Nightmare Alley (14 page)

T
HE NIGHT
was quiet at last, with only the katydids. The ferris wheel stood as gaunt as a skeleton against the stars; the cookhouse lights were lonely in the dark.

Stan stepped down into the grass beside the van and held his hand up to help Molly. Her palm was hot and damp. When she stood beside him she clung to him for a moment and pressed her forehead against his cheek. They were almost the same height. Her hair smelled sweet and tickled his lips. He shook his head impatiently.

“Stan, honey, you do love me—don’t you?”

“Sure I do, baby.”

“And you won’t tell a soul. Promise me you won’t tell. Because I never let any man do it to me before, honest.”

“Are you sure?” Stan thrilled at his power over her. He wanted to hear her voice with fear in it.

“Yes, honey. Yes. Honest. You hurt me something terrible at first. You know—”

“Yes.”

“Darling, if I’d ever done it before you wouldn’t have hurt me. Only I’m glad you hurt me, honey, I’m glad. Because you were the first.”

The air was chilly; she began to shiver. Stan slipped off his jacket and put it around her shoulders. “Gee, you’re good to me, Stan.”

“I’ll always be.”

“Always?” Molly stopped and turned to face him, resting both hands on his forearm. “What do you mean, Stan?”

“Just always.”

“You mean until the season’s over and we all split up?” Her voice held a deeper question.

Stan had decided. In his mind he saw the blaze of the foots, with himself standing there straight. In command. Molly was in the audience in an evening gown, walking slowly down the aisle. The marks—the audience—craned their necks to look at her. She was an eyeful. The placards at each side of the stage said simply, STANTON. The big time.

“Molly, you like show business, don’t you?”

“Why, sure, Stan. Daddy always wanted to see me in show business.”

“Well, what I mean is— Well, let’s head for the big time. Together.”

Her arm slid around his waist and they walked on again, slowly. “Darling, that’s wonderful. I was hoping you’d say that to me.”

“I mean it. Together we can get right to the top. You’ve got the class and the shape. I mean, you’re beautiful and we can work up a two-person code act that’ll knock ’em dead.”

Molly’s arm tightened around him. “Stan, that’s what I always wanted. Daddy would be awful proud of us. I know he would. He’d be crazy about you, Stan. The way you can talk your way out of a tight place. That’s what he admired most in anybody. That and not double-crossing a pal, ever. Daddy said he wanted on his tombstone, ‘Here lies Denny Cahill. He never crossed up a pal.”’

“Did he get it?”

“No. My grandfather wouldn’t hear of it. The stone just says, ‘Dennis Cahill’ and under it the dates when he was born and when he passed away. Only one night, just before I left Louis-ville, I went out and wrote it below the dates with chalk. I’ll bet some of the chalk is still there.”

They had reached the Ten-in-One. Inside a single bulb glowed. Stan peered in. “All clear, kid. Get into your things. I wonder where the others are?”

While Molly was dressing behind the curtains of Zeena’s stage Stan walked over to the cookhouse and found the cook cleaning coffee urns. “Where’s the bunch?”

“Scattered. The bulls run in a couple of fellows on the wheels and games. They even sloughed the cat rack. The fixer’ll get ’em sprung tomorrow. And I’ll have to put on a tub of water so they can boil up and get the crumbs out of their clothes. Want a cup o’ java?”

“No, thanks. I want to find my bunch. Got any idea where they went?”

The cook wiped his hands and lit a cigarette. “Hoately’s gone up the road to a lunch wagon or something. Roadside joint. You can’t miss it. He said he didn’t want to hang around the lot tonight. Can’t blame him. Seems somebody put in a beef to the cops about the geek show you fellows got. And about the wheels. Way I heard it, that tattooed guy used to be in the Ten-in-One and had the run-in with Plasky was in town shooting off his mouth.”

“Sailor Martin?”

“That’s the son-of-a-bitch. What I heard, he worked on the townies and got them to beef to the cops. Can you imagine a carny doing that? Somebody ought to stick a butcher knife up his rear end and kick the handle off.”

Stan heard a low whistle from outside and said good night to the cook. Molly was standing in the shadow of the Ten-in-One, looking prim and neat in a dark suit and a white silk blouse. He took her arm and they set off down the road.

It was a chicken-dinner shack; from inside came voices and laughs. He pushed open the screen door.

At a table with a red-checkered tablecloth the bunch was gathered. Pints of whisky stood among plates of chicken bones. Hoately was talking:

“… and the minute I heard the kid go into that jerk-’em-to-Jesus routine I knowed we was all set. I want to tell you, it was something to watch. That old buzzard’s trap was hanging open a mile—lapping up every word the kid handed him.”

He paused and let out a whoop at the sight of Stan and Molly.

The others helloed; Zeena bustled up and put her arms around Molly and kissed her. “Sakes alive, honey, I’m glad to see you. You come over and sit down right by Zeena. Where on earth did you skedaddle to? We knew they didn’t pinch you or Stan because Clem hung around and watched. But I was looking all over for you.”

“I hid in the van,” Molly said. She looked down at her purse and ran her finger over the clasp.

“And Stan!” Zeena enveloped him in a hug and kissed him warmly on the mouth. “Stan, boy, you sure done noble. I always knew you were a mentalist. Imagine that—giving a cold reading to a cop and getting away with it! Oh, I just love you.”

The rasping, fiddle voice of Major Mosquito cut through. “Come on over and have a drink. Hoately’s treat. Come on over. I’m getting stinko.”

They took their seats, and a gangling youth with spiky hair brought in two more plates of chicken. “Watch them bottles, folks. Town’s hell on enforcement.”

Stan and Molly sat together. Suddenly they were ravenous and dug into the chicken.

Joe Plasky said, “Nice going, kid. You kept your head. You’re real carny, and no mistake.”

Bruno said nothing. He had been about to start on his fourth plate of chicken but now it lay in front of him, neglected. Molly caught Stan’s hand and squeezed it under the tablecloth. They exchanged a quick look.

Zeena poured herself a drink and took it in two swallows. “Liquor’s terrible, Clem. It’s that bad, I nearly left some—as the Scotch fella says.”

Clem Hoately was picking his teeth with a sharpened match. “Short notice. I asked one of the deputies—young fellow who looked okay—where I could pick up a pint. He sent me to his brother-in-law. Town’s all right if you case it careful. We won’t have no trouble after tonight. That old son-of-a-bitch that sloughed us was the toughest they got. We’ll open tomorrow night and pack ’em in. Best advertising in the world.”

Molly looked startled. “I—I shouldn’t think it would be safe.”

Hoately grinned. “You can wear riding boots and breeches. That’ll be all right. You got the shape to look good in ’em. Don’t worry about it.”

Zeena took a chicken bone from her mouth and said, “I think we all ought to give Stan a great big hand. We might have got into a peck of trouble if it hadn’t been for him. I always say, there’s nothing like the second sight. Anybody who can give a good reading’ll never starve. Only, gosh”—she turned to face Stan—“I never knew you could spout the Bible, the way Clem’s been telling us.” She paused, chewing, and then went on, “Stan, ’fess up. Were you ever really a preacher?”

He shook his head, hard lines at the corners of his mouth. “That was my old man’s idea once—to make me one. Only I couldn’t see it. Then he wanted me to go into real estate. But that’s too slow a turn. I wanted magic. But the old gent was a great hand at quoting scripture. I guess a lot of it rubbed off onto me.”

Major Mosquito, holding a tumbler in both hands, lifted it. “Here’s to the Great Stanton, purveyor of fun, magic, mystery and bullshit! He’s a jolly good fellow, he’s a jolly good …”

Bruno Hertz said, “You shut up. You talk too much for little fellow.” His sad steer’s eyes were on Molly. Suddenly he blurted out, “Molly, you and Stan going to get married?”

The room got as quiet as if a needle had been lifted off a record. Molly choked and Zeena slapped her on the back. Her face was red when she answered, “Why—what makes you think—”

Bruno, bold and desperate, stumbled on. “You and Stan been together! You going to get married?”

Stan looked up and met the strongman’s gaze levelly. “As a matter of fact, Molly and I are going to head for vaudeville. We’ve got it all figured out. In the two-a-day nobody’s going to run her in for wearing skimpies.”

Zeena set down her glass. “Why—why, I think that’s just splendid. Clem, did you hear? They’re going to try the two-a-day. I think it’s perfectly fine. I think it’s great.” She crushed Molly in another hug. Then she reached out and rumpled Stan’s hair. “Stan,—ain’t—ain’t you the foxy one! And you all the time —making out like you never—never knew the child was on the face of the earth.” She dumped more whisky in her glass and said, “All right, folks, here’s a toast to the bride and groom. Long life and may all your troubles be little ones—eh, Molly?”

Hoately lifted his coffee cup. Major Mosquito said, “Hooray! Let me hide under the bed, the first night. I’ll be quiet. Just let me—”

Bruno Hertz poured a small drink for himself and gazed at Molly over the glass. “
Prosit, Liebchen
.” Under his breath he muttered, “Better wish luck. You going to need luck. Maybe some day you going to need—”

Joe Plasky’s Lazarus smile was like a lamp. “All the best, kids. Glad to see it. I’ll give you a letter to a couple of booking agents in New York.”

Zeena cleared the plates and glasses from before her with an unsteady sweep. She reached into her purse and drew out a pack of cards. “Here you are, kids. Now’s a good time to see what the Tarot has for you. The Tarot’s always got an answer.” She shuffled. “Go ahead, honey. Cut ’em. Let’s see what you cut.”

Molly cut the cards and Zeena grabbed them and turned them over. “Well, what d’you know—The Empress! That’s her, honey. See, she’s sitting on a couch and it’s got the sign of Venus on it. That’s for love. And she’s got stars in her hair. That’s for all the good things your husband’s going to give you.”

Major Mosquito squeaked with laughter, and Bruno hissed at him to keep quiet.

“The Empress is a good fortune card in love, honey. Couldn’t be better ’cause it means you’ll get what you want most.” She shuffled again and held them up to Stan, who had stood up and moved in behind Molly’s chair. Molly had taken his hand and was holding it near her cheek.

“Go on, Stan. You cut ’em, see what comes out.”

Stan released Molly’s hand. In the stacked cards, the edge of one showed darker than the others from handling and Stan cut to it without thinking, turning his half of the deck face up.

Major Mosquito let out a squall. Zeena knocked over the bottle and Hoately caught it before it had gurgled away. Bruno’s stolid face was alight with something like triumph. Molly looked puzzled and Stan laughed. The midget across the table was beating the cloth with a spoon and crying out in an ecstasy of drunken glee:

“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!
The Hanged Man!
”