Free Fall Read Online Free PDF Page B

the paper tablecloth. All the children do it.”
    â€œSome adults, too,” I toss in because I know one who does. Me.
    The boy is looking at Ceepak like Superman just dropped in to the Pancake Palace to protect him from the evil fiend known as Dad, The Crayon Snatcher.
    â€œWell, who exactly gave some minimum wage waitress permission to tell my son what he can and cannot do in my absence?”
    â€œYou raise an interesting if somewhat moot point,” says Ceepak. “Be that as it may, it does not mitigate the fact that you accused your son of a very serious offense: Lying.”
    â€œIs this what you cops do down here? Butt into private, family affairs?”
    â€œWe try not to,” I say. “But sometimes, well, we just can’t seem to avoid it.”
    See, I know something Poppa Bear doesn’t: John Ceepak lives his life in strict compliance with the West Point honor code. He will not lie, cheat, or steal nor tolerate those who do. So, to accuse someone of lying, especially your own son, well, geeze-o, man, that is an accusation that should never be made lightly.
    â€œCome on Christopher.” The dad grabs the kid’s wrist.
    â€œBut …”
    â€œWe’ll pick up frozen waffles at the store.”
    â€œI wanted pancakes …”
    â€œThere’s no need for you two to leave, sir,” says Ceepak, picking up a napkin to dab at his lips.
    â€œWell, I sure don’t want to sit here eating breakfast with Big Brother’s nose up my butt.”
    He means Ceepak and me. We are the police state. The big, bad butt-sniffers.
    â€œThen you are in luck,” says Ceepak. “My partner and I were just leaving. Danny?”
    â€œI’ve got this one.” I lay some bills on the table, enough to pay for everything we would’ve eaten if, you know, we had ever ordered anything besides coffee.
    â€œHave a good day.” Ceepak gives the father and son a crisp two-finger salute off his right brow.
    Little Christopher salutes right back.
    Super Man and I leave the building.
    Yes. When you work with John Ceepak, sometimes you miss a meal.

8
    â€œS ORRY ABOUT THAT ,” SAYS C EEPAK AS WE HEAD TOWARD THE Boardwalk.
    â€œNo biggee. That poor kid needed somebody to stand up for him.”
    â€œIndeed he did.”
    It’s not even noon yet, but I can already smell the Italian sausages, green peppers, and onions sizzling on a greasy grill somewhere up ahead. My stomach gurgles so loudly, it sounds like I swallowed a demonic alien.
    â€œPerhaps we can grab a quick bite at one of the boardwalk eateries,” suggests Ceepak.
    â€œThat’ll work,” I say. Curly fries, cheesesteaks, and funnel cakes—all part of a complete, nutritional breakfast.
    We climb up the steep steps to Pier Two.
    â€œThere’s a Jumbo Jimmy’s cheesesteak place on the other side of Ye Olde Mill,” I say.
    Ye Olde Mill is probably the oldest ride in all of Sea Haven. Not even a hurricane could knock it out business. A water wheel churns up turquoise blue water to make a gently flowing current that sends small boats drifting slooooowly down a lazy stream that’s maybe six inches deep.
    Since the scenery is pretty lame—like department-store window displays done by lazy gnomes—and the lighting is extremely dim, guys and girls in their tiny two-seater boats don’t really have much choice but to start cuddling and canoodling in what has been unofficially called The Tunnel Of Love since 1949.
    â€œDoes Jumbo Jimmy’s serve fruit?” asks Ceepak when we pass the water wheel.
    â€œI think so. They have those bananas dipped in chocolate. And candy apples.”
    â€œJohn? Daniel?”
    It’s Ceepak’s mother. She’s with a group of about a dozen other senior citizens, all of them dressed in plaids and sherbet colors. Some are wearing those visors with the see-through green windowpane in the brim. Each of them holds a