest, I don’t enjoy it when pool turns into a competition. I am always competing with myself. Pushing to get better. So it was difficult to see someone “lose” because I won.

  And just like that, we were down to three. Myself, this business-looking dude, and War. We flipped coins to see who would play the next game and who would wait for the final. I won, which meant I had to sit and wait for War and the other dude to play. This made me even more anxious, as it was six thirty and I was getting tight for time. I went to the far wall and called my mom. I told her I might be a little late because of the bus. I hated lying to her, but honestly, the bus did only run every half hour, and I’d likely just missed one.

  “That’s all right,” she said. “Wendy has finished her homework and is watching TV. You have your key?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll lock up, but don’t be too late.”

  “Okay.” I returned to the table. War and the other guy were standing there looking at the collection of balls. Talking.

  Hippy came across to watch the game. He leaned on the high table beside me. “These guys go on forever,” he said.

  “Really?”

  “Epic matches.”

  I watched with increasing frustration. Both War and the other guy seemed to need to vocalize every one of their thoughts. It was excruciating.

  It was a quarter after seven before I got to the table.

  “We meet again,” War said. He put his hand out, and I shook it before taking up the triangle and racking the balls. “I get the break.”

  “If that’s how it works,” I replied.

  “It isn’t in the rules that way, man,” Hippy said. The hall was mostly empty, so he’d stayed around to watch the whole tournament unfold, I guess. War didn’t respond. Hippy shrugged and as he sat down again, said, “As if anyone reads those.”

  “I’m fine with that,” I said, stepping away from the table. Everyone who had been in the tournament gathered around.

  “I get this feeling I’d better clear the table right off the break or it’ll be curtains,” War said. A couple of people laughed.

  The first guy I’d played said, “That’s what happened to me.” Even though it wasn’t true.

  War’s break was pretty good but left a cluster of the low balls around the eight, tight against a pocket. There would have to be some delicate maneuvers to get those somewhere you could work with them.

  War scratched on his next shot, leaving the table open.

  “Shit,” he said. He chalked his cue and shook his head. “You’ve got me nervous, kid.”

  I sank half of the high balls, but then I bumped the eleven a little too lightly. It sat hovering on the edge of a pocket.

  “All right then,” War said. “Back in the game.” He walked the table, looking for an angle on the three low balls still clustered around the eight. “Think I can squeak that four past the eight?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t really give advice.”

  “I’m not looking for advice. I’m just wondering what you think. You have thoughts on this, right?”

  “I don’t know what you’re capable of,” I said.

  His blue eyes bore into me with an unnerving intensity. “Hmm,” he said, nodding at me, then at the table.

  He took forever to figure out his shot. Lining it up one way and then another. If I’d actually felt like giving him advice, I would have suggested he run the cue ball in and snooker me on the next shot. It was a dick move for sure, but there was no way I could tap the eleven in from that angle. Instead he lined up one of his balls, drilled it in with a little too much force and sank both it and the eight ball.

  “Son of a bitch,” he said. “There you go. Worst way to win.”

  “It is,” I said.

  War banged his cue against the back of a chair, then shook my hand. “I’ll get you one of these days.”

  “I’m sure you will,” I said.

  Hippy came over to the table. “There you go, Mark,” he said, handing me the money.

  I quickly jammed the bills into my pocket and then looked at my phone. Quarter after eight. “Shit, I have to go.” I pulled my jacket on and ran up the stairs to street level just in time to see the bus I needed fly past. I didn’t want to wait half an hour for the next one. I considered taking a taxi, but even with what I had just won, I hated to spend that kind of money just to get from one place to another. I got my phone out and stared at it. I didn’t want to call Mom. I could call Wendy and tell her I’d be late. But that would freak her out after what had happened with Dad. We had learned the hard way that life could suddenly take a turn no one was expecting. And we were coping in different ways. I played pool. Wendy made schedules and needed to know where Mom and I were at all times.

  I had to get home but could see no way to do it. I stood there staring at my phone, wondering what the hell I was going to do.

  Chapter Four

  “You all right, Shark?” I turned around to find War coming up behind me.

  “I missed my bus,” I said. He was stopped beside a big blue pickup truck.


  “Hop in,” he said. “I’ll give you a ride.”

  “That’s okay.” I was shivering inside my jacket.

  He looked up the empty street. “The next bus won’t be for ages, right?”

  “Half an hour,” I said, looking at the truck the way frozen travelers look at smoke coming from a cabin’s chimney.

  “What part of town are you in?”

  I told him.

  “That’s on my way. Come on, hop in.” I thought about this for a moment and then darted across the lot and climbed in. The cab was not as warm as I’d hoped, although once we hit the road, the heavy heat from the vents quickly filled the space.

  “Where’d you come from?” War asked as he lit a cigarette.

  “Rez Falls,” I replied.

  “Over by Morrisberg?”

  “Yup.”

  “Nice area. What did you come here for?” The truck smelled of cigarettes and minty gum. There were two Big Gulp cups from 7-Eleven in the holders between the seats. Both of the lids were stained, leaving me to believe they’d been there a while.

  “My mom got a job as a pharmacist’s assistant.”

  “Which pharmacy?” War asked.

  “Ray’s on Main.”

  “Ray’s cool,” War said. He shifted in his seat. “What about your dad?”

  I bristled at the question. We’d started at a new school in September. Wendy had made friends, but I’d yet to settle into a crowd. It’s a lot easier when you’re in middle school. I’d never really hidden what had happened with my dad. There wasn’t a reason to. But every time I told the story, I felt something right in the middle of my chest. It didn’t exactly hurt, but it felt wrong.

  “He’s in jail,” I said. Then I gave War the short version of the story.

  “That is for shit,” he said. “Things happen.” He shrugged as if to say it was no big deal. Not the fact that Dad was in jail, but that what I’d just told him didn’t affect the way he saw me.

  What had happened to my dad had taught me one thing—to keep my anger in check. You have to keep all your emotions in check. You can’t get too high or too low. I don’t know if my dad was able to control his anger at all. I’m not sure he ever tried.

  We pulled up outside the house. All the lights were on. This was how Wendy compensated for being alone. She kept the place looking like a dozen people were inside. She’d be watching TV, the volume low so she could hear if anyone, or anything, crept through the door.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I said. “You really saved me there.”

  “No problem, Shark. No problem. Hey, listen, I need to take a leak. Mind if I come in?” He looked over me at the house. I didn’t like the idea, but Warren seemed okay. Nothing there to make me think he’d be a problem. Somehow I’d decided he was one of those tough-looking guys who is actually a teddy bear.

  “Sure, okay,” I said. “My sister’s here.”

  “You have a sister?” he said, but not in a creepy way. “Is she older or younger?”

  “Twelve.”

  “All right, I’ll be quiet. In and out,” he said, opening the truck door.

  “Hey, Wendy,” I yelled when I stepped in. “You’re back!” she said, calling from the living room. “Come see this angel I drew.”

  “Listen, I have a friend here. He’s going to use the bathroom.”

  “Oh. Okay,” she replied, her voice suddenly uncertain. She didn’t like me bringing people into the house. Especially men.

  “Bathroom’s down there,” I said to War. He stomped through the house, his cowboy boots clicking on our hardwood. I stuck my head into the living room and found Wendy on the floor in front of the coffee table, drawing something, the TV on low.

  “Good day?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” she said. “We got double art.”

  “How’d that happen?”

  “The gym teacher was sick.”

  “This must have been the best day of your year.” She hates gym.

  “It was,” she said. Something on the TV show grabbed her attention. I looked back and there was War, standing outside the bathroom.

  “Thanks for that, man,” he said. He walked into the kitchen and looked around. “Nice place.”

  “We’re renting,” I said.

  “I know these homes. My old man used to be in the trades. He did a lot of the plumbing on these places when they were built.” War kept moving around the kitchen. “He did a lot of the tiles as well. He might have laid this floor.”

  “That’s cool,” I said. War smiled at the room as if he was proud of it. As if he was standing in the middle of something his father had created.

  He grabbed a photo of Mom, Wendy and me off the fridge. “Good-looking family,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I replied.

  “I think I’ve seen your mom before. At Ray’s, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. He made another circle of the kitchen and then headed into the living room. We don’t have much stuff, and what we do have is kind of regular. Nothing fancy.

  “Hi there,” he said to Wendy. My sister gave him a half smile and wave. He glanced at the TV, then returned to the kitchen.

  “All right, Shark,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Thanks for the game tonight. I’ll get you next time.” He squeezed in a way that made me squirm out of his grasp.

  “I’m sure you will.” I walked him to the hallway, thanked him for the ride and shut the door behind him. For some reason, I watched him through one of the little squares of glass in the door, standing off to one side in case he looked back. He went straight to his truck, but then, just before he got in, he stopped for a second, stared at the house and gave it a little nod. I figured he was feeling family pride. And that was cool. His dad had helped put this place together, and now my family lived in it. That would have been a great feeling.

  Too bad I was wrong.

  Chapter Five

  I didn’t tell Mom anything about War having been in the house. I didn’t think she’d like it. I thought she was still a little afraid of men too. It didn’t seem like anything the next day anyway. Just someone who’d given me a lift home. He’d needed to use the bathroom, and I let him.

  No harm.

  All day I thought about playing pool. It was my standard daydream. When I closed my eyes I could see balls spinning, dropping, sliding up the bumpers.

  On the way home from school I stopped by to pick up Wendy. She was excited. She told me all about her art class and how her English teacher was going to get them to write short stories. She told me about this really creepy story they had read, called “The Lottery.” It was all about how the people in this town thought they were entering a lottery where they’d win some big prize, but in the end it was all about choosing someone to be sacrificed. Or maybe the townspeople knew what was happening but the reader doesn’t. I couldn’t totally tell.

  “That sounds really weird,” I said.

  “You’ve never read it?” Wendy said. “It’s the best. You don’t know what is going to happen, and then when it does, it is crazy. You have to read it.”

  “But you already told me what happens.”

  “I guess, but it’s still worth it.”

  We came in the back way that day, cutting through the neighbor’s yard. Wendy ran inside yelling, “Mom! Have you ever read ‘The Lottery’?”

  I stopped. Something about the house, I couldn’t say what, felt different.

  “Hey, hon,” I heard Mom say. “Your brother with you?”

  “Yeah, I’m here,” I said, shutting the door behind me.

  “Oh, good. Mark, your friend is here.” Friend? I didn’t have any friends. No one at the school anyway. I stepped into the living room, and there was War sitting on the couch.

  “Mark,” Mom said, “Warren said you had plans to meet up?”

  War looked different. He’d washed up, cut his hair and trimmed his beard. And he’d swapped out his leather vest and jeans for a respectable pair of gray trousers and a br
ight-blue sweater. He looked like his more successful twin brother.

  “Hey, Shark, how are you?”

  “Good,” I said. “I don’t remember us making plans.”

  “I was telling your mom about that tournament last night. I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. We need a rematch, son.” Something made me shiver, and, again, I didn’t know exactly what. Something just seemed different. Or maybe it was just that I was waiting for Mom to flip out on me because I hadn’t told her about the tournament.

  “Sure,” I said. “We can do that sometime.”

  Mom said, “I don’t mind you taking off with Warren now if you want. As long as you’re back by seven.”

  “Not tonight,” I said. “I have homework to do.”

  “Come on, Shark. Best of three,” War said. He smiled.

  I could feel my fingers twitching. I’d wanted to play pool all day, and here was my opportunity.

  “Okay, sure, why not?” I said. “But only three games.”

  Warren smiled and clapped his hands. “I’m winning two of them,” he promised.

  “Warren was telling me about the charity he works with. What was it called?”

  “Kids with Kicks,” Warren said. “We get kids playing soccer in the summer and then open up a community center in the winter for them.”

  “That sounds great,” Mom said. “Doesn’t that sound great, Mark?” Wendy had disappeared to her room.

  “Sounds great, yeah.” I guess I could have sounded a bit more enthusiastic, but I hate soccer.

  “Let’s do this,” War said, standing. He gave my mother a little bow. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  “My pleasure,” Mom said.

  My mom was smiling at him. A genuine smile. Something I had not seen in a long while.

  “Later,” I said, before closing the door.

  “Have fun!” she called back.

  Minnesota’s was filled with the sound of clacking balls and laughter. Just coming down the stairs sent me back to the days with my dad.

  “Eight- or nine-ball?” War asked.

  “Nine,” I said. Dad and I had always started with a game of nine-ball. War racked them and stepped away from the table. I managed to clear the table from the break. That happens in nine-ball way more than in eight. It was a great way to start. One ball after the other until they were all gone.