Joyland(70)

Annie raised the .22 and squeezed off ten shots with a pause of perhaps two seconds between each. She knocked over two moving ducks and three of the moving bunnies. The teensy ceramic chicks she ignored completely.

"A crack shot!" Fred crowed. "Any prize on the middle shelf, your pick!"

She smiled. "Fifty percent isn't anywhere near crack. My dad would have covered his face for shame. I'll just take the reload, if that's okay."

Fred took a paper cone from under the counter-a wee shoot, in the Talk-and put the small end into a hole on top of the gag rifle. There was a rattle as another ten beebees rolled in.

"Are the sights on these trigged?" she asked Fred.

"No, ma'am. All the games at Joyland are straight. But if I told you Pop Allen-the man who usually runs this shy-spent long hours sighting them in, I'd be a liar."

Having worked on Pop's team, I knew that was disingenuous, to say the least. Sighting in the rifles was the last thing Pop would 232

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do. The better the rubes shot, the more prizes Pop had to give away . . . and he had to buy his own prizes. All the shy-bosses did.

They were cheap goods, but not free goods.

"Shoots left and high," she said, more to herself than to us.

Then she raised the rifle, socked it into the hollow of her right shoulder, and triggered off ten rounds. This time there was no discernable pause between shots, and she didn't bother with the ducks and bunnies. She aimed for the ceramic chicks and exploded eight of them.

As she put the gun back on the counter, Lane used his bandanna to wipe a smutch of sweat and grime from the back of his neck. He spoke very softly as he did this chore. "Jesus Horatio Christ. Nobody gets eight peeps."

"I only nicked the last one, and at this range I should have had them all." She wasn't boasting, just stating a fact.

Mike said, almost apologetically: "Told you she was good."

He curled a fist over his mouth and coughed into it. "She was thinking about the Olympics, only then she dropped out of college."

"You really are Annie Oakley," Lane said, stuffing his bandanna back into a rear pocket. "Any prize, pretty lady. You pick."

"I already have my prize," she said. "This has been a wonderful, wonderful day. I can never thank you guys enough." She turned in my direction. "And this guy. Who actually had to talk me into it. Because I'm a fool." She kissed the top of M ike's head. "But now I better get my boy home. Where's Milo?"

We looked around and saw him halfway down Joyland Avenue, sitting in front of Horror House with his tail curled around his paws.

"Milo, come!" Annie called.



joy land





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His ears pricked up but he didn't come. He didn't even turn in her direction, just stared at the fac;ade of Joyland's only dark ride. I could almost believe he was reading the drippy, cobwebfestooned invitation: COME IN IF YOU DARE .

While Annie was looking at Milo, I stole a glance at Mike.

Although he was all but done in from the excitements of the day, his expression was hard to mistake. It was satisfaction. I know it's crazy to think he and his Jack Russell had worked this out in advance, but I did think it.

I still do.

"Roll me down there, Mom," Mike said. "He'll come with me."

"No need for that," Lane said. "If you've got a leash, I'm happy to go get him."

"It's in the pocket on the back of Mike's wheelchair," Annie said.

"Urn, probably not," Mike said. "You can check but I'm pretty sure I forgot it."

Annie checked while I thought, In a pig's ass you forgot.

"Oh, Mike," Annie said reproachfully. "Your dog, your responsibility. How many times have I told you?"

"Sorry, Mom." To Fred and Lane he said, "Only we hardly ever use it because Milo always comes."

"Except when we need him to." Annie cupped her hands around her mouth. "Milo, come on ! Time to go home!" Then, in a much sweeter voice: "Biscuit, Milo! Come get a biscuit!"

Her coaxing tone would have brought me on the run-probably with my tongue hanging out-but Milo didn't budge.

"Come on Dev," Mike said. As if I were also in on the plan but had missed my cue, somehow. I grabbed the wheelchair's 234

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handles and rolled Mike down Joyland Avenue toward the funhouse. Annie followed. Fred and Lane stayed where they were, Lane leaning on the chump board among the laid-out popguns on their chains. He had removed his derby and was spinning it on one finger.

When we got to the dog, Annie regarded him crossly. "What's wrong with you, Milo?"

Milo thumped his tail at the sound of Annie's voice, but didn't look at her. Nor did he move. He was on guard and intended to stay that way unless he was hauled away.

"Michael, please make your dog heel so we can go home.

You need to get some r-"

Two things happened before she could finish. I'm not exactly sure of the sequence. I've gone over it often in the years since then-most often on nights when I can't sleep-and I'm still not sure. I think the rumble came first: the sound of a ride-car starting to roll along its track. But it might have been the padlock dropping. It's even possible that both things happened at the same time.