trying to agitate the carnies any way he could. Amber was getting frustrated and pleading with the bouncer hadnât given her any satisfaction. The drinks were accumulating and she couldnât get it out of her head. It reminded her of other men, of people trying to touch her, of men trying to get close to her, of being put in that vulnerable position and... she had had enough. Her eyes swelled with anger and she stopped talking at the table, choosing instead to drift away in quiet contemplation. If some of her friends had to leave, why didnât this little pervert? The orange and yellow lights were flashing in her eyes, the hard, dispassionate girl from the junkyard was lurking somewhere inside.
By closing time, the only members of the carny party left were Amber, Bobby and me. The creep had made his rounds and somehow managed not to get his head caved in. The bouncer knew Amber was ready for something and he didnât care for the general effect of Bobbyâs massive biceps, so he kept us at the door as the creep hopped a cab back to whatever repulsive, dim-lit one-bedroom apartment he slithered out from.
We went next door to Subway and ordered a few subs to take back to the bunks. Amber grabbed her sandwich and headed for the parking lot just ahead of me as a taxi pulled up. The back door opened and the creep stepped out, slinking toward the door in front of her. She threw her sandwich down and ran toward him, connecting her gnarled, oil-stained right hand against his nose which proceeded to burst open. The waiting taxi pulled off with a squeal.
My first instinct was to grab the man by the collar and throw him. Not as any retaliatory action, but rather to give him a fair shot at getting away. I have seen â and been involved in â enough drunken street fights to know the losers lose badly and usually a painful part of their organic structure. So, I grabbed the rubbery bastard by the scruff of the neck and threw him toward the back of the building. I figured this would give him a head start as I held Amber back, but he fell to the ground clasping his broken nose instead and Amber jumped past me to tackle him with another shot.
Her fists followed even quicker, as if they were bouncing, smashing the flesh and cartilage and bone, as blood squirted out of his nose and mouth. She was yelling and swearing and beating him with every ounce she had.
I was on my way to pulling her off him when a fat kid began yelling behind me, prompting me to turn around. He was objecting to our subs landing on the hood of his Honda Civic, which teenage Valley boys seem to hold sacred for mechanical reasons understood only by themselves and the Japanese. I initially thought he wanted to get involved in the altercation, but through the flash of what was happening, it turned out his grievance was the worthless machineâs now practical use as a sandwich holder. He quickly shut up as Bobby slipped through the door, making his way to the scene of the battle. Bobby didnât try to hold her back.
By this time Amber â Amber Dawn â was on top of the guy in the parking lot punching him between gasps. Bobby squatted down to get a closer look at the damage, the way a paramedic would.
âYeah,â he said, âyou good? Huh? Ya had enough?â
The creep had. Amber got up and we walked back to the lot, leaving him writhing in the darkness. The chubby Civic kid entered the store for a sandwich.
Jack Adams, the carnival owner, was standing at the end of the lot closest the street as we approached with what looked like a crowbar in his hands. He instructed everyone through gritted teeth to go to their bunks and get to sleep. He was angry and they knew it. When Jack speaks people listen, especially when heâs carrying what looks like a crowbar.
âIâm With It... Iâm For Itâ
Oh, the magic of the midway,
Earning dollars in the dust.
Itâs a wonder world to work in
As in our God we
By closing time, the only members of the carny party left were Amber, Bobby and me. The creep had made his rounds and somehow managed not to get his head caved in. The bouncer knew Amber was ready for something and he didnât care for the general effect of Bobbyâs massive biceps, so he kept us at the door as the creep hopped a cab back to whatever repulsive, dim-lit one-bedroom apartment he slithered out from.
We went next door to Subway and ordered a few subs to take back to the bunks. Amber grabbed her sandwich and headed for the parking lot just ahead of me as a taxi pulled up. The back door opened and the creep stepped out, slinking toward the door in front of her. She threw her sandwich down and ran toward him, connecting her gnarled, oil-stained right hand against his nose which proceeded to burst open. The waiting taxi pulled off with a squeal.
My first instinct was to grab the man by the collar and throw him. Not as any retaliatory action, but rather to give him a fair shot at getting away. I have seen â and been involved in â enough drunken street fights to know the losers lose badly and usually a painful part of their organic structure. So, I grabbed the rubbery bastard by the scruff of the neck and threw him toward the back of the building. I figured this would give him a head start as I held Amber back, but he fell to the ground clasping his broken nose instead and Amber jumped past me to tackle him with another shot.
Her fists followed even quicker, as if they were bouncing, smashing the flesh and cartilage and bone, as blood squirted out of his nose and mouth. She was yelling and swearing and beating him with every ounce she had.
I was on my way to pulling her off him when a fat kid began yelling behind me, prompting me to turn around. He was objecting to our subs landing on the hood of his Honda Civic, which teenage Valley boys seem to hold sacred for mechanical reasons understood only by themselves and the Japanese. I initially thought he wanted to get involved in the altercation, but through the flash of what was happening, it turned out his grievance was the worthless machineâs now practical use as a sandwich holder. He quickly shut up as Bobby slipped through the door, making his way to the scene of the battle. Bobby didnât try to hold her back.
By this time Amber â Amber Dawn â was on top of the guy in the parking lot punching him between gasps. Bobby squatted down to get a closer look at the damage, the way a paramedic would.
âYeah,â he said, âyou good? Huh? Ya had enough?â
The creep had. Amber got up and we walked back to the lot, leaving him writhing in the darkness. The chubby Civic kid entered the store for a sandwich.
Jack Adams, the carnival owner, was standing at the end of the lot closest the street as we approached with what looked like a crowbar in his hands. He instructed everyone through gritted teeth to go to their bunks and get to sleep. He was angry and they knew it. When Jack speaks people listen, especially when heâs carrying what looks like a crowbar.
âIâm With It... Iâm For Itâ
Oh, the magic of the midway,
Earning dollars in the dust.
Itâs a wonder world to work in
As in our God we
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