Dartanyan's Blades

Dartanyan threw wide the doors of the liquor store, gliding into the cool air, sublime against his bronze skin after the dry heat of the boardwalk.

"Hey Dartanyan," said the clerk, a cheerful college student in a tie-dyed shirt.

"Greetings Katie!" replied Dartanyan. He flipped back his long blonde hair and stooped to kiss her hand. When he released it, she palmed a small baggie of white powder and tucked it into her pocket.

Everyone knew Dartanyan on the boardwalk, if not by name, then by the spectacular sight of his custom-made rollerblades. Powder blue with crimson buckles, dotted with delicate lines of tiny rhinestones that sparkled even in the store's dull fluorescent lighting. Rollerblades were not technically allowed in the store, but Katie made an exception for Dartanyan, who she suspected might not even own a pair of shoes, so central were the flashy rollerblades to his identity.

"Check this out," said Dartanyan, spinning in a tight circle. He was dangerously close to the premium cognac bottles, but still completely in control.

"God DAMN, those blades look good," sighed Katie, shaking her head in admiration. Dartanyan lazily skated backwards down an aisle, his rollerblades carving out a path as if by their own instinct.

"Don't they just?" he cried.

The doors chimed and a blast of hot air brought in a new customer. A squat man, also gliding on skates, though with far less grace than Dartanyan. Katie watched him make his wobbly way toward the counter, nearly knocking over a pyramid of boxed wine. She briefly considered enforcing the no blades rule. And then she saw them.

His rollerblades.

No, not rollerblades...

Something more.

In-line poetry.

Richly golden, with multicolored tassels fluttering from the boot cuff like perpetual fireworks. Subtle neon highlights outlined the clasps, their purple glow making his feet a mobile disco. Even the wheel frame and toe mounts were impressive, shiny chrome you could fix your hair in.

They were ostentatious.

They were bold.

They were the most glorious rollerblades Dartanyan had ever seen.

The man came to an unsteady stop at the counter and sighed. "I'm terrible on these things," he said. Katie and Dartanyan just gawked at his feet, speechless.

Finally, Dartanyan broke the silence, a note of awe in his voice.

"Nice blades, dude."

"Oh these?" said the man. "They were a gift from my sister. I don't even like rollerblades." He sighed and shrugged, the movement almost toppling him over. "I figured I'd take them for a spin before they go in the closet forever."

Dartanyan felt a bloom of jealousy expand in his chest. This stout little troll, graceful as an elephant, somehow in possession of this magnificent pair of blades. He couldn't take his eyes off them. The longer Dartanyan looked, the more exciting details he discovered. The brass clasp wiring. The matte-black heel stop with zebra stripes, unscuffed. The more Dartanyan admired them, the more he resented this dry stick who couldn't even appreciate the miracles strapped to his own feet.

The man let go of the counter and struggled not to do the splits. Dartanyan gasped as he saw that the blades had actual wings on the heels, like Hermes' mythical sandals.

"I hate these things," said the man. He grabbed the counter again as his knees collapsed inward like a newborn deer.

"I could take them off your hands," said Dartanyan, as casually as he could, under the circumstances.

"Excuse me?" said the man.

"The blades," said Dartanyan, suppressing a slight tremble in his voice. "If you don't want them, I would buy them from you."

The man chuckled and shook his head. "Trust me, you don't want these. They're tight around the ankles, the streamers get caught in the axle, and I think one of the wheels is—"

"Mister, I don't know if you know who I am," said Dartanyan. "But I am Dartanyan. I am the king of this boardwalk. And I have two crowns: these blades on my feet." He nodded at his own impressive rollerblades, made ugly in his eyes next to the man's wondrous skates.

"Everyone knows me up and down this boardwalk. I make things happen. People know. The guy in the sick-ass blades, that's Dartanyan."

The man looked over at Katie, who nodded. "It's true," she said. "Fancy rollerblades are Dartanyan's M.O."

The man looked down, as if seeing his feet for the first time. "You really want them?" he asked.

Dartanyan grabbed the man by the shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. "If you sell them to me, I promise I will wear them every day. The bearings will never want for oil. The laces will be changed every month on a Sunday. I will twist, twirl, fishtail, and flatspin down the boardwalk with great vigor."

Dartanyan gave the man's shoulder a meaningful squeeze. "I will honor these very special blades with every fibre of my being."

Dartanyan concluded his speech with a quick crossover which blended perfectly into a heel-toe spin, as if to prove his worth.

The man thought for a moment, then nodded. "I can see that you would give them a good home. But no money. Just buy me a bottle of bourbon and don't tell my sister."

Dartanyan smiled. "You won't regret this. And I'll even throw in my shoes."

Back in the summer heat, the squat man waved as Dartanyan flew away over the boardwalk in his new rollerblades. His thigh muscles glistened as he drove forward, his long blonde hair flowing like a waterfall behind. Heads turned to follow Dartanyan as he soared past, arms open, his face to the sun.

Someone shouted, "Hot DAMN, check out Dartanyan!"

But Dartanyan was already gone, leaving passersby breathless in his wake.

The man dialed a number on his cell phone and spoke into it.

"Dartanyan took the bugged blades." He frowned at what was said by the other party. "No, he won't take them off, trust me. We'll have full audio of every contact he makes from now on. This is big, he's connected to every dealer on the boardwalk. I expect we'll have the whole network mapped out inside of a month."

He grinned at the excited response on the line. "I know, it's gonna be a great summer. We'll celebrate when I get back."

He glanced at the bottle in his hand and added, "Bourbon's on me."

The man hung up and ambled along the boardwalk in Dartanyan's stiff, barely-worn shoes, grateful for the stable ground beneath his feet.