Double Fake by Rich Wallace Read Free Book Online Page A

out of here,” Calvin said.
    He led the way out of the carnival grounds and down Ninth Street toward the Boulevard. “I had enough of this,” he said.
    “The grocery’s closed,” Zero said as they reached the main street. A few blocks up, the digital clock above the Hudson City National Bank said 10:09.
    “I know a place,” Calvin said. He was walking quickly. They were both supposed to be in by 10:30. “Might be a little late getting home, but we can weasel out of it.”
    Zero stayed in step with Calvin, who didn’t say much as they walked past the mostly darkened stores. A few taverns and the pizza places were still open, and a Latin rhythm was coming from the Lupita Music store.
    When they reached the corner of Third, Calvin said, “What’s the count?” to the man with the German shepherd.
    “One up, two down,” was the reply.
    “Must be a slow night,” Zero said to Calvin.
    “He just starts over when he gets to five.”
    “Where we going, anyway? It’s getting late.”
    “Two more blocks,” Calvin said. “We need to expand our horizons some, you know?”
    They reached First Street, just inside the town’s border, and Calvin turned down the hill toward the river. A quarter block down was Carolina’s Cantina, a small Mexican restaurant that served mostly take-out food. There were just three tables, but there was a refrigerator stocked with juices and soda near the counter.
    “How’d you know this would be open?” Zero asked.
    “My dad knows every late-night place to eat around here,” Calvin said. “We get tacos and stuff sometimes.”
    The round, dark-skinned man behind the counter nodded to the boys and smiled. He and two men at a table were watching a soccer game in Spanish on the small TV that was perched on a shelf next to cans of beans and tomatoes. Soccer posters on the wall said FUTBOL MEXICO and CLUB DE FUTBOL MONTERREY.
    “That’s our sport,” Calvin said, pointing to the TV.
    The men turned to him and grinned. “Who do you play for?” one asked. He had a strong Spanish accent.
    “Little Italy. In the Y league.”
    The man behind the counter said, “We sponsor a team in the older division. You look like a striker.”
    Calvin shrugged. “They play me all over. It’s my first year....”
    “You like it?”
    “Bueno,” Calvin said. Then he broke into an embarrassed grin. He didn’t know much Spanish.
    “Greatest sport in the world.”
    Calvin tapped on the glass door of the cooler at a row of sodas—Jarritos, Manzana, Lupiña—in mandarin orange, coconut, guava, pineapple. “That is good stuff,” he said to Zero. “A whole lot better than mixing Sprite and orange-colored sugar water.” He took out a bottle of pineapple soda. Zero reached in for another.
    “We better hustle,” Calvin said as they paid for the drinks. Then he had a second thought. He paid for a bottle of guava soda and held it up to the light. “For my dad. That’ll make sure he gets over me being twenty minutes late.”
    Then they hurried out the door toward home.

10
    Corner Kicks
    L ittle Italy lost a close one to Hector’s Garage but beat Bug Busters Extermination to run its record to 4-2-1. With three regular-season games remaining, they were in good position for a playoff spot.
    The standings were taped to the wall of the refreshment stand at the recreation field. Calvin checked them out as he waited for the rematch with the Grotto.

    Zero had gone into New York City with his parents and wasn’t back yet when Calvin left for the match, so he’d walked over alone. Now, just ten minutes before game time, Zero still hadn’t shown. Victor Alvarez was vacationing at Seaside Heights with his family, so Little Italy wouldn’t have any substitutes if Zero didn’t get there. The evening was hot and sticky.
    “This is a big one,” Coach Diaz said as the players gathered around him. He was wearing a yellow Brazil soccer jersey with green trim and had shaved off his wisp of a mustache. “If they