Banana Man (a Novella) (5 page)

“Hi dad.” Danny wanted to ask his dad for a buck so he could get over to Cleary’s and buy the comic book, but he figured he should let his dad relax first, at least for a few minutes. Danny sat quietly while his dad settled in.

His dad worked construction, and he worked hard every day. He left the house before sunrise and came home late afternoon. He smelled of dirt and oil. Danny could smell his clothes over the burning fire. That was how his clothes always smelled.

His dad sat down near the fireplace, slow and careful, exhausted from a long day of work. He rubbed his calloused hands in front of the flames. “I got to work ten hours today.” He opened the fireplace grill and poked at the fire with a metal rod. “Pine is almost burned through.” He lifted a heavy piece of oak and fed it into the fire. The oak crushed down on the pine, and the fire spit sparks and embers. He swung the grill shut, leaned the poker against the brick, and gazed into the flames. His shoulders slumped a little, and for a moment Danny saw sadness in his eyes.

Danny couldn’t contain himself any longer and blurted out, “I need to borrow money. You can take it out of my allowance. I know it’s not Friday but I want to get Banana Man. It came out today and the guys will be out of detention soon and there’s only one copy left.” He was talking fast but he couldn’t help it. He always talked fast when he was nervous or he wanted something. “Mr. Cleary only buys three copies. I need a dollar dad. Can I have a dollar?” He forgot to mention that Mr. Cleary promised to keep the last copy aside. There really wasn’t a rush, but Danny wanted to buy the comic as soon as possible.

His dad laughed. “Banana Man? What kind of super hero is that?”

“Please dad?”

“Tell you what. I’m going to get out of these clothes and take a shower. You ride your bike over to the post office and get the mail. When you get back, I’ll give you a buck for your comic. I won’t take it out of your allowance.”

“That’s not fair. Billy and Tommy’s mom already bought theirs. Chris is going to beat me to Cleary’s and get the last one. I know it. Let me buy it first and then I’ll get the mail.”

But his dad had already left the room. He yelled from down the hallway, “Take your backpack. I haven’t checked the mail for a week and there’s going to be a lot. And don’t get it wet.”

For as long as Danny could remember, his dad always had the mail delivered to the post office instead of the house. Privacy was important to him. He told Danny on more than one occasion he didn’t like strangers knocking on their front door, and that included the mailman.

Danny checked his watch: 3:30.

His friends would get out of detention at four. That gave him thirty minutes to get to the post office and back home and over to Cleary’s Market. Although Farmer Cleary promised to hold the comic for him, he didn’t entirely trust that old man, not when it came to earning a dollar.

If Chris’s mom picked him up from detention at four o’clock sharp and drove him straight to the store, he would get there by four-fifteen at the latest. There was no way Danny would make it to Cleary’s in time if he took the long way to the post office. He would have to take the shortcut through Tucker Street Alley.

Danny put on his wet sneakers. He dumped the contents of his backpack onto the kitchen table, and then slung it over his shoulders and strapped it down. He grabbed the mailbox key from the hook on the kitchen wall and left the house.

CHAPTER SIX

Tucker Street Alley

Tucker Street Alley was in a bad neighborhood.

Danny’s dad warned him not to ride his bike anywhere near Tucker Street and definitely not to walk through it. His buddies received similar caution from their parents, and for the most part, Danny and his pals avoided the entire block. But it wasn’t their warnings that kept the young boys away. It was the dog.

The most notable part of the alley was Charlie the dog. It was his alley. Some of the kids at school learned the truth of that fact the hard way by trekking through his domain and getting chased and sometimes bitten. The smart kids respected the rumors. They steered clear.

Supposedly Charlie piled his victim’s shoes in the bushes somewhere. Danny never knew if that rumor was true or not, but on several occasions he noticed the mailman wore mismatched shoes; not that one was completely different than the other, but that one shoe was definitely
newer
than the other, as if he mysteriously lost a shoe along his route.

Getting bitten by a dog over a comic seemed like a stupid risk to take, but trusting Mr. Cleary to keep his promise was equally risky. If he didn’t get to the store and buy the last copy with his own hands, chances were he would never get it. The publisher – a small press out of Eugene, Oregon – kept its distribution limited, and no other store in town carried it. Mr. Cleary unknowingly purchased an already obscure comic when he first ordered it.

He stopped his bike at the beginning of the alley before the asphalt ended and the mud began.

Danny was a smart kid. He knew better than to think it would be an easy ride through the alley after so much rain. He hopped off his bike and poked a finger into the mud to test its depth. It was soft; his finger sank pretty easily. He’d have to slog through it on his bike between the weeds and trash bins.

Tucker Street Alley wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t narrow at the exact spot where Charlie lived. The dog always hid in a stretch of wild bushes that extended from a home with backyard overgrowth so thick it was impossible to see the back of the house. The dog would lurk somewhere in that jungle, and wait for an unsuspecting kid to get close.

Directly opposite where Charlie lived – on the other side of the alley – was a crumbling block wall. Between the wild bushes and the wall, the alley narrowed, squeezing anyone walking through it and forcing them within arms reach of the bushes. There wasn’t much space either; barely enough room for two kids to walk side by side. It was the perfect spot for an ambush.

He figured he’d get a head start on his bike, hoping to get up enough speed to shoot by the bushes. If he could make it through the alley, the rest of the trip to the post office would be a breeze, and he would easily save ten minutes each direction. Of course, he would have to carry his bike across the tracks but that wasn’t a big deal. He’d done it before.

He positioned his bike a good distance away from the mud, took a deep breath, and started pedaling hard, racing across the asphalt toward the alley. For a moment it seemed he’d built up enough speed to zoom by Charlie, but once his bike rode onto the mud, his tires bogged down. The further he rode, the slower his bike rolled.

It didn’t take long before his tires sank up to the spokes. His speed slowed so much that he struggled to keep his balance, but he kept on pedaling. His legs started to burn, and he got winded. Even with all his effort, the bike barely inched forward.

Danny looked down and noticed the back tire had dug a trench; it was spinning freely. The mud was too deep to continue on bike. He would have to walk.

He gave up pedaling and got off the bike and almost slipped, his sneakers squishing into the slimy mud. His first thought was to head back, but when he twisted around to see how far he traveled, he realized he had already gone a good distance into the alley. His plan had sort of worked. He might as well push forward.

He held his bike by the handle bars and kept it on his left side – the same side as Charlie’s bushes – and began the muddy walk to the other end of the alley.

Charlie had tried to bite Danny one time before. He hadn’t forgot that. And here he was doing the very same thing: taking a shortcut to get to the post office.

Cutting through the alley probably wasn’t such a good idea after all.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Charlie The Dog

The air was calm, and the alley quiet. The clouds had thinned, and the late afternoon sun peeked through and painted the alley in streaks of golden light.

Danny trudged onward through the mud, dragging his bike alongside him, getting closer and closer to the choke point; the bushes coming up on his left and the cinder block on his right. The mud sucked at his shoes with each squishy step, making it tough to keep his footing. His sneakers nearly shot out from under him several times. Dogs had good hearing. If Charlie was in the bushes, which he probably was, he heard Danny getting closer. There would be no sneaking by.

Although the dog hadn’t made a sound yet, the boy sensed it watching him. Charlie was probably eyeballing Danny’s sneakers, at least what he could see of them. Danny couldn’t imagine they’d be very tasty with all that mud on them.

The only mild comfort was that his bike shielded him somewhat from Charlie’s side of the alley. Other than possibly blocking the dog’s attack, his bike was more of a hindrance than a help, and had become dead weight. He could fling it at Charlie if necessary, but he didn’t want to do that.

He gave one more thought to turning around. At that point he was already halfway through the alley. Turning back was no different than moving forward, but retreat was not an option. Not for Danny. Moving forward was the only choice. Moving forward meant being brave, and Danny was a brave boy; brave and strong.

The going slowed as he neared the bushes. His sneakers felt like mud bricks. He switched from dragging his bike alongside him to using it as a crutch; leaning on it made it easier to move forward.

As he neared the bushes, Charlie growled.

It might have been the growling that caused it, or maybe it was just bad luck, but with his next step Danny’s foot shot out, and he flopped to the ground. The back of his head slammed into the soft mud. The bike crashed down on top of him, and a pedal dug into his side. He struggled briefly, trying to maneuver out from under the bicycle, but it pinned him down, and he wasn’t accomplishing much more than squirming around in the mud. In that moment, Charlie attacked.

The enraged dog sprang from the bushes, and Danny’s heart just about leapt through his chest.

The muscular dog charged; snarling, ears flopping, its eyes fixed angrily upon the boy, and those teeth – white daggers flying toward his face! But the mud wasn’t Charlie’s friend either, and the dog slipped and fell. It sprang back up, tried to run again, and fell again. It was so excited to get to Danny that it kept slipping and sliding.

Danny had nowhere to go. He was stuck in the mud, and he thought he was going to die right then and there. Then he remembered his bike. He shifted his weight and slid out from under it.

The dog finally reached Danny and lunged at his face. Danny shoved his bike at it, and the dog bit into the steel bike frame.

Instead of letting go of the frame, the dog started a game of tug-of-war, pulling and jerking on the bike, growling, and trying to wrestle it from Danny’s grip.

Danny yelled, “Let go my bike, Charlie! My mom bought me this bike!”

The dog gave a sudden, loud yelp and released its bite. Then it slid backwards, its legs splayed out, its paws paddling at the mud.