The Bowlers Returned With Cleared Refunds And New Entry Forms

Bev taped the sign inside the door so the wind couldn't take it.

"Only if you're ready," she said.

I looked past her at the lot. People waited in warm cars with their bowling bags on the seats beside them.

"The machines are ready," I said. "I'm catching up."

She opened the door.

Nobody clapped. That helped. They came in stamping snow from their boots, asking which pairs were open and whether the coffee was fresh.

I answered ordinary questions until my voice stopped shaking.

On the counter stood two folders. One held the new league rules and fees. The other held a plain account of the old refunds, with private information covered. Anyone whose check had not cleared could ask Miles about it directly.

A separate notice named the new operator and gave my business number.

"Put your name bigger," Bev said.

"They can read it."

"I meant on the service board."

I left it as it was.

Over the next week, every old tournament refund cleared. Some teams waited until then to ask about the new event. Others called the day the checks arrived.

The new form stated that each $400 entry would put $300 into prizes and $100 toward lane use. The money went into a separate account and stayed there until the tournament.

Forty-six teams entered again.

I checked the total with the bookkeeper, then checked it against the bank. I put the red washer beside the three matching numbers before I moved it back into my pocket.

Six weeks after Curtis locked me out, the winter tournament began.

We ran two squads, twenty-four teams in the morning and twenty-two after lunch. The lot filled before sunrise. A couple from Williston brought a thermos big enough for a road crew.

The snowplow had left a hard ridge at the entrance. I broke it with a shovel before the first car turned in. My hands shook from the cold when I unlocked the door, so I warmed them around a paper cup.

Amina came early with her brace already strapped on.

"You look tired," she said.

"You look like you're about to miss a ten pin."

"Then the building really is back to normal."

At eight, the first practice balls rolled. I stood behind the machines, counting cycles by ear. Nine sounded smooth. Eleven had a loose cover screw, which I tightened between squads.

Near noon, Bev brought me her phone.

Curtis had sent the captains a message saying I had used the new entry fees to cover the old refunds. He said the alley would fail as soon as the prize checks came due.

For a moment, I wanted a microphone.

Instead, I called Miles.

He sent the captains a dated summary with supporting records. The old refund checks had cleared before the first new entry was accepted. The asset-sale payment and Curtis's own returned money had funded them.

No long argument was needed. The dates did the work.

Vera also sent Curtis's lawyer a copy of the correction Curtis had signed as part of the settlement. It stated that I had been the company's mechanic and a forty percent member. He had already agreed that his old claim about my job was false.

"Do you want me to read this out?" Bev asked.

"Send it to the people who got his message. Then let them bowl."

During the second squad, Curtis appeared in the lobby.

The desk clerk called me before letting him past the counter. I came forward with grease on one sleeve.

"I want my framed fishing picture," he said.

It had been on the personal-property list. I fetched the wrapped frame from the office and brought the pickup receipt.

He looked at the lines of bowlers and the full shoe racks.

"Busy day."

"Yes."

"You find out yet how hard the front desk is?"

"Yes. We hired enough help."

He signed for the picture.

For a second, he held the pen as if something more should happen. I waited. Behind me, a little girl asked her mother why the pins came back so fast.

Curtis put the pen down and carried his picture out.

That evening, I signed prize checks totaling $13,800. The remaining $4,600 became the new company's lane revenue after the event was complete. The bookkeeper checked the register before I closed it.

Amina missed her last ten pin by the width of my thumb.

"Bad lane," she told me.

"Put it in writing."

She laughed, and I laughed with her.

After everyone left, I swept the approach floors myself. Owning them hadn't made dust someone else's duty.

At the office door, I found an envelope Vera had dropped off during the final squad. Inside was a witness notice from the state's attorney's office.

The case named Curtis Morrow as the defendant.