Beach Road Read Free

little jumper, he gets mugged just as bad by Rochie.
    Pretty soon, no one stretched out on the grassy hill beside the court is noticing the flapping seagulls or bobbing sailboats because the informal Saturday-morning game has escalated into a war.
    But then a beat-up Honda parks beside the court, and Dante’s pretty seventeen-year-old cousin, Nikki Robinson, steps out in very short cutoffs. When I see the way Feifer checks her out, I know the Montauk townies still have a chance to win this shoot-out by the sea.

Chapter 7
    Tom
    NIKKI ROBINSON LEANS provocatively against the wire fence, and the shameless Feifer immediately takes over the game. He uses his quickness, or stamina, or surprising strength to force three consecutive Kings Highway turnovers.
    When Jeff taps in my missed jumper, we’re all tied at twenty.
    Now Nikki isn’t the only one up against the fence. Artis LaFontaine and Mammy and Sly and everyone else on the hill are on their feet, making a lot of noise.
    Michael Walker races upcourt with the ball.
    With five pretty women paying attention instead of just one, Feifer swoops on Walker like an eagle bearing down on a rabbit on one of those TV nature shows. He effortlessly strips him of the ball and races the other way for the winning lay-up.
    This time, however, he doesn’t stop at the rim. He keeps climbing, showing that Montauk boys got
ups
too. When he throws the ball down, Artis, Mammy, and Marwan go crazy on the sidelines, and Nikki Robinson rewards him with a little R-rated dance that seventeen-year-old girls aren’t supposed to know how to do.
    This provokes Michael Walker to shove Rochie, Feif to shove him back, Dante to shove Feif, and Feif to
really
shove Dante.
    Ten seconds later, on the prettiest day of the summer, Feif and Dante are squared off at half-court.
    At this point, both sides should jump in and break it up, but neither does. The Kings Highway crew hangs back because they figure the white surfer boy is about to get a whupping and don’t want to bail him out. We stand and watch because in a dozen barroom brawls we’ve never seen Feif lose.
    And right now, despite giving up a foot and more than fifty pounds to Dante, Feif’s holding his own.
    But now I really have seen enough. This is bullshit, and I don’t want either of them to get hurt.
    But as I jump between them, catching glancing blows from both for my trouble, the court falls silent.
    There’s a high-pitched scream, the blur of people scattering, and then Artis yells, “
Tom, he’s got a gun!
”
    I turn toward Dante, and he’s holding his empty hands up in front of his face. When I turn to Feif, he’s doing the same thing.
    I am the last person on the court to see that the guy with the gun isn’t Dante or Feifer. It’s Dante’s homeboy Michael Walker. While I was breaking up the fight, he must have run and grabbed it from the car.
    I didn’t see him or the gun until just now, when he walked back onto the court, lifted it to the side of Feifer’s head, and with a sickening
click,
thumbed back the hammer to cock it.

Chapter 8
    Dante Halleyville
    WHEN MICHAEL PUTS that gun up beside that boy’s head, no one is more freaked than me.
No one!
Not even the bro with the gun to his head—although he looks plenty freaked too. This is my worst nightmare coming true.
Don’t pull that trigger, Michael. Don’t do it.
    Because of my promise to my grandmother Marie, I’ve got sixteen months to get through before I go into the NBA, and the only thing that can stop me is some ridiculousness like this. That’s why I never go to clubs or even parties where I don’t know everyone, because you never know when some fool is going to pull out a gun, and now that’s exactly what’s happening and it’s my best friend doing it, and he thinks he’s doing it for me.
    And it’s not like Michael and I haven’t talked about it. Michael wants to have my back, fine. But he’s got to stay between me and trouble, not bring it on.
    Thank