Carnival (10 page)

“Two of them!”

“Two things?”

“No ... two Hank's.” Jack took several painful breaths while the others exchanged glances. “Hank ... called me. Come out and ... talk to him. See this ... monster. I ... thought he was . . . drunk. Come on out later. Hank answered the door. But ... wasn't Hank. Looked just like . . . Hank. Then I seen Hank ... dead on the ... floor. I turned to run. Thing got all over me. Flames burnin' me.”

“How'd you get up here?”

“Don't know.” The expelling of words almost exhausted the man. He leaned back against the wall. When his back touched the rough wood, he squalled in pain.

“Two Hank Rinder's?” Audie looked confused.

“Twins. I ... swear it.”

Martin knelt down by the ruined man. “Jack, it's Martin Holland. Listen to me, Jack. It's important. Did you have anything to do with that carnival fire years ago. Did you, Jack?”

“Fire,” he breathed. “I been on fire.”

“We know, Jack. Think back years. The carnival that was in town. It was destroyed by fire. Did you have anything to do with that?”

“Yeah. Fire. All them freaks and trash. They all burned up, didn't they?”

“Yes, they did, Jack. Did you have anything at all to do with that?”

“Yeah.” The reply was very weak. Fluids were oozing out of the man, from all over his tortured body. All those gathered around him knew that Jack did not have long to suffer ... not in this world. “I was . . . fifteen. Runnin' with Lyle and Jim and that ... crew. Ever'body in ... town went crazy that night. I helped push them ... people and animals back into the ... fires. Helped horsewhip some ... others. Was there when some others was . . . hung. Trash was all they was.” His eyes opened wide, the charred and cracked crow's feet at the corners splitting open. Jack began wailing as a dark flapping shadow fell over the poorly lighted room.

The men looked up and around them. There was nothing in sight. But the shadow was real.

Jack lifted one hideously burned arm and pointed at Gary. “Get it away from me. Get away!” He screamed his fear. “Get—”

Jack tumbled over, half out of the closet, one side of his face pressing against the old carpet, one hand to his charred chest. Gary pushed Martin and Audie aside and knelt down beside the cooked cop. He quickly examined him and shook his head.

“He's gone. His heart probably quit on him.”

The shadow flapped away; the men looked up, trying to find the source of the dark flapping. But there was no sign of what might be causing it in the musty-smelling and dusty upstairs bedroom. They had no way of knowing what Jack had last seen as he exited this life. Whatever it was, they all, to a man, doubted it was Saint Peter welcoming him home.

“What was that flapping thing?” Audie asked, his voice shaky.

“I don't know,” Martin was the first to respond to the question. “I'm not sure I want to know.”

Gary said nothing. He was thinking about his father's words.
Things!

“Well ... it's murder, for sure,” Audie stood up. “But who do I charge? How do we handle this? I don't want a panic in this town.”

Martin took it. “We have no choice in the matter now. We have to include Kelson. But we don't have to tell all that we know, or have seen, or that we suspect.”

“Suppress evidence? Why, Mr. Holland?”

“No, not evidence ... if he asks for that evidence. Just the unverifiable things we've seen. Why? Because Kelson is stupid. Any stupid people have no imagination. What is, is. What is not, is not. And that is the bottom line with them. ”

“I agree,” Gary said, rising to his feet and stretching. “We'll make no mention of what we saw or think we saw this night. We'll wait until that state investigator gets here and lay it all in his lap.”

“Uh ... there is one problem with that, people,” Audie looked sort of guilty.

Martin looked at Audie. “What do you mean? He changed his mind about coming in?”

“No. It isn't a he—it's a she!” The men walked out into the hall.

“Well, I have no problem with that,” Audie commented. “Let's get Kelson over here.”

* * *

When the Holland chief of police had sufficiently recovered from his shock to speak, he said, “Uh ... Audie, how do you figure this?”

“Which body?” the better-trained and much more intelligent deputy sheriff asked drily.

“Uh ... Jack.”

“I don't know, Kelson.” Audie had found Jack's city unit parked behind the house. And before the chief had arrived, all three men had wondered why the unit had been parked behind the house and not in the drive. “He was burned in or near this house.”

“How you figure that?”

“Because he called me from here. Said he was here; just getting out of his unit.”

“Ah! And there ain't no burnt place nowhere's in the house, right?”

“Not that I can find.”

“Well ...” Kelson took off his hat and scratched his head. “It's your case. You be sure and let me know how it comes out.” He plopped his hat on his head and turned to leave.

“Where are you going, Kelson!” Audie asked, amazed at the man's lack of concern over two dead bodies, one of them his own man. His words stopped the man and turned him around.

“Why ...” Kelson smiled, rather stupidly, “I'm goin' over to the fairgrounds, of course. The carnival's in town, you know?”

* * *

Gary had a long night facing him: by law, he had to perform autopsies on both men. He told Martin to ride on over to the fairgrounds with Audie and he'd see him in the morning. He didn't know whether he'd make church, or not. Probably not.

“Good God!” Audie muttered, as they drove up to the fairgrounds. “There must be five or six hundred people milling around outside the fence.”

Martin cut his eyes to the deputy. “You have any overwhelming desire to join that crowd, Audie?”

“Hell, not”

“Then the way I have it figured—and the odds are as much that I'm wrong as right—you aren't carrying the bad seed.”

“Beg pardon, sir?” Audie parked the car and cut the engine.

“Give some thought to all those who have been affected so far.”

The deputy pushed his hat back on his head and was silent for a moment. “All right. I'm with you now. Yeah. Everyone who's been touched by some weirdness, or who had died mysteriously, or is acting funny, was either connected directly with the fire, or else is just a total jerk.”

“That's the way I see it.”

“How can it be?”

“You believe in the supernatural, Audie?”

“I like to read books about it; see the movies. But do I actually believe in it?” He took a deep breath. “I don't know. Do you?”

“I guess it's possible,” Martin's reply was guarded. “Is that what we have here? I don't know. I pray not. But all signs point to it. You want to get out and walk around some?”

“No. Not yet. Let's just sit here and watch the crowd; try to figure out what they're doing. What pulled them here. And what they're going to do. That's what's got me concerned.”

But after fifteen minutes had passed, it became obvious that the crowd was doing nothing. And probably was not going to do anything. Most just stood at the fence and stared inside, at the darkened trucks and trailers and tents and concessions of the carnival.

The “why” of it remained an unanswered mystery.

And none of the crowd seemed to notice the sheriff's department car and the men inside.

“Damn!” Audie summed it up.

“Yeah.” Martin pointed. “Kelson.”

The man stood with several other of Holland's more thugy types, by the fence, just staring into the darkness.

As their eyes adjusted, they could pick out Ed and Joyce's daughter, Missy, and the gang of young men and women she ran with: Suzanne and Polly and Rose and Judy. Robie and Hal and Paul and Karl. And surprisingly, to both men, Binkie was with them.

“I hate to see that,” Audie commented on the boy's presence. “Binkie has always been just a real nice kid. At least to my way of thinking.”

“You know his parents well?”

“No. But sir, are you saying the sins of the parents are on the shoulders of their kids?”

Martin sighed heavily. “I don't know, Audie. I surely hope not. No!” he spoke firmly. “I don't believe any higher power would permit that.”

“I pray you're right. 'Cause my daddy sure had something to do with that fire years back.”

Martin nodded his head toward the row of young people. “Hal seems to have improved dramatically.”

“Yeah. But you watch him. When he walks, he's real careful with it.”

Both men shared a quiet chuckle at that. Both had had their bells rung a time or two.

A pickup truck rolled slowly by the sheriff's department unit: a pickup with chrome roll bars and fog lights and spotlights and running lights and six antennas. A power wench on the front, chrome bumpers and chrome running boards and twin chrome stacks up the side and smoked windows. A plate on the front bumper bluntly proclaimed: I'LL GIVE UP MY GUN WHEN THEY PRY IT FROM MY COLD DEAD FINGERS. The ever-present gun rack in the rear window, contained two rifles and a small animal trap. A sticker on the bumper read: NUC THEIR ASS AND TAKE THE GAS. A small sticker on the rear window warned: THIS VEHICLE PROTECTED BY SMITH & WESSON. The two men inside each wore forty-seven gallon hats with a feather a foot long protruding from each sombrero.

“Well, well,” Audie muttered, sitting up straight in the seat. “Would you just take a look at who's come into town.”

“I can tell
what
it is,” Martin said. “But not
who
it is.”

“Fellow driving is your old buddy, Lyle Steele. Other guy is Jim Watson.”

Martin smiled at the “your old buddy” bit. Lyle Steele hated Martin and the feeling was mutual. “I don't think I've seen either of them in a year or more.”

“For a fact, they don't get into Holland much.” He cut his eyes at Martin. “And for a fact, neither one of them like you very much.”

“It goes back a long way, Audie.”

“So I hear. You are aware that Lyle had made the comment, many times, that he'd just love to kick your sissy ass.”

Martin laughed aloud. Genuine laughter. “Oh, yes. I've heard it. But Audie, I've been back a good many years, and I'm real easy to find. Anytime Lyle is ready, I'm available.”

The deputy grunted. “You really mean that, don't you, Mr. Holland?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Then I'd better warn you. Lyle Steele is tough and snake-quick. I've seen him whip men half his age and in very good shape.”

“Yes, I know that, too.”

“Figured you might. Did you really whip Pete Tressalt some years back?”

“So the story goes.”

“I guess it's true then. I heard you put the boots to him.”

“He was annoying my wife. He became quite belligerent when I asked him to stop. He invited me outside the store and I accepted his invitation.”

The deputy grinned. “And then you kicked his ribs loose and busted up his face.”

“For a fact, I did. And I'd do it again if he ever crowded me. Pete, or anyone like him. I have no use for those types of people.”

“Frank and Pete Tressalt are both losers. Dr. Tressalt, on the other hand, is a nice guy and an asset to the community. I have problems understanding things like that.”

“Well, you live and learn,” Martin replied.

The men waited and watched for another half an hour. Nothing out of the ordinary took place. But still, more and more people from town lined the fences that surrounded the fairgrounds: men, women, kids.

“They just stand and stare,” Audie commented, shifting around behind the wheel. “But what are they staring at.”

A thought came to Martin. “Maybe nothing. Maybe, and this is just a wild guess, maybe they were all called over here.”

“How?”

“I don't know. Or the why of it, either.”

Before Audie could reply to that—not that he had any firm response—a sharp knock on the passenger side of the unit startled both men. Martin turned and met the eyes of Lyle Steele. The rancher motioned for him to get out.

Martin stepped out into the night, facing the man. “Lyle.”

“Holland. You part-time deputyin' now?” His words were slurred and he stank of whiskey.

“Every Holland in the past one hundred years has held a county commission, Lyle. Or are you too drunk to remember that?”

The rancher spat tobacco juice to one side. “I'd sure like to see you try to 'rrest me someday, Holland. That'd sure be the day you get your ass kicked.”

“Not by the likes of you, Steele. And don't press your luck with me,” Martin warned him. “My name isn't Mary Mahoney or June Ellis.”

That stung the man. His head snapped back as if he'd been hit by a yellowjacket. His eyes became very bright. Jim Watson stiffened at Martin's words.

Not one person who lined the fences had turned around to see what was going on.

Audie was leaning against the fender of his unit, watching and listening to the exchange. He had been trying for two years to catch Karl Steele doing something —anything!—but he had better radio equipment in his truck than the county had in their units, including the best scanner made, and the little punk seemed to know where Audie was at all times. But Audie kept hoping. But on this night, he tried to keep one eye on Jim Watson, not knowing what either man might try to do. He could smell the booze from both. And both men were unpredictable, mean as snakes in a fight.