Please start with Part I and read in sequence.
I wasn’t wanting a fight with a quarrelsome guy that July night; what I wanted was a dance with a pretty girl. So, after a 10-hour day plowing fields for my uncle J.C., I returned home, took a shower, borrowed my Granna’s new Oldsmobile 98 and drove to Canyon’s Bull Barn.
As I parked in the asphalt lot, I could hear The Cavaliers, our local version of the Dave Clark Five, already pounding away at one of their numbers. Hoping that all the unattached females weren’t already taken, I got out and walked quickly towards the door, a door hidden behind a knot of boys.
Turned out to be the Hackers, a designation one received if, one, he hung out with Frank and Billy Mac, or, two, he was related to them, and three, he was tough looking. Meaning he had a battle scar or two, maybe a crooked nose or cauliflower ear, that said he had once enforced his will on others. Petey qualified on all counts.
Anyway, there was Billy Mac, with his arm around Petey, pointing at me. With a smirk on his face, Petey stepped out to block my way. I tried to go around, and he moved in front of me. I stopped and tried the other side, but, again, Petey stood in my way.
“Got your Daddy’s car, do you?” Petey taunted. “Let’s see if the little rich boy can take up for himself.”
My family wasn’t rich exactly, but I guess what we did have looked that way to a Hacker. Note to self: Next time, don’t take the Olds.
Tomorrow: Part IV, How to Pin a Hacker