“So you think you’re falling all on your own. That you’re not even sitting in your seat.”
Ceepak nods.
“What fun.”
“Only if you enjoy experiencing vertical acceleration upwards of three G’s.”
The empty ride reaches the blinking lightning bolt. It pauses and just hangs up there for a second.
And then, BOOM!
If there were people riding the ride, they’d be screaming their heads off and kicking their dangling legs. Because the thing plunges 120 feet in eight seconds flat. Your stomach would be in your nose, which is why you should never eat funnel cakes right before riding this ride. There is a quick puff of white mist. The car slows. Impressively. Then it eases itself down to the loading platform.
“Pretty neat, huh, guys?” cries the over-caffeinated dude as he bounds over to greet us. He shoots out his hand to Ceepak. Ceepak shakes it.
“Detective Ceepak. We’ve been expecting you.”
“This is my partner, Danny Boyle.”
“Well, hey there, Danny. I’m Bob.”
I knew that already. It says “Bob” on his plastic nametag.
Ceepak pulls a sheaf of paper out of his sport coat’s inside pocket.
“As you may know, Mr. …”
“Please, Detective-call me Bob.”
“Very well. As you may know, Bob, this ride was formerly erected at a small amusement park in Troy, Michigan.”
Bob clucks his tongue. “Tragic what happened. But that’s ancient history. Water under the bridge.”
Guts on the ground, I want to add, but don’t.
“We’ve cleaned the ol’ gal up. Given her a new paint job. Jazzed up the lights and sound effects. Added some additional safety devices.”
Bob hands Ceepak the thick accordion file.
“Here’s all our paperwork. The engineers’ reports. Structural analysis. Maintenance reports. Everything the state requires for a passed-with-flying-colors pre-season, pre-operational inspection. As you’ll see, Sinclair Enterprises is in full compliance with title five, chapter fourteen-A of the New Jersey Administrative Code as it pertains to Carnival and Amusement Rides.”
Bob is rocking back on his heels, proud to be the smartest kid in the class.