Madball (2 page)

Mack said, "Hi, Jess. Got your top rented tonight?"

"Glad you're back with us, Mack. Just get in?"

"Yeah. How about the top?"

"I dunno. It's cool tonight and-"

Irby said, "Five bucks?" He didn't want to argue. Jesse usually got two or three bucks. He put the five on the ledge, knowing Jesse would take it. And what the hell was five bucks, tonight?

As he walked away he heard Jesse telling Sammy to get their stuff out of the top.

The music from the jig show passed him, and the grind Joe Linder was doing for the freak show and then he was standing at the back of the tip in front of the model show. Two of the girls were out for the bally, Honey and Maybelle, standing there in thin silk kimonas that showed every curve of their bodies, and as he looked at Maybelle's body he felt himself breathing a little hard, almost feeling dizzy he wanted her so bad.

He raised his hand on the chance that she'd notice the movement and see him, and miraculously she did. With a finger of the raised hand he made a little circular pointing gesture that meant around behind the top and caught her slight nod.

He went around back and took a slug, a big slug, out of the pint bottle while he waited. It emptied the bottle; he'd have to remember to get another one.

Then the canvas lifted and Maybelle ducked under it.

His arms were around her almost before she could straighten up, pulling her against him, his hands running down the silk of her back, down over her buttocks cupping them, pulling her so tightly against him that they were almost off balance.

"Maybelle honey, I got Jesse's top for tonight. Will you come there after the show?"

Her voice, low, throaty, sounded amused. "You sure don't waste time, do you, Mack?"

"Honey, you know I been hot for you all season. Only on account of my being a friend of Charlie's-"

She fended off his
li
ps. "Now, now, don't
m
ess my make-up or I won't."

"How soon can you be there?"

"Hour maybe. Midnight or a little after." She shook her head in mock bewilderment. "You act like a man who hasn't had a woman in seven weeks. Didn't you even make a quick stop on the way here?"

His quick breath told her without words that he hadn't; She laughed a little. Then, God help him, with him holding her as he was she did a grind.

Then she suddenly pushed him away and went back under the canvas sidewall. He had to concentrate a moment on standing straight without falling.

He got control back and laughed a little at himself. What a woman. Forty-two grand and a dame like that. He'd take her with him when he left here in a few days, take her to Florida for the winter, or maybe Mexico City; they'd have fancy hotel suites instead of tiny sleeping tops, suites with oversize beds and silk sheets and mirrored ceilings. But tonight the sleeping top would do.

He walked around the tops behind the midway to Pop Wilson's trailer to buy another pint and from there right to Jesse's sleeping top to wait for her.

He lay there waiting, sweating a little despite the coolness, thinking, What if she doesn't come, and then thinking, If she doesn't after doing that to me I'll kill her.

But she came, and the first time was fierce and fast, almost an explosion, but the second time was wonderful, and the third, and between them he lay naked and sweating and panting in the cool air. A foolish thing to do and a hell of a good way to catch pneumonia. But that doesn't matter if you're not going to live till morning.

CHAPTER TWO

THE MURDERER, after he straightened up from bending over the body, stood completely still for a long moment, there in the shadow. The thud of that tent stake had been so loud that it seemed impossible that no one had heard it. But there was no sound, no movement.

Cautiously now and keeping to the shadow of the sidewall he walked around the penny arcade top to the midway and stood there ready to step out into the light but listening first for footsteps, not wanting to stick his head out to look around. No sound, and he took the step.

And saw Dolly Quintana coming toward him. Wearing moccasins; that accounted for his not having heard her. She stopped and stared at him and the direction of her gaze and now the kinetic sense of something round and heavy in his hand told him the horrible blunder he'd made. In being so quiet, in concentrating so hard on walking softly, he'd forgotten to drop the weapon he'd just killed Mack Irby with.

It was almost a fatal mistake. For just a fraction of a second he thought that it would be fatal, fatal for Dolly, that he'd have to kill her with it too because she'd seen it. Then he realized she had stopped, still three paces away, that no matter how fast he moved she'd have time at least to scream, possibly even to turn and run, too. And a scream would bring people running even at half past two in the morning.

So he turned and tossed the tent stake back the way he'd come, casually as though it was nothing important. And casually too he said, "Hi, Dolly. Know if the chow top is still open?"

"I hope so." She came forward again now. "Couldn't get to sleep and I'm hungry. I'm going for a hamburger." He fell in beside her. "I can use a cup of coffee myself." His mind worked furiously. This was dynamite. Dolly was the wife
-
or woman, it didn't matter
-
of Leon Quintana, the knife thrower with the freak show, and Quintana was insanely, murderously jealous. It was dangerous just to walk or talk with Dolly; yet now he had to stay with her until he had a chance to
ki
ll her without her being able to scream. Or until he figured another answer. It didn't matter right now that she'd seen him with that stake but tomorrow
-
or for that matter any time now
- when Mack Irby was found dead back there, killed with a stake and near where Dolly had seen him, Dolly had his number, in spades.

He wondered if he was strong enough and quick enough to choke her to death without her being able to scream, here and now, beside her. He glanced sidewise at her, at her neck, thinking the move out, weighing the chances of being able to do it silently. Then he heard the shuffle of footsteps and saw that Jesse Rau had just come out of the freak show top, where he must have been sleeping after renting his own sleeping top to Mack Irby, heading for the doniker. By the time he was out of sight they were too near the still-lighted chow top and the chance to silence Dolly the simple way was gone.

He spoke quickly under his breath. "We better not go in together, Dolly. But I want to tell you something. You go in first, take a table away from anyone else."

He saw her slight nod and stopped long enough to let her go in alone. When he entered a minute later he saw to his relief that the place was almost empty. Aside from Dolly at a table way back, Barney King was the only other customer and he was sitting at the counter. He said hi to Barney and then went back and sat down at a table next to Dolly's but not even facing her. He faced, though, so he could watch the entrance and could also keep an eye on Barney and on Hank, who was now waddling over to take their orders. When Hank had gone away again and was out of earshot back of the counter, he said, just loudly enough so Dolly could hear but his voice wouldn't reach Barney or Hank, "Don't look toward me, Dolly, but listen. I'm going to reach over and drop something in your lap. Look at it, but look under the edge of the table."

H
e made sure both Barney and Hank still had their backs toward him, took a quick look at the entrance, and then stood up and leaned across far enough to toss into Dolly's lap the tight roll of bills, still with the rubber band around it just as he'd taken it from Irby's pocket. He hadn't even counted it, but it had looked like several hundred dollars.

Watching the entrance again he heard the faint sound of the rubber band and then a gasp from Dolly. Her voice was a whisper. "What's this for?"

"Count it and I'll tell you."

Counting it would clear up any misapprehension Dolly might have about what he was trying to buy, at any rate, and he was curious himself to know just how much he'd given her. He took a quick glance at her to be sure she was counting it below the edge of the table; she was.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. "Two hundred and forty. What in hell-"

"Shhh, put it away quick. And don't look at me."

"But what's it for?"

"For forgetting you saw me on the midway tonight
- and especially what I had in my hand."

"But
-
oh!"

Th
e oh showed she'd just remembered what he'd been holding when he'd stepped out in front of her, and that she guessed now what he must have used it for.

Hank was coming over with their orders, a hamburger and coffee for Dolly and coffee for him, bringing them both at once to save a trip. He collected from each of them and then went back.

Then, "A deal?" he asked Dolly quietly.

Her voice was low, almost a whisper, but it sounded hard. "Damn right it's a deal. And I don't care who you killed back there."

"It wasn't Leon."

"I know; he's asleep. I wish
- Well, anyway this is getaway money. I can get away from that son of a bitch now."

He'd suspected she felt that way; he was glad to be s
u
re of it. Because it meant she wouldn't share the money
-
and the secret along with it
-
with Leon.

He said, "Then be sure you don't let him find that money, kid. And he might be awake when you go back. If you're smart you'll stash it somewhere first."

That was all he could do and now he wanted to get away as fast as he could, get back to his trailer and be in bed there before anybody found the body and raised an alarm. He finished his coffee as quickly as he could without burning himself and hurried back to the trailer.

He felt satisfied with what he'd done and glad he hadn't had a chance to kill Dolly. She was a good kid; she'd keep her mouth shut now.

Even without the bribe she wouldn't have been too likely, now that he thought of it, to go to the cops with her story. Carneys don't talk to cops about other carneys. But she would probably have talked to someone about it, Quintana or someone else, and the story, if it spread far enough, would have reached the cops eventually. But the money would keep her completely silent now.

He slept the mome
nt his head touched the pillow.

CHAPTER THREE

DR. MAGUS WOKE. Someone was shaking him, saying, "Doc, Doc," in a frantic whisper. A woman's voice; it sounded like that of Maybelle Seeley of the posing show.

"Go 'way," he said. "If I wake up you won't be there."

"Doc, this is Maybelle. I need you."

He was sure he was awake now. He rolled over on the bedroll and found he'd rolled against her knees; she was kneeling there beside him, a shadow in the dimness.

"You need me?" he said. "With hundreds of younger men on the lot, you need an old coot like me?"

The light tone, he knew, would calm her.

"Doc, somebody killed Mack Irby. I need your help." He sat up. "Mack Irby? When? How?"

"It
-
it must have been about half an hour ago. They hit him over the head with something. The back of his head is
-
ugh."

He put an arm across her shoulders, pulled her down to a sitting position beside him. "Take it easy, gal. Where do you come in? Were you with him?"

"We were in Jesse's sleeping top. Mack rented it for all night. About half an hour ago we ran out of whisky and he pulled on his clothes and said he'd wake Pop and get us some. He crawled out under the flap and didn't come back. When it got to be a long time
-
my saying it was half an hour's just a guess
-
I got to remembering that I'd heard a kind of thunk sound just after he left and I got thinking he
-
well, maybe fell and hit his head. So I crawled out to look and there he was dead, just outside."

"Are you sure it wasn't a fall?"

"Yeah. It couldn't of been a fall, Doc."

"Had he been rolled? Wait, before you answer any more questions, you can use a drink if you haven't had one since you and he ran out. And I can too."

"Don't turn on a light, Doc. Somebody might find him any minute and-"

"I won't. I can find it in the dark." He groped his way to the foot locker, found the bottle and brought it back. He waited until they'd each taken a drink from it.

"All right now, was he rolled?"

"I
-
I don't
-" Then defiantly. "Yes, he was. I wanted to know that too so I felt in his pockets. Just change. He usually carried his paper money in a roll but there wasn't any roll in his pants pockets. Or in his coat. He'd left his coat inside and I crawled back in and felt in it too. There was a folder that felt like it was traveler's checks, but it wasn't money."

"Ummm, he was rolled then, Maybelle. He'd have had more money on him in cash than just change. Who knows you were there with him?"