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Shep lifted the lid of the blue and silver box and withdrew some kind of twisted pastry sprinkled with peanuts. “What’s your name, kid?”
The boy, all of nine years old, his mouth smeared with chocolate, spoke around his food. “Timmy Baumgartner.”
“Bomber,” I said.
Bomber shivered on the bench, excitement sparkling in his eyes. “Yeah, I go by Bomber.”
“Well, Bomber, if anyone knows how to charm the grump out of a lady, it’s this guy. Back when he played for the ‘Gades, he was the one the other guys sent to handle all the troublemakers. Never met a dragon lady he couldn’t slay.” Shep, the freeloader, shuffled the boxes around and reached in for another pastry. “Is that the woman folks were worried about ruining plans for the Christmas event? Complaining about parking or access or something? The one J.T. wanted you to run interference with when he bamboozled you into running point on the Christmas event?”
I swallowed down my bite. “She’s not bad. Just got her opinions. Not sure what all the excitement was about.”
“I’m gonna take that to mean she’s already wrapped around your little finger. And you’re still J.T.’s favorite skills coach.”
I pushed up from the bench, unease skittering down my spine like a lit sparkler. I’d made plenty of connections in the League over the years, and plenty of elite players spent their off seasons with me learning how to improve their game. I had no reason to make waves with the owner of the Renegades. But no reason to pander to him, either.
I waved to one of the youths armed with a bag and trash picker-upper on the other side of the square, ready to be done with this conversation. Once the volunteers were making their way over, I growled at my old teammate, “Lay off the pastries, you fucker. Those are for the volunteers.”
The remains of a cinnamon roll dangled from Shep’s fat fingers. “Iama volunteer, you jerk.”
I laughed. Jerk? What was this? Kindergarten? Well, I did have all these kids and players bouncing around, so not far off. Maybe I oughta cut back on the profanity too.
“Well, I am instituting a one per person rule as of this minute. Our resident grumpy baker did these up as a special order. When we’re out, we’re out, and we still have kids arriving.” As I spoke, another SUV rolled up, four kids tumbling out, all gangly legs and arms, enthusiasm and adrenaline.
Within the next hour, I had a crew of thirty kids and teens, and half again as many current and former Renegades players assembled on the edge of the square nearest the hundred-year-old train caboose. I gave everyone their directions for the next couple hours as we prepped for the car clubs that would be rolling in this afternoon. The gravel and dirt parking lot was about as old as the caboose and just as poorly maintained, but I had the kids picking up trash and doing what we could to even out a few of the potholes.
“Hey, Hoss?”
Bomber had been stuck to me like glue, which made my life easier since his uncle made me swear to guard him with my life. Apparently, his mom was stuck working as many hours as possible, her baby daddy having disappeared over the summer, leaving the boy at loose ends. “Yeah, Bomber?”
“Gonna be a lotta cars here today?”
I grunted an affirmative as I twisted the knob on the side door of the caboose. The thing turned in my hand, swinging open without any effort. Stepping up into the doorway, I felt around the back of the door for a lock, coming up empty-handed. Well, shit.
“You think Precious Candy will be here?”
Abandoning the danger of an unlocked caboose in a parking lot that would be flooded with hot-blooded car enthusiasts amped up on high-octane hormones, I grinned down at my shadow. “You liked that pretty lil’ red car, did you?”
“Uncle Fezz said Candy’s the fastest car in the county, maybe even the whole state.”
“Could be.” I started walking us toward the street that ran between the square and the bakery. “And good ol’ Creed will probably make an appearance today, but I don’t know if he’ll bring Candy. He’s not what anyone might call predictable.”
As we reached the street, I stole a quick glance up again at the bakery. As much as I might have liked calling her a grump, the curvy little owner did a number on my libido. She had a temper and a short fuse. The fiery color in her cheeks and flashing eyes gave her away, even if she did manage to hold her tongue. But she was a combustible combination that put more than a few X-rated ideas in my head. She’d about lost her marbles last month when I called her chicken. If the other woman working there hadn’t slid in between us, I didn’t think the counter would have been enough to stop her from tearing into my hide.
I grinned thinking about it. All riled up, she’d had the prettiest tint of pink high on her cheeks, her big blue eyes rounded wide and sparking with everything she wanted to lay into me with.
As we came closer to the shops, I saw her standing over a man in a lawn chair parked in the space directly in front of her shop. Hands perched on her luscious hips, her jeans molding a round ass I wanted to feel under my hands, she sure made for a pretty picture. I sighed.
Each week, one of the car clubs from the vicinity would sponsor a cruise-in in the Three Corners region. My club had the third Saturday of every month right here in Mapleton and other clubs sponsored other Saturdays across the three counties. But one thing each club had in common were members that just couldn’t follow even the most basic of rules. Here in Mapleton, we were allowed to gather on the town square because we brought in a lot of customers for the local businesses and didn’t stir up too much trouble.
But trouble followed old Rocky Hillbanger everywhere he went. He’d commandeered a parking spot for his restored 1957 Chevy Bel Air. The car sparkled in the fall sunshine. Being in a spot, even seven hours early, wouldn’t be so bad if the ornery old cuss hadn’t set up his lawn chair in the neighboring parking spot beside his classic car, taking up two whole spots. Customers filled in the surrounding spots. Later, I’d have some of my volunteers start closing off the parking to any but those taking part in the cruise-in, but my agreement with Mapleton’s city hall meant I couldn’t do that for several more hours.
As I approached, he heaved himself up out of his old vinyl chair, turning to face a flush-faced Rae on the sidewalk in front of her bakery, his arms crossed over his paunchy belly.
“Out of all the places to set yourself up, you had to pick two spots right in front of my bakery? A hundred hours before your stupid car thing even starts?”
Well, shoot,stupid car thingwouldn’t get them anywhere, now would it? Bomber gasped loud enough to draw my attention, and the little furrow between his fretful eyes tugged a smile to my lips. “No worries, Bomber. Listen and learn.”
I stopped us at the side of Rocky’s Bel Air. The car’s Hulk green and pewter silver paint job shone proudly in the bright morning sunshine. One of a hundred special cars that would end up parked around the square by tonight. “Bel Air’s sure lookin’ fine this morning, Rocky.”
