He leaned his cane against the low counter. He heard the little gasps, the mutters, people shuffling closer, trying to figure out what they were seeing.
Gage smiled toward the carnie’s voice. “To keep it fair, since everybody else can see the balloons, can I feel the board first? Then I’ll step back over and shoot like everyone else.”
Scar cut in, his voice hard as if daring the guy to say no. “Sounds more than fair.”
Someone nearby echoed, “That’s fair.”
Another voice, “Yeah, let him.”
Gage didn’t wait for permission. He planted one hand on the counter and cleared it in a single leap.
The crowd swelled even more.
He reached out and grazed his open hands over the balloons. Some spots were empty from already being popped, others had decent sized clusters. He mapped the board in seconds, then smoothly hopped back over the barrier.
A woman close by whispered, “That guy’s cool as hell, and hot.”
Gage grinned at the shot to his ego.
The carnie cleared his throat. “All right then. Two balloons gets you a small prize. Four, you get one from the mid-tier, and six, you win big.”
“Got it.”
Then the carnie added, “If you hit one, I’ll still give you something.”
“Hey,” Scar snapped. “Don’t fuckin’ do that. He don’t need a fuckin’ pity gift.”
Gage reached out and touched Scar’s shoulder in a quiet signal. It’s fine.
Scar shut his mouth, but Gage could still feel his protective anger.
He stepped back from the counter, paused, then kept going.
The crowd’s hushed murmurs escalated.
The throwing line was at the counter, roughly fifteen feet from the board, Gage stopped around forty feet away.
He tipped his head slightly, ear toward the board, as the sounds from the booth heightened. He could hear the smallest movements, the balloons swaying with the wind, the carnie’s breathing, the crowd holding still.
He lifted the first dart.
Threw.
Pop.
Followed immediately by another dart.
Pop.
He didn’t pause to celebrate. He fed the throws in rhythm, four more in rapid succession, each one a clean release, each one landing where his memory and hearing told him it would.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
The crowd erupted.
Gage held his hand.
Scar slapped six more darts into his palm.
