Magician (21 page)

I tried to sere who was driving the chase car; it had to be the dwarf. A shot rang out, and the driver’s side mirror shattered into a thousand pieces.

Tiller shook groggily awake again.

I looked desperately at the older man. “Tiller. Buddy, hang in there. I need a little help here. I don’t know where I’m going.”

Tiller raised a shaky hand and pointed. His voice was a bare whisper. “Go that way.”

“What’s over there? Tiller?” But it was no use, he was out again. Trusting Tiller and whatever luck I had left, I turned the wheel in the direction the stricken man had pointed, and floored it.

The van leapt over a small rise and landed heavily. Another shot hit the back door of the van and whistled through the interior of the van, the bullet screaming past my right shoulder before blowing the windshield out.
That was too damn close for comfort!

The sound of the four-wheel drive’s screaming engine right behind me was enough to let me know that we had been overtaken, and there was nothing I could do about it.

The van lurched over another rise in the road, and I was suddenly looking at the town of Inspiration. We were rapidly approaching the parade ground. There were people out there, too. A lot of them.

“Hold together baby!” I urged the van. I pointed it toward the center of town, and laid on the horn. The people were staring, some pointing. As we drew rapidly closer, I could see them start to scatter.
 

Good. Run. And keep running.

We were almost there when the next bullet hit. The rear right tire blew, and the van began to fishtail crazily. Ahead of me, I saw people dropping cotton candy and screaming as they dove for cover under rides and vehicles.
 

Fain’s next shot went high and missed completely, but the damage was done. I slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel, trying desperately not to kill anyone, including Tiller and myself. The van immediately tipped over toward the passenger side. I grabbed Tiller and pulled him up, to where the seat belts held him in. Dirt spewed in, choking me, filling my eyes.

There was a tremendous impact as the four-wheel drive grazed the van, spinning us around. I watched, awestruck, as the four-wheel drive sailed by, airborne. Fain was no longer in the back, I noted absently. With the same detached air, I also noticed that the vehicle landed on all four wheels, a marvel of modern engineering.

Then I noticed that it was headed for a fuel island to one side of the grounds, and there was no way it would stop in time.

I grabbed Tiller in a fireman’s carry, and ran away from the van as fast as my shaken condition would allow. I counted the seconds, gritting my teeth and praying with every step that I would be able to make another one. I ran twenty yards, thirty, drawing on a resource of strength from somewhere deep within me. Behind me the world exploded, and the ground shook. I was flattened by a shockwave, and then there were other explosions, as oil and gas containers went up in flames.

There was a trailer nearby and I rolled under it, dragging Tiller with me. Then there was a rain of smoking metal and wood, deadly mindless missiles that fell haphazardly, some sticking into the soft sand, some landing on combustible material and starting small fires. Black smoke rolled over us, stealing our breath, making us gasp for air.

A hideous scream filled the air and I turned to see Conrad running, engulfed in flame. He went about twenty feet and fell down, clawing at the sand. Flames greedily devoured his small body.

I crawled over and felt Tiller’s pulse, and was relieved to find that there was still one there. He looked pretty bad, and I was sure that I didn’t look much better.
 

The few people remaining in the area were quickly leaving it. I heard cries as people tried to summon help from within town to cope with the disaster. Blazing fuel cans were coming to earth like meteorites, starting additional fires in circus tents all over the fairground.

I grabbed my injured friend and dragged him away from the fire, toward the center of town. Then I looked back toward the flames.

I couldn’t believe what I saw. Fain was walking steadily toward us. He was covered in soot, but he did not appear to be burned. He seemed to emerge from the fire, another terrifying illusion from his long résumé.

I looked at the still nearly unconscious Tiller, and said softly, “Don’t look now Tiller, but here comes the bad guy.”

Fain pulled a length of metal pipe from the ground as he strode closer. If it was hot to the touch, he gave no sign.
 

I found a board in the rubble nearby. There were nails in it. That might help. I stepped away from Tiller and into the middle of the road. Fain and I faced each other for a second.

“Well, here we are, the Good, the Bad, and unconscious,” I said. “Come and get it you crazy bastard.”

With a roar, Fain came at me. He swung the pipe with all his might, but I managed to duck and roll under under it. I brought the broken board up hard between Fain’s legs. He grunted in pain, but swatted downward with the pipe, sending a blinding flash of pain through my injured shoulder. Gasping, I dropped the board and ran toward a large tent that was already on fire on one side.

I ran inside the tent. Fain, limping slightly, stopped just outside. “You can’t get away! Come on out, and let’s finish this!” he called out. He edged closer to the opening of the tent, and peered inside. “This won’t work, mister private eye!”
 

Finally, out of frustration, Fain yelled and charged into the tent, the pipe help out in front of him with both hands, like a battleaxe.

I ran to the back of the tent, and rolled out from under the side, just as the tent started to collapse.
 

“Hey—” Fain’s next words were muffled as the burning tent collapsed on him. Smoke filled his eyes, and took his breath. The fairground was dotted with fires, and burning debris from secondary explosions was still flying through the air.

I ran back to where I had left Tiller, my breath coming in ragged gasps. He was sitting up against a big trailer tire. “I think we’d better get out of here,” he rasped. I looked around. The fairground was a lake of fire.
 

I looked down at Tiller. “Can you walk?”

Tiller rose shakily to his feet, leaning against the tire for support. “Can you?”

We leaned on each other and started limping toward town. Tiller stopped after a moment. “Hey, you hear that?” Off in the distance I heard the wonderful sound of a siren.

I looked at Tiller and nodded. “Hallelujah, brother!”

We went limping toward the town arm in arm, leaning on each other for support. The air was full of the roar of fire and the smoke was oppressive. I was about to give Tiller a few words of encouragement when Fain hit us from behind.

All three of us went sprawling.
 

I rolled and sprang to my feet at the same time Fain got to his. He roared, a pure animal sound of rage, and charged at me, his eyes filled with hate. I was standing there, my hands empty, when I realized I still had the hunting knife I’d scooped up from the floor of the van.

I yanked it from my belt as Fain came on, and held it out in front of me. It was all I had the strength left to do. Fain saw it just as he bore down on me, but it was too late. His momentum sent me flying again. My head struck the wall of a trailer, and I fell back, dazed. Fain grunted and sank to his knees, then with a supreme effort, struggled to his feet.

Fain was standing in front of me, silent and still. He did not come at me, this time. Instead, he looked down at his midsection, where the hunting knife protruded, and let out a long, low sound. He took one, two, three deep breaths, and pulled it out; the blade made a wet sucking sound as it exited the wound.

“So that’s where I put that thing!” he growled. He shook himself. “Okay, mister private eye. This is our last dance. He held the knife up, and it was black with blood that beaded and ran down his arm. “It’s going to take more than a little old knife to do me in.”

The Jeep hit him squarely, knocking him fifteen feet from where he was standing. The vehicle slid to a stop in the sand, sending red dust up to mingle with the black petroleum smoke. Traci jumped out and ran over to me. “Roland, are you all right? Oh, please be all right! I should never have let you out of my sight! Look at you!”

“Traci. I’m . . . I’m not that bad.”

A siren blared, and a police cruiser covered with dust pulled in from the opposite direction.

Deputy Cale emerged from the vehicle, slamming the door.

“Lady, are you crazy? You just ran that man down!”

“Him! That’s him!” Traci shouted, pointing at Fain.
 

Cale turned toward Fain, his eyes getting wider. For the first time, it dawned on him what was going on.

“Holy shit, he’s alive. I never would have believed it. That big bastard is still alive.” He ran back toward his squad car, and reappeared with a shotgun, which he leveled at Fain. “Okay, big boy, stay right there and don’t move!”

I struggled to keep my eyes open. I willed myself to speak. The world was getting hazy. I raised my arm and pointed, out, over the desert.

“You have to go out there,” I said, my voice a ragged whisper.

Traci was kneeling beside him. “What, Roland, what is it?”

“The girl is over there, in an old ghost town.” My eyes were closing despite my best efforts, but I could hear their voices.

“What’s he saying?” Cale asked her, without taking his eyes off Fain.

“There’s an old ghost town out beyond the mesa,” Traci told him “He’s saying that we need to go check it out. I think he’s saying that there’s a girl out there.”

“Ghost town? Which old ghost town?”

“That one, straight over there, I think . . . the one the kids call Kashmir.”

Another voice joined them, a deep baritone. Sheriff Payne was there now.
 

“Not Kashmir, it’s called
Cauchemar.
We’ll take care of them. Cale, good work. Take Deputy Wade and go check out that ghost town.”

“Will do, sheriff.” Cale and another man piled into the dusty squad car and drove away. I summoned enough energy to open my eyes again. There were more police piling out of cars, and I heard an ambulance come wailing into the area. Payne was standing over me. “The ambulances are here. You and your friend are going to be fine. Damn good work, Longville. Hell on the carnival, though.”

I looked back over to where Fain lay spread-eagled. People were running from the cover of the buildings. But gathered around the fallen Fain stood a half-dozen clowns, looking down at him in utter distaste, their faces severe behind their painted-on smiles.

Chapter 29

My eyes had been open for a while before I realized I was staring at a hospital ceiling. I tried to sit up, and failed miserably. I lay back again and closed my eyes. I heard the door open quietly. Mayor Claeren was standing there, looking down at me. I put my hand out and he shook it, exuding effortless panache.
 

“Well, Mr. Longville. I hear that you’ll be up and around in a few days.”

I nodded. “I hope so.”

The Mayor’s eyes seemed to be sparkling humorously.
 

“Mayor Claeren,” I mumbled, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about the damage that we caused your town.”

“Nonsense, young man.” Claeren hooked one finger in his lapel and described a circle in the air with another. “You have done a service to Inspiration. The town itself was unscathed in the firestorm that you set off, and the media attention, like the old saw says, is all free publicity. Most of the fire damage was sustained by Donovan’s Flying Circus, a little outfit from Michigan.” Claeren drew close and lowered his voice conspiratorially, “Between the two of us, they’ll be glad to see the insurance settlement; they haven’t been doing so well.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad that there was no real harm done.”

Claeren took a step back, preparing for his grand exit. “Only to the human heart, I’m afraid.”

“Traci’s a wonderful girl, Mr. Claeren.”

“Ah, but the cowboy must always ride away.”

“Yes, I guess that about sums it up.”

“Take care, Mr. Longville. And if you ever happen to make it back to Arizona, do look in on us out in Inspiration.”

“That I will.”

And then he was gone. I lay back on the bed for a while. It was over. I was alive, and so was Tiller. Those were the good parts. There were plenty of bad ones to go around, too many little girls who wouldn’t be coming home, ever. I turned my head and looked out the window. I could just make out the hazy desert that lay beyond the city. Somewhere out there, Fain had hidden Georgia Champion. I had failed; I hadn’t even brought her body home.

But I caught Fain, and that means he can’t do what he did to her, ever again.

Outside, the desert wind blew against the pane, and sounded for all the world like a low, mocking laugh.

* * *

I walked out of the hospital several days later, Tiller by my side. He was leaning slightly on a cane. “I look like an old man with this damn thing.”