A Fear of Clowns (The Greasepaint Chronicals) (7 page)

Max had been right when he'd said
that the morning crowd was a tough sell. The only nice thing was that he
actually
did
get the occasional tip. True, that was normally done along
with a request that he go away, but hey, that was the life of a clown in the
modern world. He collected thirty bucks in two hours, which was nearly enough
to make it worth doing. Then things changed, as the afternoon crowd came in,
and he had to steer people to the tables for either gaming or food. No one told
him to, but it made sense to him. It wasn't a hard sell, since they were mainly
there to gamble, and just wanted tips on what was likely to come up lucky, or
what had been hot. He just lied, not having been paying attention, but no one
seemed to mind. Wins were attributed to him, and losses to bad luck.

Things picked up a bit, as people
started to drink a little harder, and a waitress, who looked to be about his
own age, named Ginger, which he got from her name tag, waved to him. She seemed
to have been watching him pretty closely, he realized. It was a bit unusual.

"Hey honey, can I get you
anything? Some water or..." She gave him a sly look, as if the something
more could be anything on the menu, regardless of what the manager had said.

Staying in character, which made
his voice crack a bit after all that time, he nodded. "Water, would be
greeeat
!
I'm going to have to go soon, and take a break. Whew am I tired!" He had
to reset all his props and restock. The woman didn't wait, coming back almost
instantly with a glass of water that had crushed ice in it. Jay drained it, as
if he'd been in a desert all day, instead of inside an air conditioned gambling
establishment.

"Well, I don't think anyone
will complain if you do. This place has been dead the last two days, all the
performers being out. Someone said it happened here, in our kitchens, but... If
that's so, doesn't it seem like other people would, you know, get..." She
looked around, not trying to announce to the whole place that twenty-three
people had gone down with something that was most likely a food borne illness.
It sounded weird, however. Like the woman was feeling him out, to see if he
knew anything more about it.

Because that was the job of a
clown, thinking about things like that? Smiling he handed the glass back and
then put both his fists on his hips, like he was Superman in an old time
serial.

In his high pitched voice he
spoke proudly.

"Fear not, oh damsel, I
shall go forth and find the villains, and bring them to justice!" His
right fist went up into the air, and the woman laughed a bit, if slowly, not
certain what the proper response was. That, or she felt guilty. It was hard to
tell with women. Really, with anyone. He made himself correct that, not feeling
all that trusting suddenly, but not wanting to take out his issues on her
either. She'd been nice, and the only one that had come to see if he needed
anything, so far.

"Good. You do that. We don't
need this kind of thing here. Sabotage, I bet. Nothing else would do it like
that. If you need anything, let me know. A sandwich, or a sledge hammer for the
hands of whoever did it. A lot of those people are friends of mine."

If anyone had done it. Sometimes
people got sick. All of humanity was one slightly warm egg salad on whole wheat
away from praying to the porcelain god, most days. The trick would be in
finding out what all those performers had in common. Food, water, other
beverages, or even drugs. Or really, making sure that it was a real illness and
not a strike made sense too. He wondered who to ask about that? It wasn't his
job, but if he was going to be all over the place for a few days anyway, why
not try? He was still feeling flush over having solved the incredibly easy
mystery of the sugar glass bottles, after all.

Ginger smiled at him, over her
shoulder, as she walked away. Her slacks were tight over her behind in the
back, but he made himself ignore that part of things. After all, no one flirted
with a clown. That meant that she was either just that kind, or else she was
trying to do something else. Figure out what the new man knew, or thought was
going on, for instance. That, or his perception of what flirting was had become
so skewed that she hadn't been doing that at all and he was imagining things.

Using the changing room he got
ready for the act he had planned for later, which would feature his down on his
luck, but hard working hobo character. Joey the Hobo, since he was the closest
to what Jay really was. That would make it easier to stay in character if he
got flustered. Then, after using the restroom to scrub all the white off and
get into the next outfit, a brown jacket with a hat, suspenders and black
oversized shoes with bulbous toes, he went out and filled the first stage spot.

No one else had come for it, not
even an announcer, though the sign clearly said it was taking place at five
exactly, and that everyone should go in for the show. So he did it, hoping it
would be all right. The room wasn't packed, but it reminded him a bit of the
pack of teens he'd faced down the day before. Only slightly drunker. Possibly
less offended if he made sex jokes than teen girls might have been.

Jay stumbled out onto the stage,
the deep red curtain closed behind him, only to have a helpful fellow yell at
him before he could say a single thing.

"You
suck
!" The
man's face was in shadows, since the stage lights came on as he moved into
place. Whoever was running them actually ready for the show, at the earliest
sign of life. It meant they were good. That kind of thing was hard for most
people to manage, paying attention like that, while nothing was happening.

Holding his hat in his right hand
over his heart, he brushed his left through his short brown hair.

"Well, sir, in this economy,
a clown has got to do whatever he can to keep food in the mouths of his flea
circus. If that means sucking on stage for your amusement, then all I can do is
kneel down and give it my best."

It took a second, but a few
people got it, and laughed. A few others groaned, but they let him start then, actually
refraining from throwing anything. It was strange, but he used nearly as many
tricks from his days as a professor as he did his more recent studies. He
managed to engage people, not let them get bored, and told enough jokes, or at
least
said
things funny often enough, that only a few people left. Part
of that was down to the fact that they were all eating dinner at the same time,
but hey, for a first show, it wasn't that bad.

When he got off the stage they
even clapped for him. Probably because he'd
left
, but that counted too.

The great mystery of who poisoned
the performers turned out not to be that hard to solve. Which, no doubt, was
why Ginger the waitress had been on him like she had been. Jason started to ask
around about it, hitting first the servers and cleaning staff, since they were
out and about all the time. It was a janitor that clued him in first, not
realizing that he was doing it.

It was after his first stage
time, so he felt a bit giddy, and exhausted. It was strangely draining, being
in front of a crowd. His hobo makeup was still on, because he didn't know if he
had to go and try it all again later. It was a good thing that he didn't remove
it, since it seemed that looking harmless, and a bit down on his luck, really
worked with the man that was sweeping up the short pile carpet in the hallway.
That was apparent after the first glance and smile.

The man was older, and black,
wearing a blue work shirt and tan pants, with his name on a silver and black
tag that hung above his pocket. Kibs. It was a different thing to be called,
and could have been either his first or last name. A nickname too. Jay decided
not to judge, since his wasn't that wonderful either. Jason. He'd never liked
it all that much.

"Hey, did you see those
performers the other day?" It was abrupt, but the fellow just snorted, and
went back to his sweeping, looking down at the floor as he worked the dustpan,
which was hinged and on the end of a handle so he didn't have to bend over. It
didn't seem hard, but the gray plastic thing was filled with cigarette butts,
and almost nothing else. There were ashtrays around, but from the leavings the
man had collected, those didn't seem to be used most of the time.

"Hell yeah. Walked out by
security. No one said why, but I heard they were sick? Course, you don't get
eighty-sixed for being under the weather, do you?" There was no more
conjecture than that, but it was enough for Jason to start tracking it all
down, over the next hours.

Everyone said the same thing. No
one had seen anyone throwing up, and while the people being removed were all
distressed, they carried their own things, and weren't taken away in ambulances.
Just shown the door.

Given that they were in a casino,
it meant something pretty specific.

So, by the time the head of
security found him, about seven in the evening, he had a decent idea of what
had been going on.

The man was large, but in a way
that spoke of having once been in great shape, rather than having kept himself
that way. Not that Jason would judge. Being a bit thick around the middle
didn't mean weak, or even lazy. It was just an indication that the man had
managed to keep himself fed over time. He probably didn't have a massive drug
problem either. If he had, then he wouldn't be allowed to work there for long.
Plus he'd probably have been skinnier. His hair was thin on the top, and brown
with liberal amounts of gray mixed in. If his nose was any more squished
looking it would have vanished into his thick face, the lines and folds looking
slightly pasty, telling Jay that this man did most of his work indoors.

He also didn't seem to be all
that pleased, when he walked up. Jason could see that. They were in a casino,
which meant all the questions he'd been asking had been overheard. It was
suspicious, doing things like that, and this man's entire life was about
rooting out things that didn't belong. Mainly thieves and cheats. His badge, a
simple name tag really, if a nicer one that what Kibs the janitor had worn,
gave away his job as Head of Security. It said it, right at the top.

Before he could speak, Jay did,
using his hobo character voice. He was a performer now, after all, and once in
character, he wanted to stay that way, until he got out of it.

"Hello! Did those last
performers get..." Looking around, an over exaggerated thing that seemed
silly, which was the point, he checked to make sure no guests were watching. No
one was at all, other than the cameras, so he went on. "Tossed out of here
for running a card counting scheme? That's the only thing that makes sense. If
they were planning a heist, then the police would have been called. If they'd
just let some friends have an extra coupon at the buffet, then they'd be asked
not to do that again, if anyone really cared. It's the only thing I can think
of. Blackjack?"

The other fellow stopped, his
mouth opening a bit, then working as if chewing the air a little. He didn't
blurt anything out, and squared his shoulders, ready to threaten Jay into
silence. Or he would have been, if it had been a movie, or the security head
actually cared that much about who knew what. Which lies about illness aside,
he didn't really seem to. The rapid attention did make it seem that Ginger had
been being careful about what she'd said to him, now that he thought about it.
Which was even more odd than what he'd been doing. Or would have been, if Jay
hadn't been dressed like he was.

"Right. We noticed you
asking about that. Are you some kind of detective? If you want, I can show you
the tapes. We have ten of them obviously pulling a scam on us. The rest were
asked to leave because of association. That isn't really fair of us to do, but
we couldn't take the chance that they weren't all in on it. It's why we hushed
it up, and passed the word down the strip about what the ones we have proof on
did. If you're working for any of them... Well, it won't do much. We can't let
people cheat, and they
did
it. Not even employees can get away with that."
There was a dark look to go with the rather sensible words.

Nodding, his made up face itching
slightly, Jay changed the motion comically, and slowly shook his head, still
staying in character.

"I'm just some clown, not
anything else. I like mysteries is all. This one was pretty easy. I don't
suppose that I could look at those tapes anyway? Maybe see how everything works
for security? Or, probably not. My kind don't rate, do they?" His look was
hangdog, and downcast, his drooping eyes and too thin face making the whole
thing really work.

The bigger man even smiled. It
wasn't a large thing, and came with a head shake.

"Sorry, no. Even the cops
don't get in, most days. I could set up a viewing for you, if you really want
to have a go at it, but that's all they'd get too, without a warrant. If we let
everyone see what we do here then some of them might get ambitious, and try to
pull one over on us. Not that I'm not proud of our work, but it's pretty dull
stuff, most days. A few card counters and the occasional gimmick, people trying
to control the slots with electromagnets and things like that. People thinking
that being clever in their theft makes it better than if they stuck a gun in
someone's face and just took it."

Not that gambling was all that
good of a deal. The idea was a stupid one, Jay knew, but didn't mention it.
This man didn't invent the idea. For as long as humanity had walked upright
there had been something like it. The idea that, thanks to luck, or chance, one
person might gain without work. As they said, the house always won, which had
also always been the rule. No one set up a game that didn't know they'd end up
walking away with most of the cash from at the end of the night, at least the
majority of the time.