ClownFellas (31 page)

It wasn't a busy time at the clown strip club, but it was the time Isabella was on the clock. She wasn't as aggressive as the other dancers, so she never got to work the peak hours. She wasn't much of a night person anyway and usually went to sleep around nine or ten like some kind of child or an old lady. Bingo thought it was kind of cute, but it meant he didn't get to see her very much since he was usually up pretty late. He tried to wake up early enough to see her dance whenever he got the chance, but it had been a while. With the tension escalating between the Bozos and the French clown gang, Le Mystère, Bingo was working more hours than usual, putting in time as backup muscle on any job involving the boss or his son, Jimmy Bozo.

When they entered the club, the cleaners stood in the back of the room, awkwardness written all over their faces. Maybe they'd never been in a clown strip club before, or maybe it was because their makeup had smeared so much that it was obvious they were just vanillas in clown-face. But dancers in these clubs were masters at reading body language and knew they had to engage the shy customers if they ever hoped to get money out of them. Within five minutes, the two men were surrounded by half-naked clowns bumping their noses on their foreheads and pulling them by their ties toward the private rooms.

“Hey, Bingo,” the thick-jawed bartender asked when he saw Bingo's big mug staring at him from the other side of the bar. “What can I get for you?”

“Where's Isabella? She's supposed to be working here today, ain't she?”

The bartender shrugged as he wiped the bar with a washcloth. “No clue. I haven't seen her in a few days.”

“Is she sick or something?”

“Not that I know of. She just stopped coming in. The owner's been pissed.”

It was as Bingo feared. He hoped it wasn't too late. It would destroy him if he had to live with the knowledge that a sweet girl like Isabella got iced on account of him.

“When was she last in?”

“I think Monday was the last I saw her.”

“Did she leave with any guys?”

“Not that I know of. People know to stay away from her, Bing. And if some vanilla tourist comes on a little strong our bouncers put him in his place. You got nothing to worry about.”

“Hmm…,” Bingo grunted. “I'll try her at her place. Thanks, Lobo.”

When Bingo went for the two guys he came in with, they were stuck in the private booths as the clown dancers splattered cream pies in their faces and showered them with confetti. The thug decided he'd wait for them to finish so the girls could get their full payment. After dating Isabella for half a year, he'd learned that the girls working there deserved to get as much money as they could for having to deal with the guys that came in there. He wasn't about to stand between them and their tips.

Bingo remembered the first time he met Isabella Funshine. She was on stage at Bonkers and so painfully nervous that her little round nose trembled on her face. He could tell it wasn't only her first night at Bonkers, but her first night dancing anywhere. She made eye contact with all the men in the room, which wasn't something the regular girls ever did, and shot each of them a terrified smile. It was tragic. She didn't know how to work the pole and her moves were mechanical. And worst of all she slipped on her own tips, as few as there were, and fell off the stage. She probably would have broken her neck if Bingo hadn't caught her.

“You're going to get your head cracked open if you keep dancing like that,” Bingo told her as she lay in his arms. Normally a guy would be kicked out of the club for grabbing a girl like that, even if it were to save her from a fall, but no bouncer in the club had the gumballs to ask Bingo to leave. It was lucky that the big clown was respectful to the dancers.

He wasn't sure if it was because she was too afraid to move or if she was actually smitten with the big guy, but Isabella didn't leave Bingo's arms for what seemed like an awful long time. She didn't get back on the stage until her song was already over and she only had just enough time to snatch up her meager amount of tips before the next dancer kicked her off.

After she was off the stage, nobody wanted a lap dance from the new girl. Despite being drop-dead beautiful, her clumsiness and awkward demeanor were not appealing to any of the customers, not even in a packed house with few girls working that night.

“You look like you need a drink,” Bingo said, waving her toward the bar. “Let me buy you one.”

A look of panic crossed her face. “I'm not allowed to drink on the job.”

Bingo looked around. All the dancers in the club had drinks. “It looks like you're the only one who follows that rule. Come on. You need to loosen up.”

“I'm not supposed to spend time with only one customer unless he's paying for a dance.”

“Then I'll pay you for the amount of time it would take you to give me a dance or two.”

The girl was tense as she sat at the bar with him, but Bingo was even more nervous than she was. Every word that came out of his mouth made him sound like some kind of creep trying to get into her pants. That's not what he was after at all. He just felt bad for the poor girl. But Bingo wasn't very experienced with the ladies. For being such a violent brute of a clown, he was like a timid bunny rabbit in their presence.

Isabella and Bingo had a couple of drinks before they loosened up. The boss got a little annoyed that she wasn't making rounds and missed her next turn on the stage, but because she was with Bingo the guy didn't say anything. The manager worked for Beano Moretti and knew not to mess with any made clowns, especially not Ballbreaker.

“So what made you get a job at this dive anyway?” Bingo asked her.

“It was the only place hiring,” she said. “I was originally going to get a job at a nail salon or do some waitressing, but I didn't even get a callback on any applications. When I didn't have rent at the end of the month the landlord said the only job I was going to get in this town was at one of the strip clubs. So I checked around and got a job here. They say it gets better after the first couple weeks or so.”

“Yeah, Little Bigtop isn't known for its job market,” Bingo said. “And it's even harder on the vanilla side of town. They say there's no discrimination anymore, but when it comes to hiring clowns for anything other than birthday parties people are as bigoted as they come.”

“When I lived in Phoenix I didn't have problems getting hired anywhere. It really took me by surprise.”

“So why'd you move here?” Bingo asked. “Most clowns try to get out of Little Bigtop, not move in.”

“My dad was from here,” she said. “He always talked about how great it was. Ever since I was a kid he always told me stories about the clown capital of the country and it was my dream to someday live here.” As she spoke, she twirled the cherry inside her candy apple martini, smiling between words almost as if she was flirting with him and didn't even realize it. “When my dad passed away last year, I decided it was finally time for me to come see his hometown. Mom warned me against it, saying it wasn't the place it used to be, but I didn't listen. I guess I can be pretty stubborn sometimes.”

Bingo smiled and nodded at her. He didn't know what to say, but he liked being in her company. There was something about her, something pure. It wasn't the kind of thing you saw in people in Little Bigtop.

“But besides getting a job, I've been loving my time in the city. I don't care what anybody says, I think Little Bigtop's beautiful. The circus music playing in the streets. The smell of popcorn vendors when you're walking down the sidewalks. The jugglers on every corner. It's kind of a paradise to me.”

Bingo couldn't agree more. He loved the place. Every grubby corner was almost magical.

“I also love being surrounded by clowns. Growing up in Phoenix, I stuck out everywhere I went. Not many clowns live in the desert, except for rodeo clowns, and I can't stand rodeo clowns.”

Bingo nodded. “I know what you mean. I grew up surrounded by vanillas as well. My own parents were vanilla. I didn't even see another clown outside of the movies until I moved to Little Bigtop. The first time I stepped foot on the main street while in town for a recital, I knew it was the place I was going to spend the rest of my life.”

“You were in town for a recital?” Isabella asked, a half smile on her face. “What kind of recital? Ballet?”

She giggled a nervous giggle.

“A violin recital.”

“You play the violin?” She couldn't believe the big guy was a musician. He looked more like a bouncer or football player to her.

“Yeah, since I was a kid.”

“No kidding? I play the cello. My mom always wanted me to join the symphony but I was never good enough to do anything like that.”

Bingo smiled. “Well, maybe we should play together sometime.”

He was only joking, but the second he suggested it a flash of excitement crossed her eyes.

“I'd love to. How does this weekend sound?”

He couldn't believe she was serious. She was a stripper. Even though she was new, she knew the job was to flirt with guys and make it seem like they had a chance with her. Although she acted as though she liked him, he thought that was all it was—an act. But the clown wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

They met up that weekend and made passionate, soul-smoothing music that filled Bingo's apartment in warm creamy bliss. She was actually far more talented than she let on, maybe even another child prodigy. She was good enough to be a professional but perhaps she faced the same problems Bingo did when pursuing a career as a violinist—nobody wanted clowns in their orchestras. But to experience that one moment with her, Bingo thought that all the hard work and practice he'd put into mastering the violin over the years had been completely worth it. It was the best sex he ever had and he didn't even do as much as kiss her the entire evening.

By the end of the week, they were an item. And though Bingo never stopped feeling awkward around her and they spent far more time making love with their instruments than in the bedroom, it was the best relationship he'd ever been in. If anything did happen to his beloved Isabella Funshine, somebody was going to pay for it. And pay big.

They were on their way to Isabella's apartment when Bingo noticed somebody was tailing them. Whoever it was, they were terrible at being inconspicuous. Likely, they were the same group that had tried to whack Bingo. They probably got word that he was spotted alive and walking around town, and were coming after him to finish the job they'd started. That was exactly what Bingo hoped for. It only appeared to be two or three guys in the car. No problem.

As Bingo looked in the rearview mirror, he saw the two cleaners in the backseat covered in cream and confetti. They tried wiping off the pie from their faces but only managed to wipe off more of their clown paint. They looked like messes.

“Don't get any of that crap on the upholstery,” Bingo said. “I just had this thing cleaned.”

The two men looked around. The seats were filled with bullet holes and burn marks. They couldn't figure out why the clown would bother keeping the thing clean.

“We'll see what we can do,” Red Wig said.

“Who the hell are you guys anyway?” Bingo asked.

“We told you,” said Red Wig. “We're the cleaners.”

Bingo nodded as if he only just remembered. Then he asked, “What's your names?”

“I'm Clyde,” Red Wig said. He pointed at his partner. “This is Caesar.”

“What are you doing telling him our names for?” Caesar whispered to his partner.

“Those are some funny names you got there,” said Bingo Ballbreaker. “Clyde and Caesar? For real?” Then he laughed.

When they got to Isabella's apartment, the place was cleaned out. The only sign of his girlfriend was a few strands of her sunshine-yellow hair. Bingo picked one of them up and held it between his rubbery white fingers, wondering if it was the closest he'd ever be to her again.

“What are we doing here?” Clyde asked. “The place is abandoned.”

Bingo was worried about what could've happened to Isabella, but he felt a little relieved. After seeing her stuff missing, he assumed she was likely still alive. Either they let her go and she left town in a hurry—she was smart enough to know the Bozos would come looking for her after Bingo and five of their guys turned up dead—or somebody packed up her things and moved her out against her will. She was a beautiful woman. If the people who were after Bingo were from some other family, their boss could've taken a liking to her and promised to spare her life if she moved in with him. Anything was possible. Either way, she wasn't going to be easy to find. There was a good chance he'd never see her again.

“She's gone,” Bingo said. “We'll just have to wait for our visitors to arrive and ask them what happened to her.”

“What visitors?” Caesar asked.

The cleaners didn't hear the footsteps coming down the hall, but Bingo could hear them clear as day. Only there weren't a few men coming for them. It sounded like an army.

“You might want to get into the back room if you don't want any blood on your hands,” Bingo said.

“What do you mean blood on our hands?” Clyde asked.

When the door smashed open, the two cleaners hit the floor and crawled into the back room. But Bingo just stood there and watched as the twelve armed men raced inside. They carried MP5 submachine guns and pussy little Berettas, but there were far more of them than Bingo wanted to deal with.

The men all wore derbies and matching black suits with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows to show off their arm tattoos. Judging by their trashy demeanor, Bingo knew exactly who they were.

“Carnies?” Bingo said. “What are Carnies doing on this side of town?”

He didn't move as the Carnies surrounded him, pointing their weapons at his chest.

“You're supposed to be dead, Bingo,” one of the Carnies said. Bingo assumed he was the lead Carnie because he had the biggest beard and the stupidest tattoos of the bunch of them, including a Celtic knot around his neck and a shamrock on the side of his forehead.

Bingo shrugged. “I guess the bullet wasn't big enough.”

“You deserve a lot worse after what you did,” said the lead Carnie.

“And what did I do?”

“It's too late to deny it, sonny jim,” said the Carnie, scratching his scruffy chin with the barrel of his Beretta. “I'm glad I'll be the one who gets to finish the job. Personally, I thought a single shot to the head was too merciful for the likes of you. It should've been a lot slower, more excruciating.” He growled with excitement. “Oh, I can't wait to do all the things I plan to do to you.”

Bingo just stood there, unimpressed by the threats. “You talk too much, Beardy.”

“You really oughtn't be rushing me to what comes next, sonny jim.” The Carnie scratched his beard with the barrel of his gun again. He did it so much that Bingo wondered if it was a nervous tic. “Once I'm done talking, the pain is going to begin and when I'm through with—”

His words were cut short as Bingo's fist collided with his throat. A loud crack echoed through the empty room as the Carnie's voice box was smashed through the back of his neck. When he turned to his friends, they saw the shape of Bingo's massive fist imprinted in his neck, and that little pistol he'd been scratching his chin with was now embedded deep in his esophagus.

“I said you talk too much.”

As the lead Carnie dropped to the ground, choking on his own crumpled voice box, the others raised their weapons and opened fire. And once they started shooting, the Carnies didn't stop—too afraid of the unarmed clown to halt the barrage of bullets for even a second. It sounded like a train racing through the room. But no matter how many shots they put in the big clown, he didn't fall. He just took them. Every single one of those tiny peashooter rounds. And once they finished and their clips were all empty, Bingo was still standing.

“Are you done?” Bingo asked.

The Carnies responded with the clicking of their pistols, desperately hoping that more bullets lay hidden in their chambers.

Bingo wiped the slugs sticking out of his chest, most of them only partially breaking the skin. Then he cracked his neck and his knuckles.

“So you're the pricks who stole my violin, are you?” Bingo stepped over their choking leader. “You really shouldn't have done that.”

The Carnies lowered their weapons.

When he was on the other side of the room, blocking the only exit, he turned back to them with a smile. “You see, I have a deep need to be creative at all times. That's why my violin is so important to me. When I play my violin, it relieves the pressure. It burns off all that pent-up creative energy.”

The Carnies looked at one another. Although there was just one of him and almost a dozen of them, they couldn't help but cower at the sight of the giant clown with the maniacal grin on his face. The stupidest among them gripped his gun like a club and the others didn't know what else to do but follow his lead.

“But when I don't have my violin,” the clown continued, “I have to burn off my creative energy in other ways—violent ways. I like to think that I've turned hurting people into an art form. And I'm sorry to say, boys, but I'm going to have to use your sorry hides as my makeshift canvases.”

The Carnies charged and the room filled with the sounds of tearing meat and breaking bones. Bingo had been itching to express himself all day and was thankful these men were so forthcoming as to donate their bodies to his craft. He showed them firsthand how, when it came to causing pain and dismemberment, Bingo Ballbreaker was a true artist.

Clyde and Caesar couldn't believe their eyes as they came out of the back room and stepped through the collection of twisted broken bodies. They didn't see Bingo as an artist at all. They only saw him as a deranged clown-shaped madman.