The Big Time

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

THE MASSIVE FISH VEERED off and swam away.

Troy felt his body go limp. His father's regulator exploded with bubbles and a burst of underwater laughter. Then his father jiggled an "okay" sign in front of Troy's face, nodding his head to ask if Troy was all right. Troy held up his own sign, weak but with the warmth of avoided danger blossoming in his chest.

The reef sharks, sawfish, barracudas, and even the docile whale shark soon became novelties, like puppet dragons hung backstage after a show. Even the nasty hammerhead soon proved he wanted less to do with the divers than they wanted with him. And once when Charlie wasn't looking, Troy even flicked a hand at it, causing it to flinch and hurry away, wagging its tail like a puppy.

That's when Troy noticed the evening crowd. Ordinary people-men, women, kids, and teenagers-all pressed to the glass, all pointing at them, the ones who swam with the sharks.

When Charlie signaled for them to head up, Troy felt a disappointment he couldn't have imagined a half hour before. Still, when they broke the surface, the exhilaration of it all made him whoop and slap a high five with his father before they even got out of the tank. They shed their gear and changed back into their clothes in the locker room, his father toweling off with brisk strokes. Before they left, Troy noticed his father slip folded bills of money to the people who had helped them, even Christine Swimmer. When they broke out into the evening light on the sidewalk, he asked about it.

"Did you have to pay them off?" Troy asked.

His father chuckled and said, "No. The aquarium did that as a favor to me. I helped set up G Money to do a charity event for them. Those people got the word from way up high to give us the VIP treatment. They do dives like that for other people, but it takes a long time to get in. I just gave them that money as a tip, just to say thanks."

"That's how they do it in the big time?" Troy asked.

"Exactly how," his father said. "When you make big, big money, you don't mind throwing it around a little. People appreciate it, and it comes back to you in ways you can't imagine."

"Do you have big money?"

His father gave him a knowing grin and waved to the orange Porsche on the street. "Big enough so I don't talk about it," he said.

"Sorry," Troy said.

"No, that's okay. You're my son."

They ate thick steaks at Chops and had lobster tails drenched in butter. Troy dug into a strawberry short-cake, while his father had a glass of thick purple wine called port. On the drive home, Troy begged to have the top down, even though the temperature had dropped sharply without the sun. As they got off the highway near Troy's home, he pointed at the clock on the dashboard.

"It's only nine," he said.

"I know," his father said. "I'll get you home early."

Troy's face fell, and his father reached over to muss his hair.

"Don't look like that," his father said. "It's not because I don't want to be with you. It's the exact opposite. I get you home early and it does two things. First, it puts your mom in a good mood; and second, it gives me time to explain to her why she needs to let you miss school tomorrow."

"To fly out to New York?" Troy asked, excited now. "You really think she'll let me?"

"I know her pretty well, Troy," Drew said, his eyes narrowing at the road ahead, "and, like I said, I haven't forgotten how to deal with her. Yeah, I think we got a pretty good chance she'll let you go, but we'll see. It's just like football. You never know for sure you've won until that final gun."