Page 77 of The Guy in the Alley

“You’re not corrupting my nephew,” I warned.

“Corrupting or saving?” Ben helped the boy into place, then rose to his feet, eliciting a wheeeeee! from Chip.

“Corrupting,” I insisted.

Ben ignored me. “Hey, Chip? Do you know the most common words spoken by a Cubs fan?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. What was he up to now?

“Like, words they say a lot?” Chip questioned.

“That’s exactly it,” Ben replied. “Can you guess?”

“I will end you,” I whispered.

Ben winked. He fucking winked. Maybe half a percent of the population could pull that off. He had to be one of them?

Chip giggled. “I don’t know! Go Cubs!”

“Close,” Ben said. “But correct answer is, Maybe next year.”

I rolled my eyes and decided to give him the cold shoulder until I’d scrubbed the memories of my old man saying, “Well, there’s always next year” a million fucking times over the years.

“Is he teasing you, Uncle Trace?” Chip asked.

“He totally is,” I was quick to reply.

That only made the boy snicker. “Mommy does that too.”

What the hell? Was this Gang Up on Uncle Trace Day?

I left the shits in the dust and stalked over to the photo tent.

“Wait!” Ben called. “I have more Cubs jokes!”

Oh, screw it. It was on now. I handed over Chip’s race number to the guy at the tent, then turned around to face Ben.

“You want jokes? Look in the damn mirror, man,” I said. “Or how about a quiz? What do the Sox have in common with a possum? Both play dead at home and get killed on the road.” I wasn’t done. His scowl only fueled me. “What do you call forty rich fuckers sitting at home watching the World Series? The White Sox.”

Chip started guffawing, though I doubted he understood the digs.

“What does a Sox fan do after his team has won the World Series?” I pressed. “He turns off his PlayStation.”

With that said, I turned my back on him once more, and I took a deep breath. It was important to stop before things got too heated.

“Here we go, pal.” The guy adjusted his laptop so I could see the images they’d taken. There were more than ten, and he explained they took extra to ensure I had ten quality pictures to choose from.

One of the first I clicked on became an instant pick. It’d been taken a second or two before Chip ran into the color explosion. His arms were raised in the air, hands balled into fists, a warrior cry frozen in time, and eyes screwed shut. Fucking perfect.

The other two, I had to go with when he emerged from the dust cloud. I scrolled through a dozen of them, and they were all good. He looked so damn happy. Sarah would probably like the one where he’d just opened his eyes and he was reaching the finish line.

“Okay, so those three there.” I pointed at the screen. “And the last one in print, thanks.”

“No problem. You’ll get all three in a zip file on your email, and your print will be ready in a few seconds.”

“Thank you.” I nodded and stepped aside for the next schmuck who’d shelled out the big bucks. But at the end of the day, fucking worth it.

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