Sally at the Fair

>”I wish Dad was here…”
>”Oh, sweetheart, I know, but work’s been really tight lately, and-”
>”Yeah,” the little girl sighed. “Yeah…”
>Memorial Day weekend was supposed to be an outing for the whole family
>Unfortunately Sally’s husband was called upstate for some pressing business, roping him away from their yearly trip down to the boardwalk
>A day out in the humid air and warm weather, nestled in the last, closing weeks of the school year, had become a family tradition for Sally and hers
>A tradition that, this year, was interrupted by an unmissable meeting for her husband
>The little trio, alone along the boardwalk, was wrapping up their dull day
>What little consolation could be found in the rides and the ferris wheel and the food of dubious health was whisked away in the dusky wind
>The Sun was setting, time to go home
>”Hey, chin up! Harry’s back with some *funnel cake~*!”
>The young man hopped up beside the two on their bench, splitting the fried, noodly batter with his sister
>The robot’s cheeks gently flared in the orange, setting Sun, the thought of the long drive home all that was on her mind
>She stared off between the myriad kiosks and little booths, through the swaying, water-warped planks to the crashing cerulean water beyond the three of them
>Briny foam broke on the shore before being yanked backwards- cyclic, repeating
>”Mom?”
>An imperceptible shiver shook her narrow shoulders, delicate, plastic fingers pulling her fleece jacket tighter around herself
>Not that it would warm her any, but it was comforting and close and smelled nice, the stir of powdered sugar and fried dough underneath her nose grounding her again
>Somewhere, miles and miles away, a sleek-haired man was up to his neck in paperwork, praying to be home in time
>”*Mom?*”
>”Oh! Sorry, sorry,” she apologized profusely, letting her head swing to Kimberly as the words spilled forth. “What’s up Kim?”
>She was here, on a boardwalk, accompanied by her two kids, her pride and joy- a fireteam minus one soldier but still in the field
>”Done!”
>The girl smiled, smears of white, super-fine sugar crowding around her mouth
>A maidly instinct begged Sally to nab a wet wipe or a tissue but, as the little girl licked the rest away, she knew she would figure it out
>”Ready to go?”
>The little lady nodded, hopping up behind her mother, sticky hand squeezed in her palm as Harry slipped off of the bench
>The trio marched down the clearing length of the boardwalk, the day’s visitors filtering out as a nippy wind brushed over the coast
>Marching past the shuttering booths Sally turned to a tugging hand on her hanging sleeve, chalky smears tracing past the fingers
>”Mom, Mom,” Kimberly pulled, “look!”
>”Huh- Oh!”
>Twisting her head to her daughter’s pointing finger she locked onto the vitreous, beady eyes of a stuffed dinosaur
>A large one, *very* large in fact
>Some snide, jaded man sat smacking his jaw around a wad of gum as the little girl pulled and pleaded at her mother’s side
>”Oh… Alright, just a couple tries, okay?”
>”Thank you, thank you, *thank you*,” she squeed
>Even her brother, skulking behind them, couldn’t help but smile at the little flash of enthusiasm on the emptying boardwalk
>The bouncing girl dashed up to the counter, the man imperceptibly rolling his eyes
>He’d been hoping the visitors were done for the day but evidently he had to cater to at least one more group’s worth
>”Howdy there, folks,” he cheered, swinging an arm up. “What can I do fer you today?”
>”Well, uh, how does this work?”
>”Glad you asked madame,” he clapped, poetic, practiced lines running off his tongue. “Here we have a nice old air rifle, top notch, and *there* we have some targets for you! Knock ‘em over, win a prize!”
>He held out a cheap piece of bakelite polymer, worn wooden furniture wrapping its way around a thick air hose
>”Nifty…”
>”That it is, ma’am, *that it is*! It’ll be five dollars a play- twenty for five goes!”
>He slackened backwards, his spiel over
>All he had to do was take their cash, watch, then set them on their way
>”Sounds alright,” Sally started, fishing in her sparse purse
>Producing an even twenty the man happily took it up
>”Perfect-perfect! Here you are,” he smirked, laying the rifle in Sally’s capable hands
>”So, how do we win?”
>Her eyes unconsciously drifted to the frilled dinosaur, a trifecta of mighty, stuffed horns poking out from its plush head
>”You gotta shoot sharp, yessir,” he half-smiled, already back in his chair and thumbing back to his spot in a magazine. “Can’t miss, and have to hit every one up *there*.”
>He pointed to a perilously perched row of little metal cards, gently bent to stand on their own and painted with now-flaking bulls’ eyes
>”Kim, you wanna-”
>”YEAHYEAHYEAH-”
>”Okay!”
>Sally nervously stepped back, the short girl shouldering the too-large gun and angling it upward
>She huffed, trying to align the barrel with the distant, monolithic metal plates
>”Mom…”
>”Need some backup?”
>The girl nodded
>Swooping down Sally took up a spot behind her, gently lifting the barrel and lightening the load for the young lady
>”I think I got it…”
>”Alright, then just go ahead and sque-”
>With a sharp whistle a tiny plastic pellet rocketed its way free of the gun, pneumatic energy propelling it upwards and towards the peanut gallery of cards
>The bright orange bearing disappeared, rattling around as it split against the wooden back wall, a few inches wide of the target
>The next nine shots, the full round, were equally uneventful
>Pinging and scattering around they failed to make any real purchase on the targets, Sally trying desperately not to overtake her daughter behind the gun
>There were four more tries to go, Sally knew, Harry stepping up for his turn
>A playful tousle of his skater’s bowlcut and he took position, a teenage fusilier ready to fire
>Another whip crack of spilt air spat in their ears, more of the light bearings bouncing backwards and off of the metal placards
>The pang of the sputtering bearings on the narrow aluminum plates was like a mournful bell- he’d hitten several times, but not one fell over
>”You wanna try Mom?”
>”Me- ooh, ahh,” she agonized. “Sure, why the heck not!”
>Sally, sliding past her son and taking the air gun, took her own place on the line
>Legs neatly triangled and postured she took up an ideal shooter’s stance, the rifle’s stock neatly folding into the crook of her shoulder
>Her son towered behind her, his sister held close as *Mom* had her try
>Firing-range instinct told her to show off, to flourish some
>She pivoted perfectly, a minute twisting degree by degree pulling the bead at the end of the rifle’s barrel in line with each target
>Squeeze after squeeze she struck each of the targets- center of mass, dead on
>But they refused to fall
>Sally’s eyes narrowed as she laid the gun flat on the counter, her kids urging her on after the showing
>Two more tries, surely there was plenty opportunity to win it
>Two more tries, Sally told herself, so this try could be the fluke, the one to test her brewing suspicions
>The uninterested worker peered over the top of his magazine, flicking a finger-wetted page over as he reclined again
>As Sally pinged the same target seven, eight, nine and finally ten times, though, the little aluminum card stripped of a few more flecks of paint, he was paying attention
>”Aw, shucks ma’am,” he started, “seems like we need to be closing down. I can give you a refund for that last ro-”
>”No, that’s fine, I’d like to have one more go, right kids?” The two nodded- backup was here, standing eagerly behind her. “Unless there were something *wrong* with your game, of course. Say, would you mind if I-”
>”Ma’am we’re not allowed to have customers back here, of course, safety and every-”
>”I never asked to go back there, dear, I just wanted to see your... hands.”
>He folded them in his lap, glossy magazine pages covering the shame there
>Harry smiled at the show before him, Sally showing off the number one reason not to mess with *her*, with *his* Mom
>”Ma’am, I’m terribly sorry but-”
>”Your *hands*, sir.”
>”Again,” he retreated, “I can offer you a refund if you’re not fully satisfied, but-”
>A *refund*? Was he out of his mind?
>Yes, *criminals* always take the smaller hit if it means weaseling their way out of things
>”Your *hands*.”
>”L-L-Look,” he gulped, producing a small yellow slip, “If you’re not satisfied with our service you can always-”
>Sally’s hand dug in her purse, a thick leather booklette folding into her fingers
>Mom rarely ever did *this*, Harry snickered to himself, *this* was for the people who were in actual trouble
>Unfolding the badge in front of the man, the embossed, golden crest of the city police shining back at him, she met his eyes one last time
>”Your *hands*, sir.”
>Shamefully he raised his clammy hands, pale and shivering in fear
>Sickening scabs of cyanoacrylate glue were stuck around his fingertips, the acrylic resin greasy and stinking over his nails
>The stench of acetate and alcohol wafted up from one hand, too- he’d been in the middle of disposing of the *evidence* when they showed up
>”Sir I believe this,” Sally began, pointing at the unmoving little targets, “is an open and shut case. Just for starters we have fraud, conspiracy to commit fraud, and I think we could very easily throw in some code violations as well. Am I missing anything?”
>She held three fingers down, inviting any helpful additions from the man, or the kids
>”Your *bosses* certainly won’t be happy to hear how things have transpired either, nuh-uh.”
>The man shrunk under the verbal assault, trying vainly to mumble something out to save his skin
>He could very easily sell out his bosses for the even shadier goings-on, and that was a very appealing prospect as the still robot’s face stood there, unmoving and unsympathetic
>”Now, about that dinosaur…”
>”Wha- huh?”
>”It’s late- we wanna go home, *you* wanna go home and wash that glue off. We’ll take *that* dinosaur and call it even, alright?”
>Slack-jawed at the inanity of her demands he just blinked, taking a minute to process it himself
>The badge had already been slipped away, but he was in no position to protest
>The pair of kids behind her stared on, quietly expecting him to hand it over too
>Sighing he lowered it from the little metal hook holding it aloft, its disappearance about to be another thorn in his side when he came to work tomorrow
>”Thank you, sir, and have an *excellent* weekend.”
>Lowering the Triceratops into Kimberly’s waiting arms the trio marched happily away to their station wagon, the wood-paneled vehicle humming to life as Sally popped her head backwards to pull out
>There was a lesson in there not to lie but, as she made her way to the highway, she had to be sure to remind them abusing police authority was *just* as wrong
>Harry was old enough to understand very well, the boy nodding respectfully before taking shotgun
>As Kimberly was engulfed into the fluffy ceratopsian, though, it was a lesson better left for bedtime, an after action report with an appropriate picture book
>Dad would be home when they got back as well, some much needed help from the man at the bedside just what Sally needed
>For the time being, though, Sally would just focus on the road and radio, the kids slumping over in their seats as the sun set and sodium lamps took over for the long drive home