Don't Sweat the Small Stuff (11 page)

“Telling us that we may be killed?”

“Sounded like that.”

“You think?”

He sat back down and stared at what was left of his beer. “Skip, I don’t really think that our lives are—”

I cut him off. “And what the hell was that bit about we already have a suspect?” I wasn’t certain that he was sane at this moment. “Are you out of your mind? What the hell was that all about?”

“Amigo, I wasn’t going to let him—”

“What kind of pressure are you putting on us?”

James was quiet, sipping on his beer, watching the game on TV but not really seeing anything at all. I could tell.

“James?”

He studied me for a moment.

“Are you going to answer me?”

“What’s so great about telling the truth? Try lying once in a while. It’s the currency of the world.”

“What?”

“The Marx Brothers.
A Day at the Races
.”

“James, did it ever occur to you that you use movie quotes to cover yourself? On a regular basis?”

“It’s sometimes easier than coming up with original thought, Skip. You of all people should understand that.”

He drained the last of his beer, slid off the stool, and headed for the door. I should have been upset. I’d just gotten slammed. Instead, I realized he was probably right.

We wandered through the show, watching the carnies weave their magic, selling cotton candy, drawing a sparse crowd to the dart booth, pulling a senior couple to the Ferris wheel, and tantalizing customers with the smell of greasy meat, popcorn, and deep-fried elephant ears. It was two p.m. and there was a handful of people on the grounds. Maybe the normal carnival public had heard about the shooting and they were staying away for fear of their lives. That was a strong possibility. Murder at the Moe Show was a good reason to stay away. Maybe the Bayview Mall just didn’t attract a whole lot of people. That would have been my guess. A runway of useless shops and a bar. Anyway, the crowd was meager. It wasn’t really a crowd, just a handful of people wandering listlessly. I could have rolled a bowling ball down the center of the Show and never hit a single person.

Some new heavyset punk with a bandana tied over his head was working Kevin Cross’s air rifle booth and he looked bored with the process. I kept thinking about the dead body we’d discovered directly behind the concession.

“Hey, lady, want to win a teddy bear?” He threw the line off
to a young woman and man passing by. They ignored him and kept on walking. Perched on a wooden stool, he seemed to nod off, only to wake up when the next possible customer came near. “Hey, lady—”

Lame lines, for an impossible game.

He stared at me as we walked by and then spit on the ground in what appeared to be a deliberate comment on James and myself. I couldn’t wait to get out of here.

“You remember what Moe said, James? Keep it low-key.”

“Yeah.”

“Hell, I think everyone here knows we’re investigating them. And I don’t think we did anything to telegraph it.”

Glancing at the zoo, I saw Pugh working the small arena, coaxing the obnoxious goat to stand still while a six-year-old boy about Pugh’s size tried to pet him. Linda was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, boys, over here.”

The skinny bald man motioned to us from Freddy’s Fun House, the trailer with the painted flames. He stood on an elevated porch, pointing to the opening of the Fun House.

“Come on, don’t let your friends tell you about the Fun House. See it for yourself.”

James shook his head. “No. Got things to do.”

“Hey, are you the new marketing guy or what?”

James snapped to attention. “Yeah. I am.”

“Then how the hell are you going to market the Show if you don’t know the show?”

James looked at me for the answer. Of course this was the same guy who had told me I had no original thoughts. So I kept quiet.

The thin man pushed the sleeves of his T-shirt up on his shoulders, exposing his bony arms. “You probably don’t think much of this little attraction, do you?”

“The Show?”

“No. The Fun House.”

I was unimpressed, but again kept my mouth shut. This was James’s gig.

“Come on up here. For free. There’s nobody here right now, so go on in and see for yourself. What have you got to lose?”

James walked to the Fun House trailer and I followed behind. I had no interest. Didn’t care. But there was James, boldly mounting the stairs, standing on the porch and motioning to me.

“Spooky, crazy. The most fun you’ll ever have in a trailer, my friends. Something special for everyone.” He motioned with his hand, and I walked up on the porch. Together James and I walked through the dark entrance.

“I hate these things.” James muttered under his breath.

A blue lightbulb mounted immediately inside cast an eerie pall and an iridescent arrow painted on the wall pointed to the left.

“Having fun yet?” I asked.

“I don’t like going places I can’t see.”

We followed the arrow to the left, two, three strides and the space was pitch black, I felt the roller bars under my feet just as James shouted.

“Whoa. Hold on, man.” He reached back and grabbed me, trying to steady himself.

“Stand still, James. They’re just some rollers. Walk slowly, they probably end in a couple of feet.”

He let out a breath and sure enough, a couple of steps later we were back on a firmer footing.

Ghoulish noises resonated from tinny speakers. Wailing and a whooshing sound.

“Damn, Skip, sounds like bats.”

“Sound effect, James. Man up.”

We took several more steps and the flashing face startled
both of us. Almost three dimensional, the monster’s face snarled, larger than life, its mouth opening right in front of us as if it was going to swallow us whole.

The path abruptly turned to the right as a dim red light clicked on to show us the turn.

“Never should have done this, amigo.”

“It’s a kids’ amusement, James. They apparently have a different sense of humor.

“I was a kid. Once.”

A life-sized skeleton dropped two feet in front of us, and James froze as I ran into him. A jangling piano played rickety music as the bones danced and we waited for four or five seconds until the animated thing retreated to some hidden place.

Five more steps and I saw James in front of me. His head was bloated, his body as skinny as a rail and right behind him I saw myself. Fun house mirrors. Now what could be more enjoyable than this?

“Tell me, Skip, how much more of this do we have to take?”

I’d already thought about it. A turn to the left, then to the right. As wide as the trailer was, they could take us one more path to the left and probably another to the right. Then right again to the entrance/exit. Maximizing the space. I’d learned that in business school. Little things kept coming back.

“Keep walking, man.”

We stepped past the mirrors, six in all, showing us in contorted shapes and sizes. One had us upside down, and never once was I tempted to laugh.

A yellow light popped on as we hit the wall, showing us the turn to the left. I caught a glimpse of James as he made the turn into the narrow passage and I heard his surprised gasp. Turning the corner I stumbled over something, gasping as well.

“James?”

Nothing.

“Hey, buddy. James? Not funny.”

I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. Knowing it wasn’t a good idea, I reached down to see what I’d stumbled over. I prayed it wasn’t James. Whatever it was appeared to be narrow, long and soft like a pillow. Definitely not James.

“James?”

The next instant the floor slipped, like an earthquake knocking my feet from under me, and as I careened from one cushioned wall into the other, a hideous laugh played over the speakers. Grabbing at the walls I felt the floor shift again. Moving steel plates. I took a broader step and the plates slid again, throwing me against the other wall.

There appeared to be no James in front of me. And if my plan was right, I still had another right turn and half a right turn before this torturous amusement was over.

Two more steps on the shifting floor and once again I was on solid ground.

I wanted to double-time it, move as fast as possible, but when you can’t see one inch in front of yourself, you tend to take it very slowly. Another two steps, three, and I felt something in my face. A spider’s web, stringy and strange. Clawing at it, I kept moving.

“James. Come on man, you’ve got to be out there.”

Faster now, calling his name every four or five seconds. An animated rat the size of a dog crossed my path, baring his teeth. A storm came up, with loud claps of thunder, flashes of lightning, and the sound of rain pouring all around me. I patted my shirt and hair, but all was dry.

I stopped for a moment. Someone, something behind me now. A paying customer who had followed behind us, or maybe James, having doubled back. I sensed them, even the floral scent of a sweet perfume, and not knowing who it was I started moving
again, stepping up my pace, moving away from the manufactured thunderstorm.

And something hit me from behind, harder than a fun house effect. Hard enough behind my knees to send me crashing to the floor. I kicked back and heard scurrying behind me.

Jumping to my feet I made the final turn.

“James.” At the top of my lungs now.

A full-sized clown puppet dropped from above and I froze for an instant. The eerily painted face mocked me with a red slash mouth and dark brooding eyes. Heath Ledger as the Joker. A shiver went down my spine as he danced for me just for a couple of seconds. Five steps, then ten, and I found myself at the exit.

Breathing hard, I blinked at the bright daylight. No one was on the porch. Not the skinny, bare-armed carnie and not James. I shuddered, the memory of the attraction almost as bad as my memory of the Dragon Tail.

I closed my eyes for a moment, and when I opened them I saw the crudely lettered sign by the steps. C
LOSED
T
ILL
F
URTHER
N
OTICE.

And there he was. Standing below, looking up at me.

“Where the hell did you go, James? This wasn’t fun.”

“Dude. We’re in deeper than I thought we were.”

I blinked again. “What are you talking about?”

“Somebody grabbed me in there.”

“Yeah?”

“Grabbed me. Pulled me to the side. Said we needed to leave the show. Now. Quit messing with everyone’s lives.”

“I got knocked down.”

“You too? I’m out here because they pushed me out of—” and he pointed to a closed door halfway down the trailer, “that door.”

I stepped off the porch and went down to the door. Two feet above the ground, it was labeled with stenciled letters, E
MERGENCY
E
XIT
O
NLY
.

It hit me that the closed sign and emergency exit sign were signs we should probably pay attention to. The signs that this wasn’t a good venture for us were everywhere.

James brushed himself with his hands. “We were set up, Skip. Pisses me off. Damn it, we’re here to do a job. And I’m not going to leave until we’ve done it.”

“This is too much. Someone highjacked you in the Fun House, threatened you, then pushed you out the door?”

“They did.”

“Someone attacked me in the Fun House, knocked me down—”

“Apparently.”

“Let’s get the hell out of here, James.”

“Come on, amigo. Admit it. It’s just starting to be fun.”

“I want to meet Winston Pugh.” It came out of nowhere.

“Because—”

“Because I think the little son of a bitch has a lot to do with this.”

“Just like that? You want to meet him?”

“Why not?”

This entire gig was James’s idea. Why not indeed? He should have been the one who met Winston in the first place.

“I don’t think Winston is up to it,” I said. “He and his girlfriend are not the type. But the girl—the one who seemed pissed off when we got off the Dragon Tail? I told you, her name is Linda—she’s Pugh’s girlfriend. The tequila shooter.” I’d told James that she and Winston seemed to really like drinking shots of the cactus liquor.

He nodded. “Yeah. I remember. There’s some reason that she stalked off like that, Skip.” James was finally engaged. “You didn’t do anything to offend her, at least that you can think of, right?”

“No.”

“Well, it just adds to my theory.”

“It’s not Pugh, James.”

“Look, Skip, someone shot this guy in the trailer. Someone shot this Kevin Cross. Am I right?”

“Of course someone shot him.” What a stupid question.

“Well, someone sabotaged the rides, too. It makes sense that both of these things were an inside job. So it’s probably Winston Pugh.” He tossed it off like there was no other solution.

“What?” I was dumfounded, and at the same time I had this sudden epiphany that we could do this. Both of us working together, we could make it happen. Find the culprit. James finally seemed to be focused. That was the positive.

And as soon as I had that thought, I knew I was—
we
were—way out of our league. There was no way. James was crazy.

He had a way of driving me nuts.

We walked by the Ferris wheel, spinning in the sky with only five of the brightly colored carts full. I wondered if the riders knew someone had been murdered fifty yards away.

“Skip, I seriously think Pugh is the guy. And because he knows we’re investigating the show, he tried to threaten us at the Fun House.”

“You can’t be serious. Was it a short guy with a whiny voice who threatened you?”

He paused. “I don’t know. It happened fast and the voice was a low whisper. But I bet it could have been Pugh.”

We had no business at all being private investigators. “Pugh was at the zoo when you got attacked at the Fun House. I saw him there.”

“If I had to name the suspect, it would be Pugh.” Matter of fact.

“You’ve never met him. You don’t know him at all.”

“Nope.”

“Then how could you—”