The Traveling Vampire Show (39 page)

Chance, assuming the victory was his, began to stride around Valeria, waving at the audience, smiling and nodding.

And got too close to her.

With a sweep of one leg, she kicked his right foot forward. Chance’s leg flew high. He yelped with surprise and waved his arms. It looked as if he would slam down on his back. In the moment before he hit the ground, however, he turned his body. He shouted, “YAH!” and slapped the ground and landed on his side.

Unhurt, he rolled to get away from Valeria. But not fast enough. She hurled herself onto his back, hooked an arm across his throat, and darted her face down against the side of his neck.

He let out a yelp of surprise and pain.

Then he just lay underneath her, not resisting. Valeria no longer seemed to be struggling, either. She was sprawled on top of him, hands on his shoulders, her body squirming as if Chance were her lover, not her victim.

I couldn’t see what was happening with her mouth, but I was pretty sure what must be going on.

Stryker entered the cage, trailing the microphone cord. “AND THE WINNER IS ... VALERIA!”

The audience erupted with clapping, cheers, shouts and whistles.

Valeria stayed on top of Chance’s back, face still down against his neck.

Stryker frowned at her. “VALERIA! QUIT!”

She didn’t quit.

She went on with Chance as if they were all alone in the world.

“VALERIA!”

She ignored him.

Stryker stepped over to her, raised his right leg and raked the rowl of his big silver spur across her bare back just above the waist of her skirt.

Her head darted up and swung around. Glaring over her shoulder at Stryker, she roared. Blood flew from her mouth.

As I gaped at her, shocked, she turned her head the other way to let those in the other bleachers get a good look.

Silence.

Nobody spoke or laughed or clapped ... or moved. The wind blew, hissing through the forest and lifting the long black hair from Valeria’s shoulders.

Into the microphone, Stryker said, “IT’S OVER, MY DARLING. YOU’VE WON.”

After Valeria climbed off the Marine, several members of Stryker’s black-shirted crew came into the arena wheeling a gurney. While they hurried toward the cage, Chance rolled onto his back and managed to stand up.

Applause rippled through the crowd even before Stryker’s voice boomed out, “LET’S HEAR IT FOR A REAL CONTENDER!”

The applause grew to a roar.

Chance raised his hand in a game but embarrassed wave, sort of like a cowboy who has just gotten tossed off the back of a Brahma bull. Staggering out of the cage, he waved off the gurney in spite of the fact that he appeared to be bitten on the right side of his neck. He had blood all over his shoulder and running down his back and chest. He must’ve not considered it very serious, though. Not serious enough to merit a visit to an emergency room—or wherever the gurney crew had planned to take him.

As he hobbled back toward the bleachers, Vivian came along with his shirt. She didn’t give it to him, though. Instead, she took hold of one arm and spoke to him. He nodded, then walked off with her.

Maybe to get himself bandaged.

Stryker proclaimed, “CHANCE WALLACE, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!”

More wild applause. Chance waved again, then walked out of sight with Vivian.

“CHANCE’S TIME IN THE CAGE WITH VALERIA...” Stryker glanced at his stopwatch. “THREE MINUTES, FORTY-EIGHT SECONDS! A FINE DISPLAY OF COURAGE!”

Valeria, standing near Stryker in the cage, was using a wet towel to wipe the blood off her face and neck and chest.

“THAT WAS ONLY THE BEGINNING, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! CHANCE’S BLOOD DID LITTLE MORE THAN WHET THE APPETITE OF THE GLORIOUS ... AND VERY THIRSTY ... VALERIA!”

She dropped the towel to the ground. One of the helpers hurried in to retrieve it.

“WHO WOULD LIKE TO GO NEXT?”

Leaning forward, Rusty looked past Lee and said to me, “Was that bitchin’, or what?”

“Pretty cool,” I said, and suddenly wished Slim could’ve been here to watch it with us. She would’ve gotten a kick out of seeing this woman wipe out a Marine. Also, I would’ve liked to have her sitting beside me. Lee on one side, Slim on the other.

I supposed she was probably sitting in her Pontiac, listening to the radio.

Or maybe listening to Bitsy. I could just see the poor thing sitting in the front seat with Slim, crying her eyes out, sobbing her tale of getting pounded by her brother....

Why didn’t I stop him?

Slim would be shocked and outraged by what we’d done. And sympathetic toward Bitsy in spite of the names the girl had called her.

“YOU! YOU THERE. YES, YOU.”

Stryker’s tinny, amplified voice startled me, tore me out of my daydreams and planted me in the present.

I saw a man climbing down the bleachers across the arena from us. He was a skinny guy, bald on top, and wearing glasses. He couldn’t have been more than forty years old, but he dressed like a codger in a white polo shirt, plaid Bermuda shorts, knee socks and loafers. He sort of laughed and waved at the crowd as he made his way down to the arena.

“Here’s a sure winner,” Lee said.

Rusty and I laughed.

Down in the arena, he kept his shirt on and signed Vivian’s clipboard. Then she led him up the stairs and through the doorway of the cage.

Stryker asked his name. The gawky man leaned close to the microphone in Stryker’s hand and said, “I’M CHESTER.”

“Go, Chester!” yelled someone in the audience.

Grinning, he nodded and waved.

“READY TO TAKE ON VALERIA?” Stryker asked.

“OH, WELL, SURE.” He shrugged. “CAN’T SEE WHY NOT.”

“THAT FIVE HUNDRED DOLLAR PRIZE MUST LOOK AWFULLY GOOD TO YOU.”

“IT AIN’T HAY,” said Chester.

Rusty leaned forward. “This guy’s a goner.”

“WOULD YOU LIKE TO LEAVE YOUR GLASSES WITH OUR BEAUTIFUL ASSISTANT?”

Chester shook his head. Into the mike, he said, “I’LL KEEP ’EM ON, THANKS.” Stryker started to pull the mike away, but Chester grabbed it and pulled it close to his mouth.

“YOUR GAL HERE, THIS VALERIA, SHE’S A FINE LOOKING WOMAN. A GUY’D HAVE TO BE NUTS TO GO IN THAT CAGE WITH HIS GLASSES OFF.”

With that comment, he won the audience. The grandstands erupted with laughter and cheers.

I looked at Valeria. She had her eyes on Chester, and didn’t crack a smile.

Stryker was chuckling, though. He patted Chester on the back and said, “BEST OF LUCK, MY FRIEND.”

Chester bobbed his head, grinning.

“ANY QUESTIONS?”

“NOPE. JUST LET ME AT HER.”

Stryker walked out of the cage and trotted down the stairs, his spurs jangling. At the bottom, he hauled out his stopwatch. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” he announced, “LET THE CONTEST BEGIN!”

Valeria planted her hands on her hips and stared at Chester.

He stood there, arms hanging by his sides, and studied her. He didn’t even try to be sneaky about it, just ogled her, his head moving slowly up and down. After doing that for a while, he wiped the back of a hand across his mouth.

Nervous-sounding laughter ruffled through the crowd.

Chester looked around, grinning at his audience. Then he leered at Valeria, raised both hands to chest level, and flexed his fingers as if honking her breasts.

That bought him wild laughter and cheers ... along with a chorus of boos.

Smirking, Valeria walked toward him. She moved slowly, her back arched, arms by her sides, as if offering to let him squeeze more than just air.

He pointed a finger at himself and mouthed, “Me?”

She nodded.

He reached out, actually clutched the red leather cups and squeezed them. He squeezed them a couple of more times, turning his head and mugging for the audience.

“I bet he’s a ringer,” Lee said.

“Huh?” I asked.

“Someone they planted in the audience. He can’t be for real.”

Rusty leaned forward. “I bet you’re right. She isn’t gonna let some stranger grab her ... her you-know-what’s.”

Lee chuckled and shook her head.

Down in the cage, Chester had stopped making faces. He’d stopped pretending to honk Valeria’s breasts. Now he was stroking their bare tops while she stood there motionless, letting him.

Lucky Chester.

Then one of her hands glided forward and she rubbed the front of his Bermuda shorts.

His mouth fell open and his back arched.

Everyone in the grandstands probably couldn’t see where Valeria had put her hand—the angle was only right for some of us—but half the crowd went “EWWWWWWWWW” and so many shrill whistles ripped through the air that my ears cringed.

Chester stood as if frozen.

I heard Rusty murmur, “Man, oh man.”

Lee grinned at him and patted his knee.

My mouth was dry, but I managed to say, “This guy has to be a ringer.”

“Oh, yeah,” Lee said.

I wondered how much time he had left. At least a couple of minutes must’ve gone by so far. If he really was a ringer, maybe the plan was to let him win.

Valeria pulled down the zipper of his shorts.

“Oh, great,” Lee grumbled. “You guys shouldn’t be ...”

Valeria reached into Chester’s open fly.

“... seeing this.”

The reaction of the audience was a wild mixture of joy, consternation and excitement. Through all the hoots and whistles and applause, I heard shouts of, “No!” and “Go for it!” and “All right!” and “Someone put a stop to this!” and several suggestions that were extremely foul and vulgar.

Instead of doing what most of us probably expected, however, Valeria turned her hand upward and clutched Chester’s pants: not only the upper areas of the zipper, but apparently the waistband of his Bermudas and also his belt buckle. Then she hoisted him off his feet.

He squealed, flapped his arms and kicked.

With just her one arm, Valeria rammed him all the way up. Luckily (or due to plenty of rehearsals), his head missed the bars. It passed through a space between two of them and poked out the top of the cage. The bars stopped him at the shoulders.

Letting go of him, Valeria twirled out of the way.

Chester yelped and started to fall. Then suddenly he grabbed the bars. He pulled himself up until his head was again jutting out the top of the cage.

“Help!” he yelled.

Far as I could tell, nobody in the audience seemed very upset by his plight. A good many of us must’ve already suspected he was a ringer. And some of the audience, especially women, probably figured he was getting his just deserts.

There was nervous laughter—and cheering—when Valeria reached out with both hands and jerked his Bermudas down. For underwear, he wore baggy white boxer shorts decorated with red polka-dots.

This guy was definitely a ringer. His antics had been nothing but a stage performance.

I felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment.

Is it ALL fake?

Most likely, I thought.

Then Valeria jerked the boxers down to Chester’s ankles. From the waist down, he was naked.

She pulled the Bermudas and boxers down over his shoes and tossed them across the cage. Now Chester was dangling there in nothing but his polo shirt, knee socks and loafers. He had a skinny, pale butt. He also, much to the shock and delight and amusement and dismay of the spectators, had a boner.

It didn’t matter where you were sitting; the way he kicked and twisted, everyone in the bleachers got to see both sides of Chester.

I was suddenly very aware of why they tried to keep kids away from the show.

And I was suddenly embarrassed to be watching this with Lee sitting beside me. And glad that Slim had decided against coming.

Chester’s groin area was just about level with Valeria’s face.

She stepped up to him and opened her mouth.

Some people screamed. Including Chester. Others cried out “NO!” and “Oh, my God!” and a few suggestions such as “Bite it off!”

I figured the five minutes must be running out. Valeria had better do something fast or Chester would win the five hundred bucks.

She slowly leaned closer, her mouth wide open as if ready to take him in....

He squealed “No!” and kicked out, driving his right shoe into Valeria’s midsection. She grunted and stumbled back-Richard Laymon ward, bending over, hugging her belly. As she fell to the dirt, Chester let go of the bars and dropped.

Huffing for breath, he stared down at her. He was standing at her feet. Her legs were parted, her knees up. Chester seemed to be staring up her short leather skirt.

He swung around and looked toward the open door of the cage.

Thinking about it.

Wondering how much time he had left?

Or maybe no longer caring about the time or about the five hundred dollars or about anything other than what was sprawled on the ground behind him.

Pulling the polo shirt over his head, he whirled around. He flung the shirt away. Naked down to his knee socks, he dived for Valeria, arms extended, hands all set to grab her breasts. He would’ve landed between her knees in perfect position for thrusting into her body, but one of her feet shot up.

In an instant of silence, I heard the jingle of a spur.

Then Chester squealed. Braced up by Valeria’s right leg, he was thrown over her body. He flipped over in midair and landed on his back across her open casket.

He’d been split open from navel to sternum.

“Holy shit,” Rusty muttered.

Lee blinked, shook her head and said, “Maybe he’s not a ringer” as Valeria, down in the cage, buried her face in Chester’s bloody abdomen.

The black-shirted crew hustled into the cage and lifted Chester onto the gurney. As they rolled him away, Valeria took a wet towel from one of the helpers and started to wipe the blood off her body. Stryker spoke into the microphone. “LET’S HEAR IT FOR CHESTER, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! A REAL SCRAPPER!

Down beside him in the cage, Valeria raised her right leg and propped her boot on an edge of the coffin.

Bending down, she used the towel to wipe the blood off her spur. As she did that, I stared at the red mark across her back... the wound inflicted by Stryker’s spur.