The
Circus Comes to Town
“Hey,
you, Dumb-ass, ya big gumba, get over
there and help the rest of the dumb-asses get the big tent up,” the new Boss
yelled across the yard. “You, yeah you,
ya big lummox, get over there and get that tent up. We ain’t payin’ you to lay around and look
pretty. Get over there!” He thrust his hand toward where the rest of
the circus group were struggling against the rain to raise the big tent.
Raising
the big tent, on a clear sunny sixty degree day, was a chore. In the rain, putting up that patched up old
tarp was a real pain. Slipping and
sliding in the mud while trying to avoid the elephant droppings as well as
making sure the main spar holds and doesn’t fall on you, makes putting the tent
up in the rain just the absolute worst.
In
the rain, the circus doesn’t really seem to matter. The towns people don’t turn out for our
“event” like they will after a couple of sunny days. Too hot, and the animals really begin to
smell and they get cranky with the heat too.
The circus experience is best during the spring or the fall. But, I need to make a living so I am along
for the ride no matter what the weather.
I
shrug my shoulders at the new boss. He
doesn’t remember me, specifically. There
are a couple of “hands” that are nearly as big as I am. Their jobs are to do whatever the boss
wants. Big and dumb, that’s the kind of
fella the boss likes to have around.
But, me, I’m special. I’m the strong
man.
I
am billed as having; the strength of three men and the speed of a cheetah. I am THE strong man. During the day time shows, I lift weights and
have boxing matches with a trained kangaroo.
In the evening, after the “snake oil” has come out and been paid for,
once the bets are laid, I box a “local”.
Every
town has that one or two big young lads, more brawn than brains. Young men eager to prove themselves in front
of the rest of the town and even, sometimes, in front of their lady friends. They are doomed to failure from the
start. Why they would ever think a
round-house punch, with the strength of a tree behind it, wouldn’t be
anticipated and outmaneuvered, is beyond me.
I do this for a living. It’s not
MY first time in a real boxing ring.
They invariably go down.
Although, sometimes I do take a beating before it’s all over.
“Can’t
Boss, I’m the first in the ring as soon as the damn thing finally gets up,” I
holler back to him. Boss has hunched his
shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets as he storms towards me. Once my message finally sinks in, he slows
and realizes I’m right. I can’t possibly
be a “draw” as a prize if the towns people see me hoisting the very tent where
my bout will take place.
Leaning
against the train car, I spot the local I am to fight. The local is about nineteen. I size him up; about nineteen yet still a
mama’s boy, pants too short for his latest growth spurt, arms just a little too
long for the shirt sleeves, hair parted down the middle and slicked over both sides. Probably held in
place with more than just a little dab of Brylcreem. He has his cronies gathered around him as
they punch at one another, egging each other on. All faces are pointed towards me. All faces are wearing a grin as though they
had a secret and were desperately trying not to let it out. If they don’t try to pester me, just let me
finish my smoke, I will be gentle.
As
long as the local is a gentleman, I will be a gentleman as well. Too often, though, they want to get into a brawl instead of
fight. Too often, they think it “manly”
to pick at me and have the fight outside of the ring. I’m just doing my job. Leave me to my smoke and they get to keep their
teeth. Pester me too much and not only will they lose
their teeth, but I just may yank a big chunk of their hair out too.
The
tent is up; Boss is waving me over to him.
I give one last glance at the local and head over to Boss.
“That’s
the mayor’s son.” Boss informs me. “ Do
not, I repeat, do not take him out in the first round. He is to leave with all of his teeth, however
many he came here with at least, and he is not to be bald when he leaves. We
want to stay an extra week and be able to return here next year. The mayor is
the key. And that’s his bouncing, dumb
assed, baby boy. You got me?” Scowling, he leans his face close to mine. His
bad breath reeks of onions and bath tub booze.
Boss
runs a grimy hand through his greasy hair.
“This is one stinking town. Down
in the pit of the mountains every wisp of smoke, every cow burp, every goat
fart has stayed here. The air is
shit-smelling even in the rain.”
He
was right. The air filling my lungs just
didn’t taste right. My head was just a
tad woozy. I shrugged it off thinking it
was my reaction to just Boss’s demeanor - overall creepy.
The
big tent is up. It has taken all day to
raise the tent while tending the animals and foraging for food, not only for
the animals but for the circus employees, too.
Working for a circus is an iffy proposition. You may or may not get paid, depending on the
local turn out. You may or may not get
fed, depending on not only the local turn out but, also,the local terrain and
what might be foraged. Watercress salad
is a gritty fair, but it beats going hungry.
With
the Big Tent at least laying on the ground, it has protected it from turning
into something we don’t want to slog around in.
The mud won’t be unbearably deep until tomorrow. At that point, the mud will be mixed nicely
with droppings from every animal we have traveling with us. From elephant shit to pelican poop, every
animal will drop inside the tent. They
always do.
While
the side-show tents are raised, the first boxing match will take place. The bearded lady and the tattooed man can
wait until tomorrow. Tonight, the first
boxing match takes place. The immediate
destiny of the whole circus and all its inhabitants rests on how long I can let
this punk dance.
Already
wearing my boxing leotard, I spring into the ring upon hearing the announcer
call my name. Boss is not the announcer
tonight. He has sent in his “second”,
Shorty. Must be something big going on
for Boss not to announce. I look around
expecting something to “jump” out at me.
Nothing seems amiss.
Flapping
my arms back and forth, I show off my arms and chest. It’s a move that is expected and mostly for
show. It’s not lost on my opponent. The young man is big, nearly as big as I am. Closer to him now, I see he isn’t as whippet
thin as I first thought. Lean and
muscular. This dance may be less of my
show and more of our show. If his eyes
didn’t give him away, I might be worried.
His eyes are too big, too round, they expose his fear. Experience will
take the day.
Turning
my back to him, with my arms stretched upward, I expose my boxing gloves to the
crowd which has gathered inside the tent.
The boxing match is taking place in the center ring. Every town wants to make sure their home-boy
gets every advantage. They want to make
sure it’s a fair fight. They think the
size and shape of my gloved might “give something away.” They can’t see the metal rods sewn inside my
gloves, that would give part of my edge away. Walking around the ring, posturing, I see
her. I feel as though I’ve caught the
first punch right in my gut.
Sitting
between an older man and an older woman, they must be her parents. Those eyes, almond shaped just like the
island girls only blue. So startling
blue, that even from the ring, I can tell they are blue.
“Hu-phwumph,”
spews out of my mouth. The kid has made
contact. I missed the wind up for his
round-house. Instinct drove me to side
step, he missed my jaw but caught my shoulder.
I don’t care if he is young and inexperienced, the blow hurt. Hurt like crazy. Hurt more than normal. Hurt like he had something inside HIS
gloves. This is going to be a dangerous
dance. The yokel isn’t as wet behind the ears as he looks.
Trying
not to look into the stands. Trying to
pay attention to the whippet in front of me.
I glance away from the task at hand and end up with a broken nose. Blood spurting erratically from my face, I
decide it’s time to end this farce and get on with the night. I’m getting tired, and this is beginning to
piss me off. Landing a few good gut punches, I get the young lad to heave his
last three meals. A few pokes to his
face bruises him nicely for the ladies attention. Then, a nice uppercut to put him down. Once I make up my mind, I don’t mess
around. I’m big and I’m strong and I
know what I am doing once I step into the boxing ring.
After
smelling salts are waved under the kids nose, he rouses to a sitting
position. Shorty hauls him to his
feet. Shorty grabs us by our arms and
with all the fanfare someone half my size can muster, he thrusts both our arms
in the air and pronounces the bout a tie.
A TIE? I don’t make much cash fighting, I make my money from my cut of
the bookies bets. A TIE? There won’t be any pay from a tie.
I
storm off to my bunk in the rail car and let the local yokel gloat with his
buddies. I put on an extra act for the
townies, but in truth I am steamed. What
is Boss up to? Why an extra week in this
smell hole?
In
a circus, there is usually some sort of commotion going on. After a short while, the external noise
becomes an unheard din just like living next to the ocean. Quickly you simply don’t hear it any
more. This noise, this noise was
different. High pitched “Oh my God’s”
going on. Sliding my feet off the bunk,
I was pulling my pants back on, when there was a pounding on my door.
“Sheriff
Department, open up!” A million things run through my head at the same time,
running was of course the first thing.
Already too late for that.
Flinging the door to the side, I am yanked off the rail car landing in
the middle of a gang of irate locals.
Before I can even stand upright, my hands are twisted behind my back and
handcuffs slapped on my wrists.
“You’re under arrest and coming with me.”
Announced the fat guy. I assume he is
the Sheriff, since he’s the one with a badge.
With the “lynch mob” all around me, going with the Sheriff seems the
best move.
The
jail, like most towns, is a squat building attached to the court house. It’s a pretty plain affair, the cot isn’t any
more uncomfortable than my rail car bunk.
Looking around, I think there may even be fewer bed bugs and fleas. My stomach is telling me breakfast should be
in just a few hours. Here’s hoping there
IS a breakfast anyhow.
With
the mob dispersed, the sheriff walks towards the jail cells. “Why’d ya do it?” he questioned me. It musta been my stupid look, he cocked his
head and squinted one eye at me. “What?,”
I demanded.
“You
don’t know?”
“I
haven’t got a clue why I’m here or what’s goin’ on.”
“You
really don’t know, do ya?” He looks straight at me squinting those eyes again,
like that’ll help him discern the truth.
“Jim Brown, the Mayor, and his son, Kevin, their bodies were found
shortly ago.”
“What’s
that got to do with me? Don’t tell me you think I had anything to do with
them?” I’m standing up now, about to walk closer to the cell grating. Must have appeared as menacing as I felt, the
Sheriff took a couple of steps backwards.
“Both
Jim, the Mayor, and his boy,Kevin, beaten to death. The fight you had with Kevin,in the ring, was fair. It was a tie,
we know that, the whole town knows. We
know about rigged fights and how you get paid.
We also saw you lookin’ at his girl.
That hungry look in your eye, a man up to no good. Both those poor
people beaten to death, pulverized almost to the point of not being able to
recognize them. And so much blood, why I
seen less blood spilled while slaughtering hogs. Disgusting, people like you. Think you can waltz into a town like this and
just take whatever you want. Someone
stands in your way, you just beat them to death.” He was panting by the time he
got done with this tirade. Spit
collected in the corners of his mouth and his hand instinctively moved to the
handle of his pistol.
Backing
up, with my hands slightly raised and palms towards the sheriff, I argued, “I
didn’t have anything to do with anything.
I was just lying in my bunk, minding my own business, when you all but
broke down the door.”
“Then
how do you explain the blood on your boxing gloves and clothes? Huh? That’s not
just from the boxing match.” He is so angry; he actually leans forward with his
jaw thrust out at me, itching to get it hit.
“I
dunno. But, locked up in here, I’m not
gonna be able to find out either. Nice pin, whoever did this. It sure the hell
wasn’t me. Someone, anyone, could have
taken my gloves and used ‘em. I hang them on a hook near my bunk. Everyone knew my nose got broken in the
fight, I drank ‘til I passed out and the bearded lady, Joanna, set it.” Reflexively, I rub my forehead. Think!
Think!
“Find
out where Boss is.” I blurt it out before I can even think. “He wasn’t the announcer tonight, he ALWAYS
announces. I’ve seen him get outta a
sick bed to announce. Boss don’t let
anybody else announce. Find out why he
had Shorty announce.”
I’m
not a real smart fella and, based on the looks I get from the opposite sex, I’m
not all that handsome either. My nose, broken several times and permanently
crooked along with the smashed bones in my face, I have a rather distorted look
about me. I know just because I was
distracted by a pretty face, it doesn’t mean she was attracted to mine. I also know, if I can figure out that
Boss might have something to do with the death of two people near the circus,
so can just about anybody else. Which
means, I’m in some deep shit.
The
next morning brought no comfort, either physically or emotionally. Handcuffed and marched around the jail house
to the entrance of the court house, I was buffeted with eggs, tomatoes, heads
of lettuce, and all manner of manure. No
sign of anyone from the circus. No
support, no backup, no one wanting to be noticed from the camp of
runaways. Everyone, including the judge,
will know; the circus is one of the best hiding places for someone who doesn’t
want to be found. Hiding in plain sight.
Everyone has a past.
The
court house “stadium” is filled, people standing where ever there is room to
shuffle their feet. Right in the front
row, those steel blue eyes are staring at me.
Her ivory skinned face shows no emotion.
No malice. She is not snarling,
simply staring. I feel the eyes of the
room condemning me. If I live through
this, it will be a miracle.
The
judge reads me my rights again. This is
simply an arraignment. I am appointed an
attorney. Just my luck, an ugly young
woman trying to make a name for herself.
Becoming a lawyer, because she knows she is too damn ugly to ever land a
husband. Heavy set with a uni-brow, her
hazel eyes just look at me. She, too,
has already made up her mind on my guilt.
None the less, we are ushered
into a private chamber for our first conference.
“My
name is Ms. Houston. I am your attorney which means we have privilege. I need
you to tell me the whole truth and the entire story. ” She shuffles some
paperwork out of a high school book bag that she is now using as her brief
case. Tell tale sign of either sentimental
value or poor as a church mouse. My bet is on the latter.
Telling
Ms. Houston what happened, what I saw, and what I thought took only a few
moments. I don’t know much, didn’t see
anything, and as for thinking….haven’t a clue.
Her uni-brow knitted closer together, creating a fat caterpillar. “I don’t like the sound of what I know. So far,”
she muttered under her breath, “it seems a little too easy, just a bit set up,
if you know what I mean. How convenient
for the Mayor and his son to turn up dead, right after a bout with you. Not that you appear to be a Rhodes Scholar,
but I don’t think you are stupid enough to commit this heinous a crime, and
then lie down for a nap only to be caught. Something smells fishy in
Denmark.”
Put
in that light, I had to agree with her.
I’m NOT that stupid. However, now I’m going to have to prove it.
“You
got any money?” She looks up from her note pad scribbling, “For bail. We need to figure out what you can afford for
bail.”
My
life’s savings. Everything I had been
holding onto to get out of the fighting business. All my cash going to this God forsaken
stink-hole of a town.
Describing
my hiding place on the rail car, I’m hoping neither the cops or my other
bunk-mates have already discovered it. I’m
also fairly confident, she won’t be able to squeeze her chubby body into the
crevice to access the cash. She notices
me sizing her up. She straightens her clothing as she rises from her chair. “I
can assure you, Mr. Giddings, if your money is still there, I will be in
possession of it before I leave the circus grounds.” Thinking to myself, if she isn’t employed by
Boss for the circus as another bearded lady, she just might make it back. Chutzpah. The girls got chutzpah.
“When
I come back, I want to go over your past. I need to know if there is anything
that could tie you to this murder.” She gave me the stink eye and turned to
leave. “And don’t say anything to anyone while I’m gone. Period. Not anyone,
not anything. You got it?” I bob my head up and down. Satisfied, she exits the room allowing the
deputies in to escort me back to my cell. Escort is what they call it, I call it being
hauled around the neighborhood by the scruff of my neck, handcuffed, while
being alternately kicked and punched by grinning apes.
I
lay on my cot, thinking about my past and how it has affected my present and
how it might affect my future. Choices
made are all too often events lived out. Leaving my step-father’s home at the
ripe old age of nine, I learned very quickly how to survive despite adult
supervision. I was tired of the beatings.
I was tired of him blaming me for his failures as a human being. I was tired of life, at the ripe old age of
nine. Leaving the farm, in Aurora,
Illinois, I made my way to the big city.
Chicago. The windy city. We had been to Chicago many times, enough
times I thought I “knew” the town.
Living in ditches, hiding from both the police and the pimps, teaches a
youngster the other side of city life. I
don’t know which of the two groups were the bigger thugs.
Then
the circus came to town. What a
site. Throngs of people gawking in every
direction except at the kid pick pocket lifting wallets. Being caught by Carney security and hauled by the nape of my neck to the rail
car holding the big cats, my feet kicking and my eyes as big as saucers. I was certain it was my last day on
Earth.
Circus
managers are called Boss. Managers may
come and managers may go, but they are all called Boss. Boss asked me my age. Looking into his hard eyes. I knew right then
that I would never forget those steel blue eyes, just like the girl had. I had
the feeling that if I lied it would be my last lie. I told him the truth. I told him everything
about my life. I let him have the whole
shootin’ match; Mother and the baby she was giving birth to died, Step-father
blaming me for his woes and beating me and beating me and beating me. Skipping school to sleep in the neighbor’s
corn field since I dare not sleep at night.
Hearing the footsteps leading to my bedroom, I would slip out the window
leaving the bellowing roars behind me.
Too often I felt the edge of his honing strop.
After
purging my emotions, with big rivers of tears streaming down my cheeks creating
clean spots, Boss looked at me again.
Really looked. Calling to one of
his henchmen, I was dropped off with Cookie and told to peel potatoes until
Cookie said “Stop.” The rest is pretty much history. I helped Cookie with meals, I cleaned up
after the animals, I helped pitch the tents, and did pretty much whatever I
could handle and was told to do. Growing
like a weed, I was soon sparring with Joe, the “Boxer.” When Joe met his match, dying in the ring
from one too many gut punches. His kidneys exploded. Internal bleeding is a
real pretty way to go, but we all gotta go sometime. I took Joe’s place the
next night. Been there ever since. Saving what little money I can, for
someday. Not really knowing that this is
what my someday would turn out to be.
“Ahem.”
Looking up, I am startled to see Ms. Houston back at my cell already. Sweaty and smelling of a mixture of circus ,
town and lavender. Ms. Houston was
beaming. Her straight face was belied by
the grin in her eyes.
“Found
it. Right where you said it would be.”
She waved the cloth sack, with my envelope of money, in the air. “I didn’t count it. I didn’t even open
it. If you say there is $500.00 in the
envelope, I believe you. Your friends stopped me.” She was looking at the sack.
It contained all of my most precious possessions; money and an old worn picture
of my mother.
“I
don’t have any friends,” I responded. I
didn’t want to drag anyone else into this mess.
I sure as shit wouldn’t appreciate any of those people dragging me into
their drama.
“Well,
whether you like them or not, it seems they like you. Seems they believe in you too. I not only got your sack of cash, I was given
another to help defend you. Apparently
your “not friends” pooled their extra saving together for you. From that sour look on your face, I can see
how grateful you are to have so many people caring about you. At any rate,
between your saved money and their gifted money, you should have enough money
for bail, if the judge will allow it.
A
few days later, with the expert arguing, and I do mean arguing, my attorney Ms.
Houston, convinced the judge that all of the “evidence” was just circumstantial.
Other than the bloody boxing gloves, there was no real evidence with a
fool-proof link. With nearly all the cash forked over for bond, I can’t leave
town so I’m released to my attorney, AND
I can’t box during the trial (which means I can’t earn any more money). Leaving the courthouse, uncuffed, I breathe
deeply, trying to inhale freedom. The
stink! In a coughing fit, we leave the courthouse
behind us.
Ms.
Houston drives me to her office. It’s a
small room on the back side of the local hardware store. Her shingle outside just has the name
“Houston” on it. I guess in a small
town, everyone knows what you are doing.
Inside, it is neat as a pin and smells faintly of her lavender. I like lavender, smells clean and fresh. Sitting in one of the two chairs is a skinny
fella with bad acne scars. His faded
clothing is clean, but sparse. He looks
me up and down. “This is Jeff. Jeff is our detective. He is going to help us get to the bottom of
this. Jeff is probably going to use up
the last of your money for expenses, so I thought you should meet him. I know I
like to know where my money is going.” Ms. Houston motions for me to take the
other chair. “Jeff has a keen nose for
what’s not right around here. He has
plenty of contacts: some family, some friends and some paid snitches. At any rate, he is going to help us figure
this whole thing out.” Ms. Houston is looking directly at me. Her penetrating stare feels like she is
trying to look into my soul. I couldn’t
stop myself, I started to squirm, both mentally and physically.
Jeff
leaned forward, craning his neck, to look at my face. He nearly reached out to touch some of the scarring. My involuntary recoil sent his hand back to
his side. Yes, I know, I have some proof
of my education. My boxing knowledge is
literally written across my face. Get
over it. I glare at him. Thinking this skinny little nothing makes me
think of a snake in the grass. “Ya know,
there was another body found today. One
o’ them circus fellas, they think. They think that ‘cause of the smell about
him. Sorta stinks, like you.” He spits
his chew into a hand held spittoon he is carrying.
Ms.
Houston could see my anger as I had started to rise from my chair, “Just settle
down. We have to work together. No point
in fighting from the get-go.” She motions, again, for me to sit down.
“Jeff
has been poking his nose around already, trying to find out what might have
actually happened.” Ms. Houston began letting me know, in no uncertain terms,
who was the boss and how much information they already had. “Jeff talked with Joanna, the bearded lady. She confirmed setting your nose and even knew
what time that happened. So far, your
story is panning out. We still haven’t
figured out any alternate “why” for the murders. Once we have the why, it’s usually a real
short hop to the “who”. I am very
interested to know who this newest victim is and how they died.” She was
jotting notes down on her legal pad again.
It seemed she had enough pages filled to write a book.
Jeff
was sent to the cop-shop to find out what he could about the third body. I decided to head to the circus grounds. I may not be able to box, but there are a
whole slew of other chores I’m supposed to be doing. Not to mention, I want to find out as much as
possible.
Upon
spotting me, headed to my portion of the rail car, Joanna, the bearded lady,
hails me. Joanna hollered across the
dining yard. Every head there turned to
look at me. Most were simply blank
stares at first. Following recognition,
the stares quickly turned to surprise and many toothless grins. Waving, I walked over to chat with
everyone. Over and over I explained that
the trial hadn’t started yet, that I was simply out on bond and trying to find
out who actually did the killing. That’s
when grins turned to panic.
To
a person, every face there looked like frightened mice; eyes darted, lips were
licked, hands smoothed imaginary misplaced hairs. Joanna finally spoke, “Boss
is dead. They found his body this
morning. Shorty and his pal, Giovanni
are both gone. Someone broke into two of
the rail cars and set them on fire, but the fire was put out before it spread
too far. Got it under control before it got to the big cats. But, the birds,
they couldn’t handle the smoke, so all of them are dead.”
That’s
when it hit me. It was a beautiful,
clear blue sky day, the circus was in town yet there were no townies there
spending their money. It was all quiet,
with exception of the animals; the quiet roar of the lion, the calling of the
monkeys and the braying of the donkeys had a particularly hushed quality about
it. Sadness hung over the circus, like a
nasty gray cloud.
“Which
rail cars were broken into?”, I asked no one in particular.
Several
voices, at once, shouted out; those two cars in front of Boss’ car, or car
number 235 and 238, or the two green and gold cars. Either way, I knew which two had been set on
fire, the two cars at the end of the circus train. Now, the harder question
why.
There
must have been a dozen cops mulling around.
Mostly just jawing at one another and puffing on their smokes. Butts lay scattered everywhere. It appeared there were two officers inside
one of the rail cars. Trying to appear
nonchalant, I walked over to where the men were just standing around. “Hey,
that joke they tell about Polacks and how many to screw in a light bulb? Well, they are gonna change it to cops.” I
thought perhaps if I approached with light banter, I would get more information
from them. Instead I got the stink eye from several, then they turned their
backs to me.
It
was then that I noticed the two inside the rail cars were FBI agents. Oh.
That explains a lot of the attitude. I gave a nod at local cop closest
to me. One word said it all, “Feds.”
So,
the FBI was involved. That fact alone
didn’t get me outta trouble. I still had
some digging to do. The agents said
nothing as they worked. They were so
stoic, they didn’t exchange knowing glances.
But, one had some sort of device he was reading and making notes
about. It made a distinct buzzing
noise. After hanging around for a while,
I decide it need to finish some of my chores only to learn they were all
done. No crowds means down time. Down time mean trouble if everyone isn’t kept
busy. Joanna had been doing a fine job
making certain none of the Carney people got out of line with either the cops
or the townspeople. Iron fisted, bearded
lady…she could pack a wallop!
Back
at Ms. Houston’s office, Jeff has already informed her of Boss’ demise. Jeff went into great detail about the
condition of Boss’ body. Somehow, Jeff
wrangled his way into the coroner’s office.
Boss had been shot, point blank, in the head. They surmised it was at his left temple since
most of the right hand side of his head was missing. Jeff watched my face with
a little too much interest as he told of the brains oozing out the side. Was he wanting to know my loyalty or just a
morbid jerk. I decide, he’s a perverted
jerk. Skinny little sneaky sniveler.
Jeff pushes his glasses back into place, then runs a hand over the crown of his
balding head. “Well, isn’t this the guy you been working for all this time? Don’t you care about him?” He is looking at me like I have bugs crawling
from my nose.
“No,
he is not the guy I have been working for all this time. Boss was new.
He had just hired on a month or so ago. Don’t even know his real name,
just Boss.” I looked at Ms. Houston, “Do we know what kind of gun was
used? Where was his body found? There
are two other people missing from the circus, were their bodies also found? Do
we know why the Feds would be investigating? Do we know anything else?” I’m beginning
to lose patience with the sniveler. Tell
me everything that you know. He seems to
want me to reach in and pull it all
out.
“Your
boss was found near the Brown Mine south of town. His was the only body found. At least, the only one found yet. We haven’t been informed as to why the FBI
would be here, at this time. I am sure
that information will available, soon enough. You notice anything else out
there?”
I
told them how eerie it felt; no townspeople milling about, no babies crying or
youngsters trying to peek into the peep shows, not even any teenagers rough
housing. It seemed even the animals were
despondent. Carnival life is dramatic enough, there are acts coming and going
all the time. Egos blow up and fist
fights ensue. But this, this is
murder. This circus has always had a
reputation for treating their acts like family. Use don’t abuse. First and
foremost, feed the hungry, make a dollar, then move on. I always thought it was a good “ideal” for a
company to have. Loyalty is a real
tangible thing here, not just a word thrown around as an act is tossed out on
its ear. Acts are people. People count.
Making
my way back to the circus location, I took a path leading into the woods. It was a dirt lane, but the ruts seems very
deep. Something had been hauled through
here recently, and it was heavy. “Probably
some farmers combine.”, I said aloud to myself. “Hicks and their toys aren’t
any different no matter which part of the country you are in.”
Shots
rang out, I fell like a sack of potatoes.
Hitting the ground and curling into a ball for just a moment. Halting just long enough to get my bearings
and make certain I hadn’t been hit. I
snake walked deeper into the woods at an angle away from the shooter. I could hear voices. “I told ya that nosy ass-hole would be poking
around here ‘fore to long!” and then another voice hushing the first. Their
footsteps were coming closer. They
weren’t accustomed to the woods, they crashed through the underbrush instead of
moving through. I hear their clothing
tear on the brambles near my hiding spot.
As they cursed again and again, I cautiously moved every away, every
backwards from them. Certain, I wouldn’t
be detected, I rose and began to move away more quickly. Someone stepped out from behind a tree, just
to my right, a rag passed over my face, and the world went black.
I
awoke tied and gagged inside a dark dank place.
I assumed the mine. I didn’t hear
anyone else around, but then my own breathing was ragged and loud in my
ears. It seemed to echo off the walls of
the mine. Laying on my side with my hands tied behind my back, I rolled over to
feel around. I thought perhaps I would
have a better grasp of my surroundings if I could just touch something.
Down
the tunnel, I could hear distant voices; arguing, naturally. Why is it the bad
guys are always so argumentative? Must
have something to do with their childhood.
Slow the breathing. Lower the
heart rate, listen. LISTEN! Crawling down the tunnel, I could just make
out people near the entrance. Light
shown behind them, creating silhouettes.
“That
was a real bird-brained thing to do, numbering the rail cars the same 235 and
238. Any science geek with access to the
periodic table could ‘a figured out the cargo was uranium. All they had to do was think. You could have been picked up in any Podunk
town you’ve stopped at. Lucky for you, bunch of hicks never gave it a thought.”
The unidentified man flung his arms
around as he spoke. Gesturing this way
and that, feigning a slap at the other person.
“Ya
think I don’t know what I’m doin’? This
ain’t my first time down the track, ya know. If those two thugs you call
partners got it wrong and broke into the wrong rail cars, all Hell would ‘a
broke loose. I was just makin’ sure
things went smoothly.” The other figure was a woman. And not just any woman, I recognized the
voice! Joanna! The Bearded Lady! “You’re
guys just had to bump off Boss with a gunshot.
Had to make it sloppy. We had it
all sewn up with that punk Giddings takin’ the rap for the Mayor and his nosy
brat kid, now we got a hornet’s nest buzzing around us. All thanks you your greed and your dumb-assed
crew. I still don’t understand why you felt the need to off Boss. He didn’t know nuthin’. He was just starting
to poke around, by the time he figured it out, we would ‘a been long gone.” Leaning forward as she spoke, with her hands
on her wide hips, Joanna certainly presented a no-nonsense profile.
The
unidentified man turned away from her and just snorted a humph and walked
deeper into the mine, towards ME. As the
man walked toward my position, I could see his face from the glow of his
lantern. It was Jeff! I knew I had a bad feeling about that little
sniveler.
Jeff
came to stand over me. Kicking me in the
stomach, he was laughing as he goaded me, “Didn’t realize you have been a
smuggler for the past two months, did ja? You been a gun runner, booze mule,
cigarettes and now uranium for the big bombs. Dumb-assed, no-brain loser.” He
kicked me again.
“Why
did you kill the Mayor and his kid? I
mean, as long as you plan on killing me, fill in a few blanks.” I thought if I
could keep him talking I could figure a way outta there. Jeff spit on me and turned away.
“He’s
still alive, for now.” He shouted to the entrance. I assumed to Joanna, but there was no
reply. Jeff walked to the entrance
calling her name. Still no reply from Joanna, the Bearded Lady. “Joanna, you
had better be off to the side takin’ a piss. “Cause I’m gonna knock the shit
outta you for not answering me. Shorty, Giovanni, get in here and take care of
this piece of meat. Dump him at the
local slaughter house, in with the hogs.
That oughta take care of him.
Make sure you drug him and untie him just before you dump him. We don’t want any fingers pointed our way.”
Again,
there was no reply. It was all quiet
again, except for Jeff’s heavy breathing.
He began to run back towards me.
I had flopped and rolled a bit
and wasn’t in the same location. There was equipment and jagged rock
everywhere. Jeff panicked, swinging the
lantern to and fro, trying to find me.
He was hissing now, breathing heavily between his teeth. Stumbling in his search. Many silhouettes
filled the entrance of the mine.
“FBI!”,
someone shouted. The thumping of feet as they followed their flashlights into
the mine shaft. If I could just not get
hit in whatever cross fire there may be, I might make it outta here. Right on
cue, Jeff starts firing his gun at the shadows advancing toward him. Too many guns were trained on that firing
point. Jeff went down in a blaze of gory
glory.
Later,
at the hospital, the Feds came in to talk with me. Of course my attorney, Ms.
Houston was there too. It seems Ms.
Houston had some misgivings about Jeff long ago, making inquires with an old
acquaintance in the FBI. It seems Joanna
and Jeff were twins. Fraternal twins.
Joanna spilled everything at the mine.
She knew they were done when she stepped outside into the sunshine, they had her. The Uranium was inside the mine waiting for
pickup with she and Jeff arguing right there.
The
twins had conspired with the Mayor to deliver stolen Uranium to sell on the
black market. Boss was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Shorty and
Giovanni worked for Jeff and Joanna all along. Goons pretending to be goons.
The circus train was a perfect cover, moving from town to town, filled with
plenty of people who would rather look away then get involved and noticed.
Joanna became the Bearded Lady to keep tabs on both the goods and Boss. Making certain no one got too greedy too
soon.
When
the Mayor decided he needed a bigger cut and to be paid immediately he was
dispatched. The kid, happened to be waiting for dear ol’ Dad and when he didn’t
appear, the kid put two and two together and came up with a slice for himself. Too young, too pushy, too greedy got him
taken out of the game before he understood all the rules.
The
FBI and Ms. Houston gathered up the remaining circus acts. Ms. Houston had found another circus willing
to take on a few of the acts. The few folks that were even still around were
dumbfounded. Most of the acts decided to
disband rather than join another circus.
Saying it just wouldn’t be the same. Perhaps it was time to settle down. Who would ever look for them in this stink
hole of a town?
As
for me? Well, needless to say all the
charges were dropped. I got my money
returned. Ms. Houston offered me Jeff’s
job as detective. I rent the room above
our office. Sleep in a bed, eat at the
diner, and know just about everybody in town.
Still haven't figured out if that girls blue eyes were given to her by the
original Boss.
