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  “For real.”

  “I need you to work concessions tonight,” I said.

  He checked the long line outside and said, “Are you kidding?”

  “Samantha didn’t show. I’ve got Carrie doing tickets.”

  “Is this an offer I can’t refuse?”

  “You’ll pick it up easy.”

  He thought for a moment, looked at the line again, and said with a sly smile, “Do you know what happened to my stash?”

  I returned the smile and said, “I might be able to help you on that.”

  “I’m in.”

  “Great!”

  I slapped him on the shoulder and brought him over to Mindy for a quick training. I hoped she wouldn’t hold this against me.

  Cheers swept up and down the line as the news spread that we had started selling tickets.

  “Funkadelic,” someone yelled.

  I wrote on an index card the ticket number where we would need to stop selling and placed it in front of Carrie. Carrie took over after I’d handled about forty people. Her instincts were good. A one-trial learner. Her clear, smart voice did half the trick. And she kept her cool.

  People found their seats first and came back for concessions, creating half a dozen long lines. The popcorn machines worked at a nonstop pace. Candy depleted faster than it could be restocked. We hadn’t considered how much hungrier and thirstier people would be because of the wait. This was lunch and dinner for some.

  Owen took easily to doing concessions. We didn’t use cash registers for concessions, and so employees added the various combinations in their heads. But he was good at it, and soon he was having fun. He turned on his natural charm, especially with the girls.

  Riggs and Dupree came by around five-thirty and talked near the theater entrance. I noticed they’d found parking across the street in the Midas Muffler lot. Dupree returned to his car while Riggs entered the lobby and waved to get my attention. He threaded his way to the front of the concession line where I was helping. He held up two fingers.

  “Two minutes. Give me two minutes. Something you need to know for tonight,” he said. I apologized to the couple I was about to serve and met him over by the office stairs.

  “We lost them, Hicks and Hooker both,” Riggs said.

  “Really?”

  “Samantha won’t be showing up tonight.”

  “I figured as much. She’s late, something she’s never done before.”

  “Tried to call. Couldn’t get through.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. Constant calls.”

  “How did they get away?” I asked, hesitantly, not wanting to overstep what I could ask.

  Riggs seemed unbothered by my question and said, “They changed cars. Her Impala was abandoned at a Best Western on the Interstate. Nobody saw her. Hooker’s pickup either. Her apartment is cleaned out. We figure she may have been planning to rob the theater again tonight, probably with Hooker, and leave town. Must have realized we were onto them.”

  “Will you catch them?” I said, pleased he was sharing these details and intensely interested in these details too. And now that Carrie had taken over the cashier’s job and that even Owen had come through, I was glad that Samantha hadn’t shown up.

  “Yeah, we’ll get ’em. I’m glad they took off. If they’d tried something here again, someone might have gotten hurt. No, this is better. Confirms our suspicions. State Police are on it. We’ll be watching over this place tonight even so. Wanted to tell you that too.”

  “You can help with concessions,” I said. I was only half kidding because I needed to get back to work. I wanted everyone served and seated by the time the movie started.

  “We’ll just keep out your way,” Riggs said, laughing. “Can I make some calls from your office?”

  “Sure.” I handed over my keys, indicating the one to the office.

  “I recognize it.”

  “Use line three. The other two are always busy,” I said as I headed back to the concession counter.

  “I’ve noticed,” Riggs said.

  Mindy Hawkins stuck her head in the doorway and said in a panicked voice,

  “Mr. Burton, we’re out of Goobers!”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  That took care of Samantha. Then again, would she return to the theater? Not if she was spooked. But assuming anything would be a mistake. With Hooker thrown into the equation, who knew what this perversion of Bonnie and Clyde might produce. But I had little time to digest what Riggs had told me.

  I checked with Carrie. She and Kenny huddled together. Kenny used a black marker to make a “Five O’clock Show Sold Out” sign.

  “Kenny, what do you think? Let’s start selling for the seven-twenty show?”

  “Makes sense.”

  “That was thrilling,” Carrie said, her eyes radiating excitement.

  “I knew you’d like it,” I said. “I wouldn’t steer you wrong.” I was relieved, though. As smart and as capable as Carrie was, handling that crowd without any previous experience would have terrified almost anyone. But as soon as she had sized up the task, she had jumped into it without fear.

  Billy Gossett came running toward me from the main theater.

  “Mr. Burton, I need help with seating. We oversold.”

  “Did I make a mistake?” Carrie said.

  “Probably some people couldn’t find seats together. We didn’t oversell. Billy, let’s see what we can do.” Actually, I wasn’t sure. Maybe we did make a mistake. Did I figure the tickets numbers wrong?

  There were at least five clusters of people, mostly kids, looking for seats. I went up to the first group, five high school girls.

  “Hey, listen, guys, there’re seats for everybody. There won’t be five together though. Why don’t you pair up? Billy, you can find at least two together.”

  “Yeah, over there. Three.” Billy pointed at a group of three empty seats. I called out to the people next to the seats whether they were taken. No, they weren’t.

  “Why don’t you three take those seats?” Billy said.

  “Great,” I said. “I’ll help these kids.”

  I whispered in his ear,

  “Just keep your cool. It’ll work out. Some folks will get frustrated. You’re a natural at this.”

  By the time Hogan started the projector at five twenty, we’d found seats for everyone. We kept the house lights on through the ten minutes of previews, as some customers filtered back from getting concessions.

  The lobby was clear when the movie started. It was strange to see it empty now, with the press of the crowd outside waiting for the next show. There’d been so much madhouse clatter and excitement, and, now, suddenly quiet, except for the sound of the previews, just audible through the theater entrance doors. I had the weird sense that we were exotic aquarium creatures being observed by a curious public.

  Popcorn kernels, most crushed flat, covered the carpet. Billy and the two new kids set about sweeping them up. Mindy, with Owen eager to follow her lead, restocked the candy. All seemed forgiven between them. And Mindy seemed a different kid. She took charge of showing Owen the ropes. I figured she wanted to show that the trust I had given her was deserved. I was impressed.

  Ice was a problem. We were almost out, and our two machines couldn’t keep up. We’d survive that night, but not tomorrow, with additional afternoon shows and customers likely to be more thirsty. Kenny and I would have to think this through. The Riverview could help us out. We could purchase extra sacks of crushed ice. Warm soft drinks were unacceptable.

  We had plenty of popcorn kernels, but twice Mindy told me that actual popped corn ran out. I instructed everyone to keep popping it, even between shows, and to start filling and stacking boxes. It wouldn’t be as fresh as we typically served it, and wouldn’t be as warm, but it would have to do.

  I checked my watch. Exactly five-thirty, just when the movie would start. I wanted to experience this moment. I entered the theater as the Universal Films logo was disappearing into b
lackness for a few seconds. The white letters appeared announcing a “Zanuck/Brown Production” and then the low-register sound of the foreboding theme music,

  Excitement spread through the audience. This was going to be fantastic. The scene shifted to an ocean floor from the perspective of something moving through undulating growths of seaweed and small sea creatures.

  The title appeared in bold, white letters.

  JAWS

  The music quickened and peaked. Another current of excitement spread through the audience, accompanied by strange grunts. The music went quiet, and the scene changed to a beach party of high school students smoking and drinking around a fire. A boy blew on a harmonica, another strummed a guitar, a couple kissed. The effect was hardly calming though. The audience surely knew this happy, carefree sequence was a prelude to something terrifying. Although I had already seen it, somehow I felt the tension all the more because now I shared it with this large crowd.

  Then, appearing on screen,

  Directed

  by

  Steven Spielberg

  I looked around and noticed that most people had either forgotten about their candy and popcorn or were nervously shoveling it into their mouths. This was good. I wanted to keep watching, but I had many tasks to do.

  I asked Billy to set up the stanchion ropes so that people exiting the theater when the movie ended would be directed to the left exit of the lobby, away from the waiting crowd. I took most of the cash from the first show to the office safe to count later, leaving enough bills to make change for the next show. Owen struggled with a leaking carbonation cable, but before I had a chance to show him how to fix it, he’d managed it on his own.

  Owen said, “I’m feeling très efficacious.”

  I came back with, “And you’re not even wearing an assistant manager pin.” I was beginning to half like him.

  A loud, collective scream erupted from the theater, shaking the building’s foundations—as if eight hundred people had reared back in their seats as one. Was this the head roll scene? Seconds later, a young girl burst out of the main theater and vomited in a compact projectile. I remembered the reactions to the early viewings of the movie described in Time magazine.

  Riggs had just exited from the manager’s office door and was nearest to her.

  “Are you okay?” he said, as he rushed up to her.

  She glanced at him and scurried back into the theater.

  Billy was close by and said, “Just like in the preview! I’ll get something to clean it up.”

  Hogan emerged from the projection booth door. He was laughing.

  “All right, what did you do?” I said.

  “Turned up the volume right before that head appeared.”

  “A girl vomited right on the carpet,” I said.

  “That’s good. She’ll want to see it again.”

  “Back for another bite,” I said.

  “A second helping. And bring her friends too,” Hogan said.

  As he headed out, Riggs said, “Thanks for letting me use your phone. Call me if you need me. Or, talk to Detective Dupree. He’ll be around.”

  Sometime later, we heard another eruption of screams. I peered through the window of an exit door. Brodie had seen the shark. But this was followed by laughter when Brodie said they would need a “bigger boat.”

  What a great line, I thought again.

  At six forty-five we let the second crowd into the lobby. Like the first group, they were hungry and thirsty, and they formed lines at the concession area. We had long ago sold out for the second show, and we had the final line formed outside for the last, nine-fifteen show. Carrie now seemed supremely confident when I stuck my head in the ticket booth.

  “Great job, Carrie.”

  “It’s a gas. Sure beats concessions.” Her eyes, sparkling blue, showed her pleasure too.

  I said. “Did you see what happened? A girl ran out of the movie and threw up on the rug.”

  “Really?”

  “And she rushed back in. Never seen anything like it.”

  We heard the packed theater roar in unison.

  “I think the shark just blew up,” I said.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  We handled the next show and the start of the last show without problems. But Saturday and Sunday continued to worry me. It seemed like day one of the D-Day invasion. We’d established a beachhead, but making it inland would be a long slog. Five sellouts each day, and the weekend lines might be longer.

  I made quick calls to other theaters and asked for help. Kaywood Turrentine at the Riverview and Jimmy Reynolds at the Center agreed on the spot and said they’d haul over extra crushed ice, our main need, sometime late Saturday morning.

  After we closed down the concession counter, Owen approached me and said, “Thanks again for last night. You saved my ass, man. I see that. And you didn’t have to do it.”

  “Well, you saved mine tonight. You’re a natural. There’s a career waiting for you in concessions.”

  “It was a blast.”

  But he had something else on his mind. The stash. He gave me an expectant, almost pleading look. I motioned him over toward the lobby exit.

  “Yeah, I have it, sort of.”

  “What do you mean, ‘sort of’?” His face whitened, giving me a cheap thrill.

  “I know where it is. It’s hidden and safe,” I reassured him quickly.

  “Great. Do you realize how much it cost me?” He wanted this stuff bad.

  “You know what I think, Owen. I don’t want it around here. I swear I’ll turn you in.”

  “I get it. I get it,” he said with an innocent expression.

  “I bet you want to know how I got it, right?” I said.

  “Yeah, I mean, I locked the van.”

  “Not the back, you didn’t. Climbed in and right over the engine block. Stuffed it all in two popcorn boxes, you know, the ones you like to make fun of. Thirty seconds and I was out the side door.”

  “Okay, okay, Tarzan—but what did you do with them?”

  “Take that back.”

  “Sorry, sorry.”

  “You won’t believe where they are.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “In the back of Kenny’s Fairlane.”

  “What? All this time? Is that safe?” Owen said, looking anxious, his eyes darting about.

  “Don’t pee in your pants. They’re under layers of trash. Kenny’s car hasn’t had anyone in the back seat for ten years. I’m not kidding. I’ll show you. It’s parked down the slope.”

  We exited the lobby together. I glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and we headed to where Kenny’s car was parked among the mass of other cars.

  “Wouldn’t he notice?” Owen said, still unconvinced.

  “You’ll see. Trust me.”

  I squeezed into the space between Kenny’s Fairlane and the next car and hunched down. Owen followed my lead. I grabbed the handle of the rear door.

  I said, “Hold your breath. The smell would kill a skunk.”

  I heard something. Further down the lot was the approaching shadow of someone walking our way.

  “Get down, get down,” I hissed.

  We waited for several seconds as the figure passed by. It was Spence. Sometimes, he’d go outside to get some air.

  “It’s all right. It’s just Spence,” I said.

  Owen said, “That’s a bad hat he wears. He looks like Smokey the Bear.”

  “You knew he was a Buffalo Soldier, didn’t you?”

  “Buffalo Soldier? What’s a Buffalo Soldier?”

  “Owen, for someone who thinks he knows a lot, you don’t know much.”

  “Why should I know that? Anyway, open it.”

  “Never mind,” I said. But I was recalling what Spence had told me. His cavalry regiment took part in a campaign against Indian tribes in the 1870s. It was these Indians, Cheyennes, or was it Apaches, who came up with the name of Buffalo Soldier, on account of how fierce those Black so
ldiers fought, or so one legend went, Spence said. The style of hat came later, during the 1890s, when a group of Buffalo Soldiers patrolled places like Yosemite. Sort of early forest rangers. They got into the habit of pinching their hats to help shed the rain.

  “Open it, come on, man,” Owen said.

  I could understand him being worried, under the circumstances, but what a pothead he’d turned out to be, every bit of one. I opened the car door as wide as I could without hitting the adjacent car.

  “Jeez, you’re right. Putrid,” Owen said, contorting his face. This was the version of his face I wanted to remember him by.

  There was just enough light to make out the layers of trash.

  “See what I mean?” I said.

  “Yeah, this is like a modern-day Olduvai Gorge. You could study ten years of Southern culture, layer by layer.”

  “Good point. Like rings on a southern pine,” I said. I might really get to like him, despite myself, Butch Cassidy to his Sundance Kid.

  “So, where’re the boxes?” Owen said.

  I held my breath, took both hands, and made a wedge about where I remembered stuffing the boxes.

  “There’s one!” Owen said.

  “Grab it. The other one’s deeper. Come on, quick,” I said.

  Owen pulled out both boxes.

  “Outstanding.” Owen inspected the boxes, grinning wide, without a hint of self-consciousness. Aside from being flattened by the weight of the upper layers of trash, the top of one slightly splayed open, both boxes were intact.

  “Owen, take your precious cargo and clear out of here. I don’t want it anywhere near this theater.”

  “Capisce.”

  “Beat it,” I said.

  He needed no encouragement.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Where was Carrie? I wanted to thank her again for filling in for Samantha. I heard her voice, and Spence’s too, coming from the cleaning room. I entered the room and Carrie looked up at me, her eyes shining with excitement.

  Spence said, “Want to get a start on two. Get it knocked out quick.”

  I said, “We’ll all help out with the main theater later.”

  “I can help too,” Carrie offered. Spence glanced at me. She continued.