Where Old Ghosts Meet - Kate Evans [52]
“Last five tickets before the spin.”
“Twenty-five cents, any takers, any takers?”
“Keep her goin’ there, b’y. We need a quarter, just one quarter, to stop the wheel.”
“Who’s goin’ to be the lucky one?”
“Yes, my darling, they’re all yours.”
“We’re ready now, here she goes!”
In one swift motion money and tickets changed hands.
“Take her away, Paddy. Watch your numbers, ladies and gentlemen.” Brrr. The wheel spun round and round, the rubber finger slapping the metal spikes. A hush fell on the crowd.
“Twenty-six,” Paddy called out with authority.
“Jumpins, I’m twenty-six!” A white head bobbed up and down and a thin hand slid a blue strip of tickets to the vendor.
“Yes, indeed, Aunt Carrie, my duckie, and I’m Santa Claus. You’ll get no argument from me. Give the lady her prize, Paddy, if she says she’s twenty-six, then, by God, she’s twenty-six!” The crowd cheered and laughed.
He was playing the pack, a seasoned expert holding their attention, making eye contact, coaxing them shamelessly to part with their money. They were having a grand time. A blue flurry of spent tickets fell to the ground as the next spin got under way.
Eager to be part of the fun, Nora moved in closer, pulled out a dollar bill and reached above the straining heads. “A dollar’s worth,” she called tentatively, not sure if she would be heard above the din.
“Ha, ha. Make way there, ladies and gentlemen, for the last of the big spenders.”
Heads turned.
“Step right up, my dear. Four strips for the lady from away.”
She reached forward, her green dollar bill dangling between her fingers. He laughed, showing his big white even teeth, his dark eyes full of merriment. She took in at a glance the neat set of his collar and tie, the tanned flush of his skin and the neatly combed head of greying hair. He put her in mind of one of the travelling peddlers of long ago, full of banter and charm but with a certain craftiness. Yet he cut a dashing figure. He took her dollar bill and held out four blue strips of tickets. She grasped them but he held on momentarily as if to say, “Not so fast lady.” In that moment he looked her straight in the eyes. It was an honest look but strangely disquieting, devoid of the merriment she had seen there earlier. Then it was gone and he moved on to his next customer, joking, laughing and selling. The crowd pressed closer to watch the next spin. She didn’t win but decided to move on.
She had a go at the ring toss but again came up empty-handed. She wished she could locate Peg. A roar of laughter followed by loud clapping came from a group over by the tent. She began to hurry across the open space to the shelter of the crowd, aware that people sometimes stepped aside to let her pass. Was she the only one in a hurry? She wished that she had worn something less conspicuous. Her long maxi summer dress that she had hurriedly put on for her visit to the priest might be fashionable in Montreal, but here it made her even more conspicuous. She edged her way into the crowd and stood on tip-toe looking for Peg. The crowd was thinner over to the side so she went that way. Up front she could see a young man stripped to the waist, sitting precariously on a makeshift ledge a few feet above a huge plastic tub of water. Above the tub hung a large black bull’s eye painted on a piece of wood. She strained to get a closer look. The woman to her left turned to leave and suddenly she was at the front of the crowd.
“A clean smack and down he goes. Three balls for a quarter. Here we go, ladies and gentlemen. Try your hand.”
“Gimme a couple of them there balls, Foxy, and I’ll wipe the grin offa that young whelp’s face. Time someone teached him a lesson.”
“Go for it, Ronnie b’y, give ’er a smack.”The crowd was all fired up, hollering advice at the little man to Nora’s left.
“Clear the decks there, b’ys, and give the man a bit of room.”
In a flash his jacket was off and pressed into Nora’s hands for safekeeping. “Hold on to that,