Joyland

keep it.”
    I told him about Mike, and how I had convinced his mother to let him come to the park—no easy task, given her fragile emotional state. I finished with how I’d woken up in the middle of the night, convinced Fred Dean would never allow it. The only thing I didn’t mention was the dream that had awakened me.
    “So,” Lane said when I’d finished. “Is she a fox? The mommy?”
    “Well . . . yeah. Actually she is. But that isn’t the reason—”
    He patted my shoulder and gave me a patronizing smile I could have done without. “Say nummore, Jonesy, say nummore.”
    “Lane, she’s ten years older than I am!”
    “Okay, and if I had a dollar for every babe I ever took out who was ten years younger, I could buy me a steak dinner at Hanratty’s in the Bay. Age is just a number, my son.”
    “Terrific. Thanks for the arithmetic lesson. Now tell me if I stepped in shit when I told the kid he could come to the park and ride the Spin and the merry-go-round.”
    “You stepped in shit,” he said, and my heart sank. Then he raised a finger. “But.”
    “But?”
    “Have you set a date for this little field trip yet?”
    “Not exactly. I was thinking maybe Thursday.” Before Erin and Tom showed up, in other words.
    “Thursday’s no good. Friday, either. Will the kid and his foxy mommy still be here next week?”
    “I guess so, but—”
    “Then plan on Monday or Tuesday.”
    “Why wait?”
    “For the paper.” Looking at me as if I were the world’s biggest idiot.
    “Paper . . . ?”
    “The local rag. It comes out on Thursday. When your latest lifesaving feat hits the front page, you’re going to be Freddy Dean’s fair-haired boy.” Lane tossed the remains of his bagel into the nearest litter barrel—two points—and then raised his hands in the air, as if framing a newspaper headline. “ ‘Come to Joyland! We not only sell fun, we save lives!’ ” He smiled and tilted his derby the other way. “Priceless publicity. Fred’s gonna to owe you another one. Take it to the bank and say thanks.”
    “How would the paper even find out? I can’t see Eddie Parks telling them.” Although if he did, he’d probably want them to make sure the part about how I’d practically crushed his ribcage made Paragraph One.
    He rolled his eyes. “I keep forgetting what a Jonesy-come-lately you are to this part of the world. The only articles anybody actually reads in that catbox-liner are the Police Beat and the Ambulance Calls. But ambulance calls are pretty dry. As a special favor to you, Jonesy, I’ll toddle on down to the Banner office on my lunch break and tell the rubes all about your heroism. They’ll send someone out to interview you pronto.”
    “I don’t really want—”
    “Oh gosh, a Boy Scout with a merit badge in modesty. Save it. You want the kid to get a tour of the park, right?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then do the interview. Also smile pretty for the camera.”
    Which—if I may jump ahead—is pretty much what I did.
    As I was folding up my chair, he said: “Our Freddy Dean might have said fuck the insurance and risked it anyway, you know. He doesn’t look it, but he’s carny-from-carny himself. His father was a low-pitch jack-jaw on the corn circuit. Freddy told me once his pop carried a Michigan bankroll big enough to choke a horse.”
    I knew low-pitch, jack-jaw, and corn circuit, but not Michigan bankroll. Lane laughed when I asked him. “Two twenties on the outside, the rest either singles or cut-up green paper. A great gag when you want to attract a tip. But when it comes to Freddy himself, that ain’t the point.” He re-set his derby yet again.
    “What is?”
    “Carnies have a weakness for good-looking points in tight skirts and kids down on their luck. They also have a strong allergy to rube rules. Which includes all the bean-counter bullshit.”
    “So maybe I wouldn’t have to—”
    He raised his hands to stop me. “Better not to have to find out. Do the interview.”

    The Banner’s photographer posed me in front of the Thunderball. The picture made me wince when I saw it. I was squinting and thought I looked like the village idiot, but it did the job; the paper was on Fred’s desk when I came in to see him on Friday morning. He hemmed and hawed, then okayed my request, as long as Lane promised to stick with us while the kid and his mother were in the park.
    Lane said okay to that with no hemming or hawing. He said he wanted to see my girlfriend, then