The Dog in the Freezer by Harry Mazer

the Yankees, and we’ll stay right here. You’ll like that. Once he makes it to the majors—”
    â€œJake! Jake, cut it out.”
    He wiped his hands and picked his violin up. He blew on the wood, then polished it with the napkin. Playing in the majors was like playing in an orchestra with all the best players in the world. That’s where his father belonged. The majors. Everyone would know him then. His name and his picture would be in the paper and on TV all the time. And then he would live in one place, and his mother would change her mind, and he and she would go live with his father.

Hey, Pop, remember last Thanksgiving when you were home? Just before you left for the winter leagues? Remember how you and Mom couldn’t agree? Remember how you wanted turkey and Mom said she wasn’t going to eat anything live? Or cook it? Remember the Chinese restaurant? It was like a red dragon inside, down in the basement of that old building. You didn’t want to go in, but it was good. We had turkey chow mein and Mom had tofu and vegetables.
    Remember the fortune cookies? Mine said, MONEY IS VERY IMPORTANT TO YOU. And I said, “Yeah, I love money.” And you and Mom laughed. Well, speaking of money, I got a job. I’ve got a newspaper route. It’s all in our building. I put the papers in the elevator and take them to the twentieth floor. Then I work my way down, floor by floor. I don’t even have to go out, except to get the papers.
    You should hear the boss. He said if I forgot to do my route even once, I was out. He said if I got sick and I didn’t tell him, I was out. He said if a customer complained about me, I was out.
    I said, “Three strikes and you’re out,” but he didn’t get the joke, Pop. He’s not a baseball man.
    Pop, remember what your fortune cookie said? EXPECT IMPORTANT DECISIONS IN YOUR LIFE . You know what that means? This is your year, Pop. You’re going to have to make a MAJOR decision. Get it, Pop? Kansas City. Maybe Chicago. Maybe the Yankees! Fortune cookies never lie, Pop.
    Lots of love from your son,
    Jake Estabrook

• FOUR •
Paperboy
    Fridays, Jake left his customers a little brown envelope with the newspaper. Then, Saturdays, he rang the bell. “Paperboy, collecting,” he said. It was a simple technique. All the customer had to do was open the door and hand him the envelope with the money in it.
    Some people did. Sometimes they had a cookie for him, and kept him there talking. Mrs. Alyce always overpaid him and said keep the change. She was one of the nice people. The not-so-nice ones barely opened the door.
    â€œPaperboy, collecting.”
    â€œWho?” The door opened a crack. The chain was inplace. A squinty, suspicious eye peered out. “Who are you? You’re not the regular boy.”
    â€œI’m the new paperboy,” Jake said. “Jake Estabrook.”
    â€œWhat?” Like “paperboy” was a new word in the English language. Like it wasn’t even English.
    â€œCollecting,” he said. He had to pay Raoul for the papers every week, and if he didn’t collect, the money for next week’s paper was coming out of his pocket. “Collecting,” he said again. He had his receipt pad ready.
    The not-so-nice ones said come back next week because they didn’t have the money or the right change, even though they knew Jake came that same time every week.
    5G was the worst. Mr. Kleiner lived there. He was a very big man. For a while, Jake thought he was a retired wrestler. Oscar, the doorman, told Jake that Mr. Kleiner was a retired accountant. He had white hair down over his collar and black, bristly eyebrows with stray white hairs poking out.
    His dog looked just like him. The same bristly eyebrows and the same mean expression. Only in miniature. The dog was the size of a burp, but he had the bark of a lion. Jake was glad the door was between them. Every morning