Across the East River from downtown New York, in a pocket park between the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges, a small crowd was watching a young skateboarder performing a series of stunts – flips, grinds, rail stand... nothing any decent boarder couldn't nail. But then, with a cocky smile and a toss of his blond dreadlocks, the young man, Casey Janz, whipped his board around, pushed hard until he got enough speed, flew the board up onto a park bench, sailed off and did an airborne double three-sixty, landing flawlessly to a burst of applause.   

Sitting on the pavement in front of the crowd, a kid with no legs, street name Leggo, reached over and shook the satchel he'd spread open before him. People behind him took the hint and started tossing in coins and bills, a little something for Casey's performance, Casey and Leggo a team.   

A group of their compadres, some on skateboards, all wearing grunge gear, wove among the onlookers, urging people who were hanging back to step forward and give. 

At the edge of the crowd, another boarder, a hard-eyed loner named Mondo, was watching Casey's performance. As Casey lined himself up for an encore, Mondo's gaze shifted across the crowd to a chick boarder they called Ladyfingers.  

Mondo kept watching as Ladyfingers left her board with one of the grunge crew and eased herself over behind a man wearing a business suit. She waited until Casey was back in action, holding everyone's attention, and then gently raised the vent of the man's jacket. With all eyes except Mondo's diverted, Ladyfingers lifted the man's wallet. She stuck the wallet in the waistband of her jeans and casually backed away. 

Suddenly there was a sharp bleep! from across the park. 

Ladyfingers spun around. 

Speeding toward her with its bubble lights flashing was a police intercept cart. 

The guy holding Ladyfingers' board slid it toward her. She hopped on and took off. 

The crowd scattered. 

Legless Leggo wasn't legless at all. He jumped up and grabbed the satchel of money, the phony stubs attached to his cargo pants flapping as he ran. 

Casey swooped in on his board, pulled Leggo on with him and the two hightailed it down a sidewalk toward the Manhattan Bridge. 

The rest of the grunge crew grabbed their boards and darted in all directions, the police cart chasing after Ladyfingers, who sped down one of the sidestreets. She made a series of quick lefts and rights, doubled back and pointed her board for an abandoned warehouse she knew she could get into. Knew if she could make it through and out the other side, chances were she'd lose the cop.  

Mondo's flat eyes took it all in. He stepped onto his board and pushed off, heading for the Manhattan Bridge, same route Casey and Leggo took.  

Ten minutes later, up on the bridge, the crew were all on their boards, pushing and rolling along the structure's wide pedestrian ramp, heading toward Manhattan.   

Leggo was still riding with Casey, Ladyfingers just catching up. She gave a quick glance over her shoulder, hoping she'd ditched the goddamn cop. 

From the roadway beneath them, the whooshing and beeping of traffic came up through the ramp's grating, trucks and cars streaming in both directions, a subway rumbling on tracks that connected Manhattan and Brooklyn. 

Halfway across the ramp, something up ahead made Casey slow down. He squinted toward a row of blinking yellow lights and came to a stop.  

"Aw, man," Leggo said, hopping off with his bag. The others pulled up behind him. 

On the other side of the blinking lights, past a big orange construction sign, a section of the pedestrian ramp had been removed. Tubular bike-rack barricades were stretched across the skateboarders' path. 

Casey and the others eased their boards forward, stopping at the barricades and peering down. Where the ramp section had been was an ominous void, a few shadowy girders down there, and then nothing but a yawning drop, bypassing the roadway and subway tracks to the river currents far below. 

Casey was frozen. He stood there staring, transfixed by the void. Started to feel dizzy, on the verge of a vomit. A water taxi going by down there seemed to start spinning. He tried to get himself under control, cursing this thing he had about heights. Like it terrified him and at the same time he couldn't stop looking – Christ, it had to be a 300 foot drop. It was like he was under some kind of spell, the gulls circling that water taxi adding to it. He swallowed and concentrated and made an effort and finally forced himself to lift his eyes. 

Where he was looking now, far across the gap, details in and out of focus, the ramp continued on a long downslope toward the Manhattan skyline. 

Behind him a voice spoke up. "What's the problem?" 

Casey knew the voice, nodded at the gap. "See for yourself." 

Heard Mondo come forward on his board to look over the edge. "So?" 

"So go back around," said Casey. 

"What's wrong we jump it?" 

Casey turned to him and stared. 

"You and me," Mondo said. "A board thing. See who makes the other side first. Put some money on it – now you got Ladyfingers there with her stash." 

Casey held the stare – then looked around at Ladyfingers. 

Ladyfingers was looking at Mondo. She looked at Casey, gave him a fine-by-me shrug. 

Casey turned back to Mondo. "How much?" 

Mondo, who dealt a line of substances, pulled a wad of bills from his jeans. "Whatever she got from that wallet she pulled. Which by the way was on its way to me. A customer. Round it off to say five-hundred bucks." 

Casey looked again at Ladyfingers. She glanced at Mondo, gave Casey a nod. He looked around at the other boarders, all watching to see how he'd react. He took another look at the void – then cocked his head at the barricade. 

"Gimme a hand." 

Everyone put their boards down and started pulling the barricade sections aside, opening a clear run to the void. 

When they were done, Casey and Mondo stood by themselves and studied the distance to the landing point on the other side. They checked out the approach, Casey kicking aside some trash – then turned with their boards and pushed back up the ramp. 

A hundred yards or so back from the void, they turned around and stood at the ramp's apex, each with a foot on his board. 

"You set?" Mondo said. 

"Call it." 

Mondo took a final look down the ramp. 

"Go." 

They pushed off and hopped on, pushing and pushing, getting up speed, both of them fixed on the void. 

The onlookers started to yell, hooting and jumping, windmilling their arms. 

The two speeding boarders bore down on the void, Mondo crouched and intense, Casey's shirttail and dreadlocks whipping. He could see the void looming closer, heard the cheering getting louder. Kept flicking his eyes between Mondo and the fast-approaching launch point. 

Mondo flashed him a grin: Here it comes. 

At the last instant, with the void just yards away, Casey bailed out, hitting hard on the ramp, his hands grasping for something to stop him from spinning and sliding. 

Mondo kept going and launched himself, sailing off above the abyss. 

The other boarders followed his flight, cheering even louder, pumping their fists – and then their faces froze. 

Mondo had lost touch with his board, his trajectory losing momentum. The watchers went silent and sucked in their breath as he started tumbling out of control. From the peak of his arc over the void, Mondo started falling. 

Casey scrambled forward on his hands and knees and made himself look out over the edge. 

Mondo's eyes were darting all over, looking around for something to grab, his board dropping off into the abyss, spinning toward the swirling river below. His trajectory had taken him short of the landing point. He started falling faster, made a grab with one hand for the ramp's edge, just caught hold of it, was able to get the other hand gripping, and hung on above the death drop. Swung back and forth and tried to pull himself back onto the ramp. 

Casey watched from the other side, not a thing he could do to help.  

Mondo kept trying to pull himself up, working his legs, almost losing his grip. He grabbed again and hung on, taking a second to regroup, and then got it together for another try. And another. He swung his leg backwards and then up, straining to get his foot up over the edge. On the third try he did it, feeling for traction with the heel of his boot, finding it and working himself up onto the ramp. 

He stayed over there on his hands and knees, sucking in air while the others cheered. After a minute he shifted around and looked across at Casey. 

"You lose, chickenshit," he said between breaths. "Your lady owes me." 

The two watched each other, winner and wimp, Casey silent at the edge of the abyss. He looked around at the others behind him. 

They all stared back, showing their contempt. Ladyfingers pulled out the wallet she lifted and tossed it toward Casey. He watched it flop in front of his face. Stared at it. Heard a sharp bleep! and looked up. 

The boarders were scattering every which-way. 

Speeding down the ramp toward Casey, blue and red lights flashing, was the police intercept cart. 

                                                #          #          # 

In the kitchenette of a cramped Hell's Kitchen apartment, Casey Janz's mother, Cara, late thirties, her features showing the wear from raising a teen trouble-magnet on her own, was leaning back against the sink, talking on her cell. 

"Case closed, he's coming. Because if he doesn't he's gonna wind up a guest in the slammer." 

Two-thousand miles away, standing in his undershorts in the master bedroom of a ski chalet, Cara's former husband, Nat Janz, Casey's father, looked out at a snow-covered Rocky Mountain vista, cell to his ear.  

"What am I gonna do with him?" 

"Be a father for a change." 

Cara glanced into the living room where Casey was hunched on the sofa. Two uniformed cops and a man in a suit – the undercover cop whose pocket was picked in the park – were in there with him. 

"He'll be there Thursday," Cara continued. "I'll let you know what bus." 

Nat Janz frowned. "He's taking a bus? From New York?" 

"He doesn't like planes. I'll call later." 

She clicked off and tossed her phone onto the beat-up linoleum counter. 

Nat Janz stared at his cell, still frowning. He clicked off and looked across the plush carpet to the king-size bed. 

"What kid doesn't like planes?" 

Propped against the pillows, a quilt pulled over the lower half of her nakedness, a woman a little older than Nat looked up at him and shrugged. 

Nat said, "Speaking of which, your husband is due in. I'd best be going."