“Hey Fire Guy,” said a voice behind Robin, as he readied himself for his act. “Are you going to swing your little fireballs for us?”
Aw, shit. Robin thought about what it was going to mean to his take if he had a drunken heckler. “No man, I’m a Samoan fire knife dancer,” he remarked pleasantly, still doing his shtick. “The poi ball is a Maori dance.”
“But Dude, I want to see your little fireballs,” insisted the man, who was big enough to intimidate and wearing a Sun Devils football sweatshirt. Mobs of people strolled along the street between Pier 39 and the restaurants and crab stands. The lit torch in the center of the brick circle was drawing a crowd. His heckler leaned over toward a smaller man in an olive green shirt and cargo shorts and gave an exaggerated wink. “I’ll bet this guy’s little fireballs are…”
“Shut up, Chase. Let’s go. You need to get home,” said the man in the shorts.
Robin took a chance and looked up, meeting Little Guy’s gaze. He looked apologetic, as though this were a regular occurrence. Robin smiled, and Little Guy smiled back. Oh, nice. His friend hooked a big, square hand around his shoulder and put his weight on him, making him stagger a little. Robin went back to his preparations, using his every movement to heighten drama and build suspense. He sprinkled water on his bare skin, knowing it would make him glow in the firelight. Not catching fire didn’t suck, either.
“Don’t you worry about me, Kelly. Nothing wrong with taking a peek at fire-boy’s equipment,” his heckler slurred. “There’s plenty of the old Chasemeister to go around, right baby?” He tried to land a sloppy kiss on the Little Guy’s face but the kid was faster.
“Chase!” the guy named Kelly dodged. “You can’t begin to imagine…”
“Now Kells, don’t do this… Don’t go getting all tense, man. I just want to see the guy’s act, that’s all.”
“Fine, then, Chase, just shut up. Can’t you see he’s already started?” Kelly looked back at Robin. “That’s part of the show, Chase. He’s drumming up his audience, teasing the crowd. The lit fire is his signal for people to start gathering.”
“What are you now, the fucking National Geographic? How do you know so much about it?”
Kelly rolled his eyes and didn’t answer. That meaty hand was back on the side of his face, trying to draw him close.
“Come on Kells, don’t be like this.”
“You smell like the alley behind Big Dick’s Billiards. Watch, okay? I’ll be over there,” Kelly said, and disengaged himself from the larger man. He walked to where a hansom cab stood, the horse blowing and stamping, its breath misting the air. Robin saw Kelly say something quietly to the driver, who nodded his head, and then he began stroking the horses muzzle, putting his face right in to whisper into it’s ear.
Kelly stroked the soft mane of the cab horse, and Robin couldn’t help but picture him stroking the horse’s ass he was with later on. Too bad. The little guy was definitely hot.
