chapter six
Back at the Big Top, there weren’t quite as many clowns when the phone rang.
Red picked up. “Big Top. Yeah, we got clowns. You know his name? Lady, they’re all wearing big shoes, baggy pants, and a fake smile. Okay, okay, slow down. Yeah? Where?” Red made notes on the pad by the phone. “All right, listen up,” he said, hanging up the phone and turning to the crowding clowns. “I got a surprise birthday party for a bunch of cowgirls out at the fairgrounds.”
Rib Eye, a character clown in bushy red sideburns and a tiny cowboy hat, red union suit, vest, and chaps, grabbed for the note.
“That’s for me!” Rib Eye yodeled his glee.
“Anybody seen Franklin?” asked Red, holding the note away from Rib Eye.
“Those girls’re looking for a real bucking bronc, not a cayuse off a kiddie carousel.” Rib Eye snatched the note, calling out, “Hi-yo, Silverfish! Away!” as he galloped out the door.
♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎
Franklin decided against returning to the Big Top. Instead, he’d made the long walk back to his place. The sky was darker and the air much cooler when Franklin reached home. He trudged up two flights of stairs to his front door, overlooking a dismal side street.
Franklin let himself in. The place was ramshackle, done up in Early Carnival Chaos. Buster sat in the big chair, behind a magazine.
“What happened to Miss Pool Toy?” asked Franklin, surprised to see Buster back already.
Buster lowered the paper, his face scrubbed clean of his make-up. He gave Franklin the stink-eye, made all the worse by a radiant shiner of a bruise, purpling the skin around his eye.
“Oooh. You need some painkillers for that?”
“Of course, you idiot.”
“Good,” said Franklin. “You left me stuck, you know that, right?”
A knock at the front door interrupted him.
Buster didn’t move. “You’re closer and I’m recuperating.”
Franklin went to the door since it was clear Buster meant to wallow in self-pity the rest of the night. “I couldn’t get the car started, so I went to catch the bus. Ran into some crazy female who nearly—and speaking of crazy females, what’s this about you and some state trooper? Officer Sunshine?” Franklin opened the door. “Yes?”
Lucy stood framed in the doorway, her hands on her hips.
Franklin slammed the door, leaning against it.
“Do we know a first-class exterminator?”
More pounding on the door, way harder this time.
“Is somebody there or not?” Buster came up behind Franklin to peep through the spy hole. He elbowed Franklin out of the way, scrambling to yank the door open, holding it wide for Lucy.
“I was just this very minute telling Franklin, my houseboy, how we desperately needed—whatever it is you’re selling.”
“You’re the clown at the bus stop.” Lucy reached around Buster, knotting a handful of Franklin’s costume in her fist.
“We all look alike to you civilians.” Franklin pulled himself free of Lucy’s grasp.
Lucy held out the pom-pom torn from his costume. “Looks like you’re missing one of these, doesn’t it?”
Franklin grabbed it away from her. “They don’t grow back. You cost me eighty-five bucks in ice cream.”
“Where’s my wallet!”
“Come on in,” said Buster. “I’ll hold him down so you can search him. Then you can search me. You’re welcome to whatever you find.”
“Do I look like I’d take some perfect stranger’s wallet?” Franklin held onto Buster, using him as a shield.
“You’re the one with the fake face.”
“She’s got you there, Frankie-boy,” said Buster. He elbowed Franklin aside, “May I interject here and say, you are the most perfect stranger I’ve ever met.”
“All right, all right.” Franklin pulled out the polka-dot snap purse he used for carrying cash. “How much did you have in your wallet?”
“Seventeen hundred dollars and sixty-two cents,” said Lucy, leaning in to check out the contents of his purse.
“No way!” Franklin yanked his purse back.
“You’d rather have me call the cops?”
“Buster, loan me seventeen hundred dollars.”
“And sixty-two cents,” added Lucy.
“Not gonna do it, Frankie-boy. You’d hurt yourself with that much money.”
“I loan you money all the time.”
“You’ll do something stupid with it.”
“I’m going to give it to her so she’ll leave.”
“My point exactly.” Buster hadn’t taken his eyes off Lucy, who’d edged as far away as she could and still intimidate Franklin.
“You don’t give me back my wallet, I’m calling the police. I mean it.”
“Say—let’s you and me snuggle on the couch until it turns up.”
Lucy ignored Buster and took a swing at Franklin. “You don’t think I won’t?”
Down on the street, a police cruiser rolled to a stop.
Buster and Franklin looked at the cruiser, then at her, then at each other.
“I never saw her lips move,” said Franklin.
“Me either. And I’ve been watching the whole time,” said Buster.
Lucy frowned. She looked behind her.
A portly police officer, wearing a red nose, fringed wig and clownish face paint got out of the cruiser. He crossed the street and climbed the stairs toward Lucy and the boys.
Lucy zigged past Buster and zagged past Franklin, through the door, disappearing into the apartment behind them.
Buster hid behind Franklin.
“If he’s asking about Miss Pool Toy, it was some other clown,” said Buster. “Do I still smell like pepper spray?” Then he called out, “Officer Joe! Little early for Founders’ Day, don’tcha think?”
“Founders’ Day?” Gladys asked Franklin.
“Founders’ Day,” Franklin said to Gladys. “Big deal around here. Everyone dresses up like clowns. Long story. Officer Joe’s a good egg. Goes all out.”
“Explains a lot. I thought I’d wandered into a parallel universe,” Gladys said to Franklin.
“Hey, guys. Got some bad news,” said Officer Joe, climbing the last few steps. “They found Blinkers out at the Hudson Hotel. Buried up to his nose in cement.”
Buster sighed, sounding relieved, before adding, “I mean—really?”
“Accident?” asked Franklin.
“Doesn’t look like it. Red got a call earlier to send a clown. Chief thinks it’s some kind of grudge between a couple of you ‘pie-faced troublemakers.’ His words. You know how he is. Got out of hand. Me? I’m thinking it’s the work of a drifter, maybe. We’re not all that far from the city. But you know how he feels about clowns. I’m keeping my eye out for strangers.”
Officer Joe hitched up his gun belt and headed back down the stairs. “Sorry I had to be the one to tell you. You be careful. Let us know if you come across any suspicious characters.”
“Officer Joe?” Franklin called out.
He stopped on the stairs. “Yes?”
“I—” Franklin started, “—aaaayyyyiiiii!” he finished.
“My feelings exactly,” said Buster. “We’ll be careful.”
Franklin rubbed his buttocks, feeling them inflame with blood from Buster’s pinch.
Buster waved at Officer Joe as he got back in the cruiser and drove off.
♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎
Gladys put down her glass and said to Franklin, “So this girl, the Baggy Pants Slasher, ends up hiding out with a couple of clowns. That’s a slick move.”
“Like a fox among the rubber chickens,” said Red.
“I guess if you’re afraid of clowns, slicing them up into bloody bits would be one way to solve your bozophobia.”
“I didn’t say she was afraid of clowns. I said she hated clowns.”
“Same difference.”
“Au contraire, mon chéri. She wasn’t the least bit afraid of clowns. She hated clowns.”
“Mad dogs have hydrophobia, right? What makes ‘em so mad? It’s the water, right? Hydro? Water? Help me out here, Red.”
“Anybody hates clowns has got to be a hunnert percent mental.” Red wiped away any further debate with a sweep of his hands.
“Like the way somebody hates spiders. Nails on a chalkboard. Squeaky Styrofoam ice chests,” said Gladys.
“I hate that one.” Red shivered.
“If it’s not bozophobia, what is it when you hate clowns?” asked Gladys.
“Simple mathematics.” Red rested his hands on the bar. “Bozo equals clown, right? Phobia equals fear, right? Add it up for yourself, whaddya got? Bozophobia. Fear of clowns.”
♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎
“What’d you do that for?” Franklin rubbed his butt cheek.
“You’d call the cops on somebody who just might turn out to be the girl of my dreams? All because a couple of clowns can’t get along?”
“Officer Joe said it could be someone from out of town.”
“Come on, you know clowns around here don’t get along.”
“Since when?”
“We’re brothers, and we barely tolerate each other.”
“Hey! You saw her all of two minutes. She chased me for nearly a mile.”
“Because you stole her wallet.”
“I didn’t steal her wallet!”
“Women looking that good don’t have any reason to lie.”
“Fine. You go in and find out how harmless she is.” Franklin gestured toward the front door of their apartment, wide open and uninviting.
“You know I’m a terrible judge of women.” Buster shoved Franklin toward the door that had become a portal to something sinister. “You’re smaller and harder to hit.” Buster pushed Franklin again.
Buster outweighed him by a good fifty pounds, so Franklin decided he might as well go in first. He stepped through the doorway and reached into the umbrella stand for something weapon-like. He pulled out an industrial grade soup ladle.
“That’s perfect if she’s allergic to gravy.”
“You should have let me say something to Joe.”
“Have I ever been right about any woman? She may be perfectly harmless as well as perfectly gorgeous.”
Franklin stopped and looked back at Buster. “I’ve never found that to be true about any of them.” He crept into the living room with Buster crouched behind him. He did a hundred-and-eighty-degree sweep of the room, his ladle thrust out before him.
Nothing.
Franklin moved toward the kitchen, his ladle at the ready. He took a deep breath and leaped into the middle of the room.
“Ha!” Franklin pivoted first to one side, then the other, ladle out.
Nothing.
They edged up to Buster’s bedroom.
“On three,” whispered Franklin. He counted to three and barged into Buster’s room.
Nothing.
He looked back at Buster still hiding behind the door frame. “‘On three’ means you come in with me.”
“Sorry, thought you meant three o’clock. My watch stopped.” Buster shook his wrist and listened. “Don’t keep looking at me! She could be waiting to jump you.”
Franklin pushed past Buster, who slipped in behind Franklin to avoid any surprise assault. Franklin stopped.
“She might come up behind us,” hissed Franklin.
Buster whipped around in front of Franklin, watching back over Franklin’s shoulder.
“Or straight ahead.”
He whipped around behind Franklin.
“Maybe the side.”
Buster straightened up.
“You’re doing that on purpose.” Buster turned and pressed his back against Franklin and grabbed him by the waist. “You watch the front, I’ll watch from behind.” They turtled along to Franklin’s bedroom.
They sidled up to Franklin’s bedroom door. Again, with a silent count down, they burst into Franklin’s room, Franklin holding Buster by the sleeve, dragging him along.
Lucy had tucked herself under the bed, lying on her side, only her backside visible, still poking out.
“That,” Buster whispered into Franklin’s ear, “is not the face of a killer.”
She pulled her protruding backside all the way under the dangling covers.
“It’s the other end I’m worried about,” Franklin whispered back.
“Come on. I’ve seen some sinister rear ends in my time. I don’t see anything the least bit sinister about hers.”
A barrage of pillows came out of nowhere, driving them from the bedroom, the door slamming and locking behind them.
Buster grabbed a chair and wedged it under the door handle. “There. Happy? That oughta keep her awhile.”
The door opened inward and the chair fell backward into the room. Lucy threw out a scraggly clown doll.
“Hey! My mother gave me that!” said Franklin.
“We’ve been meaning to throw it out!” said Buster, smiling.
Lucy kicked the chair out of the way, slamming and locking the door again.
Buster picked up the chair and leaned it against the door but didn’t say anything this time.
“If she’s so harmless, let her hide in your room.” Franklin went to grab the door handle.
“Okay, okay, wait!” said Buster. “I will. But let her calm down first. Jeez, Frankie-boy, calm down. You scared the beejeezus out of her.”
“Me?”
“Give her a minute. Okay? Be a sport.”
Franklin wasn’t so much giving in on Buster’s say-so. He was hearing himself, and how he must sound to the attractive female on the other side of the door. The attractive—maybe-cold-blooded-killer—female.
“Hey,” she called out from the other side of the door. “You out there.” Franklin pushed past Buster, leaning his head close to the door.
“What?” he barked.
“Not you. The nice one.”
Buster lit up and pushed Franklin away from the door.
“I’m here,” said Buster.
“Is that you?” she asked.
“The genuine, hundred per cent true me.”
“You have a nice voice. Kind of sexy, but in a nice, safe, non-threatening way, you know?”
“I hear that a lot.”
Franklin rolled his eyes. Oh, brother.
“I’ll bet you’re a real gentleman under all those muscles and good looks,” she said.
Buster leaned his cheek against the door and drew little hearts on the wood panel with his finger tip. “You know, I’ve been told I’m just like your teddy bear.”
“Bears are scary,” she said, alarm in her voice. “I like unicorns. Unicorns are nice.”
Oh, brother and a half. Franklin would like to barf all over Buster’s shoes.
“Unicorns. A barnyard full of them,” said Buster. “You can come out now. I’ll protect you from the nasty old clown.”
Buster reached out a finger to Franklin before he could explode all over the two of them.
“Is it okay if I stay in here tonight?”
“No way,” hissed Franklin, but Buster raised the finger again.
“What do you expect,” Buster hissed back at Franklin. “You stole her wallet. She needs a place to stay.”
“I keep telling you, I didn’t steal her wallet.”
“Well, some clown did. And it would be a nice gesture if we make it up to her. For the brotherhood of clowns.”
“Let one of them find her a place to stay.”
“All I had in the world was in that wallet,” she said.
Buster scowled at Franklin, who scowled back, wounded.
“Would—” said Buster, “—would you like me to come in and keep you company?”
“No,” she said. “No, that’s okay. But there is one thing I’d like you to do for me.”
“Anything. Anything at all.”
“Would you keep watch for me? Stay right there? The other one makes me nervous.”
“I’ll be here the whole night. I won’t move a muscle.” Buster gave Franklin the whole eyebrow treatment, loaded with warning.
Buster righted the chair and seated himself, back to the door, his arms folded. The faithful watchdog. Ready to stand guard the whole night against any sort of mayhem Franklin might try.
“You know, I always had more confidence in your self-preservation mechanism,” said Franklin.
“Oh, it’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s just the type of killer who uses ninja throwing pillows on her victims.” Buster held up one of her deadly projectiles. “You think maybe it’s her nesting instinct kicking in right after she got a look at me? She could be settling in, and it’s her way of showing she’s got a thing for me. You think of that?”
“She locked herself in my room.”
“But she called me the nice one. Face it, hot babes have given you hives since fifth grade. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”
“No. What’s obvious is she’s new in town. Blinkers gets it. She chases me here—”
“You’d throw away my future bliss on a coincidence like that?”
“All right. But if you wake up dead, don’t come running to me.”
Buster, like always, had gone rock solid knucklehead on yet another female. There’d be no talking reason to him. Not with his gonads pressing so hard on his brain. Franklin rapped on the closed door with the ladle.
“Hey! You in there,” Franklin shouted through the door at her. “Throw out my pajamas, too.”
Franklin listened at the door, catching the sound of a window sliding open.
“Glad to oblige,” she said from behind the closed door.
“Not outside!”
Franklin burned a look at Buster as he slouched out the door to rescue his pajamas.
Out behind the apartment complex, Franklin waded through the bushes until he stood under the open window of his bedroom. A homemade rope of sheets and pajamas dangled from the window above. The hedge was crushed flat where a body had landed. She was gone. Even better, it was too dark to see which way she might have gone if Buster took it into his head to chase after her.
Franklin rested his hands on his thighs, doubled over with relief. “Good riddance!” he said. “Really,” he added. Because he wasn’t sure he meant it the first time.
A dark car, no headlights, rolled along the alleyway behind the apartment complex. It eased to a stop near Franklin. A shadowy figure cranked down the window.
“Lose something?” asked the figure in the car, a hissing whisper.
“Nothing I’m sorry to see go.”
The figure cranked the window up and the car rolled on by.
When Franklin returned to the apartment he saw Buster kneeling by Franklin’s bedroom door, his mouth at the keyhole.
“I never said this to a girl before,” said Buster, “but I’d face the meanest clerk in the mini mart just to buy you feminine hygiene products.” Buster frowned and looked up at Franklin.
“What? I’m trying to have an intimate conversation here. Do you mind?”
“She’s gone.”
“She’s not gone.”
“She climbed out the window. She’s gone.”
“You would say anything to have her to yourself. You are so transparent.” Buster turned back to the keyhole. “Don’t pay any attention to him, girl-of-my-dreams. I’m right here all night.” Buster stood up, keeping himself between Franklin and the door of his dreams.
“You would do anything to keep us from being happy.”
“She came looking for me,” said Franklin.
“So, it’s lucky for her she found me. I’m the heat-seeking missile with a warhead of love. Ka-BOOM! You’re a floating mine all alone in the ocean, hoping a ship’ll pass by close enough for you to go off, like—” Buster scrunched up his face, tiny, European, “büme!”
“You see the way she looked at us?” Could Buster be that dense? For real?
“I’ve seen the way she looks at you,” said Buster. “At me, the way she looks, I can feel the heat, the el-ragerino of passion just itching to blow. You may want to stand back so you don’t get singed.”
“Weren’t you listening to what Officer Joe said?”
“Right. You pull the old Steal-The-Hot-Babe’s-Wallet-So-She’ll-Notice-You trick, then blame her when she gets mad and calls the cops on you.”
“Would you let that go? I did not steal her wallet. I’m talking about Blinkers.”
“In all the years I’ve known you, that’s got to be the lamest excuse for avoiding women I’ve ever heard.”
“I’m sure she hid under my bed because she’s on the lam for not separating her recyclables.”
“She does too recycle. She loves polar bears. Eats her vegetables. Wouldn’t harm a steak.”
“And you know this because—?”
“We talked. A lot.”
“When?”
“While you were outside. I was able to get her to open up about herself. You are completely wrong about her.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“And you’re jealous. Behind this door is perfection in a pedicure, and you can’t change my mind.” Buster leaned his ear against the door again.
Franklin stood with his mouth open, but the hurricane of words he wanted to unleash on Buster failed to line up in coherent thoughts. All he could do was shrug. “Go ahead. I’ll leave you two love birds alone.” He leaned toward the door. “Goodnight, Miss What’s-Your-Name.” He listened at the door for a moment, then covered his mouth.
“Don’t get snot on the door handle, my sweet,” came a high squeaky voice.
“Franklin!” shouted Buster, yanking his head away. “You left the helium on in your room again.” Buster put his mouth to the key hole again. “Don’t inhale. There’s plenty of air out here.”
Franklin chose the knitted throw with its figure of a clown on a ball. He shook it out and settled into one of the two club chairs. A very unsatisfactory bed. He snuggled under the throw, his extremities dangling. The victory over Buster and Who-Cares-What-Her-Name-Is would be a night of discomfort.
♣︎ ♣︎ ♣︎
The fairgrounds didn’t seem all that lively to Rib Eye as he stepped down from his pick-up. He tried the doors along the big exhibition hall. Nothing seemed open.
In the distance, he spotted a colorful string of flashing lights.
“Saddle me up, and call me Trigger!” yodeled Rib Eye, galloping toward the lights.
He’d reached a metal shed draped in Christmas lights taped around a hand-lettered sign reading, “Dressing Room—Cowgirls Only!!!”
Rib Eye checked for anyone watching. He opened the door, stepping inside.
It was dark. He felt along the wall beside the door for a light switch. The door swung shut behind him.
Outside, a gloved hand closed a hasp and snapped a padlock through the eye, locking Rib Eye inside.
Rib Eye rattled the handle, then put his shoulder to the door. It wouldn’t give. He pulled out a match and struck it, looking for a handle of some kind.
A humongous bull snort sounded behind him.
He turned to find himself chin-to-muzzle with the biggest, angriest damn bull he’d ever seen, its nostrils flaring and hoof pawing at the floor.
The aluminum siding of the shed rocked as the bull slammed Rib Eye around inside, his face and body slamming against the walls and stamping his form in the metal siding. A snort and a yodel as a face bloomed in the front wall. A snort and a yodel as a butt bloomed in the back wall. A snort and a yodel as a torso bloomed in the side wall.
Outside, gloved hands lit the end of a fuse that flared and sparked. Flame sizzled along the cord and over the ground toward the shed, disappearing under the door.
Then silence, not even the hiss of the burning fuse.
The shed went up in a bright ball of flame, a concussive explosion ratting metal and glass all around, prime rib and flank steaks flying.
Rib Eye’s scorched hat spiraled back down to earth, smoking where it had landed.