Everybody Scream! (31 page)

If only Bern had known that all he need do was have his hand stamped and he could go out to the parking lot, then return. But then, even the idea of going to his car and buying a new ticket of admission barely occurred to him. He had to be here to meet Pox. And he didn’t really want to have to shoot the Torgessi and thus call attention to himself; no, not at all. That would ruin everything just as surely as leaving the carnival would. Couldn’t he just stick it out a
little
longer?

He would try to page Pox. He had to do something, and as long as he didn’t mention Pox by name that didn’t seem so terrible an idea.

All he had to do was get to the administration building, whatever and wherever that was. And if he encountered a security guard on the way that would be fine, too.

But he was reluctant to emerge from his shelter. All those people out there, all that noise and activity, but he still didn’t feel safe. He was as alone as if the Torgessi waited out there for him somewhere in the rocky maze of a desert wasteland.

Still, after a few more deep breaths of air heavy with foulness, Bern ventured out.

Sophi called Mitch so that she might meet with him in the security trailer, but it turned out he was already there. Just a minute later, in the flesh, she asked him, “Did you hear about Pearl’s show?”

Mitch looked a little breathless, a little pumped up, a little cheery in a hard, mean kind of way. Now he looked wary. “No–what?”

“Don’t worry, she’s okay now, but her parasite had a strange convulsion during her last song. She doesn’t seem to know why. She’s in the med trailer now for some scans.”

“God…”

“Has this ever happened before, do you know?”

“No–never. Are you sure she’s alright?”

“She seems to be. Except that she’s very upset. They’ve sedated her. It was very embarrassing for her.”

“Goddamn it–of all times for it to happen…during a
song
.”

“Her last one, too. Have you seen my husband tonight?”

“Earlier. Not for awhile. I’d best go to her. I’ve just got to finish this report.”

Sophi nodded grimly. Her eyes drifted to a computer screen at the table over which Mitch had been leaning, typing at a keyboard, when she came in. She said, “I hope it’s not physical.”

Mitch resumed typing. “Maybe it’s nerves. She’s been a little funny lately about the fair closing up, and the nightclub shows...”

“Hey.” Sophi took Mitch by the arm to move him away from the screen.

Uh-oh, thought Garnet.

The name at the head of the arrest report read: FICKLEBOTTOM, MORTIMER.

“What is this?”

Mitch touched a finger to the screen, calling her attention to more keyed words: PURPLE VORTEX. “I saw him selling weed to a kid, I cuffed him and he had vortex on him. A girl died of vortex just last night.”

“You cuffed him for selling
weed?
”

“Seaweed’s illegal. He did it right in the open. I saw him. I cuffed him. What am I supposed to do, be a lookout for him?”

Sophi wasn’t used to Garnet talking back to her this strongly. It seemed to her, correctly, that he was being extra defensive. “I seem to remember this morning you asked me to let you run LaKarnafeaux and the others out of the fair. This strikes me as being a wee bit coincidental.”

“I saw a crime committed.”

“How many others have you cuffed tonight for selling
weed
, Mr. Garnet? How many kids for smoking it?”

“I knew he would have vortex on him, too, that he was selling
that
...the weed wasn’t the main point. I
know
iodine is small by comparison.”

“Do you have a personal vendetta against those people, Mr. Garnet? Are you trying to instigate something, some kind of confrontation? Because I’m not happy about it. I don’t need trouble! Make ugly confrontations on
your
time on your property.”

“I was doing my
job!
Do I have to ask your permission every time I see a crime take place?”

“Do you think I’m stupid, Mitch? Because that’s what makes me madder than you exploiting your position for personal reasons. You think I’m stupid enough to believe your fucking lies.”

Garnet stared hard at her but inside felt a slight tremor of shame at the truth in her words. Yet he didn’t want to bring Del’s name into it despite Del’s assurance that he could if need be. He didn’t deny Sophi’s accusation, but maintained his defense. “Doing my job isn’t making trouble. My personal feelings didn’t put vortex in that asshole’s pocket.”

“It’s the last night! We don’t need this!”

“Why are you getting so upset over this, Mrs. Kahn?”

“You work for
me
, do you understand? For me!”

“I know that,” Mitch said, almost too soothingly. “Why are you so upset over this? It’s...”

Sophi whirled and slammed out of the trailer.

She had to find Del. This rabid asshole seemed to listen to Del more than he did to her...

No! That was precisely why she shouldn’t go to Del. This was
her
carnival; rightfully Del had nothing to do with it.

Sophi was lost for a moment as to where to go. She wouldn’t go back to Pearl; she didn’t want to be there when Mitch came in. It was Johnny Leng who decided where she would go. She turned and he was standing there in front of her. Disoriented as she was, she gasped. She expected him to smirk at that but he didn’t.

“Can we speak in your office?”

“No–why?”

“You don’t know why?”

“I know. We’ve got nothing to discuss.”

“Oh? I think we do. And I’m sure you’d rather not discuss it out here for anyone to see.”

Sophi glanced around them. Where might Del be out there? “Hurry up,” she snapped, taking the lead. Mitch might come out at any moment. She danced up the steps to her office trailer’s door. What if Del were in here?

He wasn’t. No one was. Sophi closed herself inside with her guest.

“What is it?” she growled, not looking at his slanted eyes, in which she might catch a mirror glimpse of her shame, Dorian Gray-like.

“What happened–did your
husband
find out?”

“Find out?” Sophi looked. “Why?”

“Your husband sent Garnet to cuff Mort. What do you know about that?”

“My husband?”

“Nothing?”

“No, I didn’t know that. How do you know he did?”

“Sneezy.”

“Why would he? Del doesn’t want trouble any more than I do…it’s Garnet who’s the ex-forcer.”

“He must have found out about us.”

“Then why cuff Mort and not you? I don’t believe it.”

“Find out. And what can you do to get him
out?
”

“Get him out?” Sophi nearly had to laugh. “Hey, pal, you take care of your own. What am I, one of your sleazy gang? It’s your game, you take your losses. It doesn’t concern me.”

“Will you be concerned if I tell your husband about us?”

“You won’t.”

“Don’t challenge me.”

“I told you, that won’t work on me.”

“Oh, you just don’t care if I tell him, huh?”

“Look, what am I supposed to
do?
Garnet found vortex on him!”

“You own Garnet. Tell him to forget it!”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I won’t. You fucked up. Live with it.”

Leng’s left hand slapped onto the front of Sophi’s throat, a clamp. The other hand rose to level a pistol in her face. The muzzle of the gun almost brushed the lashes of her right eye. Sophi squirmed only a moment. She almost called out but gurgled instead, anger frustrated into fear. This final humiliation, this final helplessness brought tears into her eyes. For the first time, Leng had pried under her rock, flipped it over, to see fully where the soft, helpless things dwelled. They writhed in her eyes; one dribbled down her cheek. “Go ahead,” she croaked.

“I’ll kill your husband if he makes trouble with us. I don’t care about Garnet and his KeeZees and your pot-bellied uniform boys. I’ll kill him. Do you believe me?”

“That would be stupid.”

“Self-defense isn’t stupid. If he threatens us he’ll die. If he backs off we’ll forget it. He’s lucky. We wouldn’t forget about Mort for just anybody.”

“Let go of me. I won’t agree to help you if you threaten me. You’re just making me hate you more than I already do.”

“True. But I’m also making you fear me more than you already do. Fear me as you should. A minute ago you weren’t being exactly cooperative, so I think this is working pretty good.”

“I’ll ask Del why he did this. I’ll tell him to stop. Alright? Now let me go.”

“In a minute. As long as you’re being so cooperative, I want you to get down on your knees and suck me off.”

“Go to hell!” Sophi sobbed, fury trying to swim up through the tears. Her hands lifted to fold around his clamping arm but didn’t dare to actually push it away.

“I’ll kill your husband if you don’t.”

“You’ll have to kill me now, first, then.”

“I will.”

“People saw us come in here.”

“I don’t care. Look in my eyes.” He squeezed, shook her, and was gritting his teeth. “
I said look in my eyes!
”

Sophi sobbed, and looked. She saw her Dorian Gray portrait there. Shame made it ugly. But uglier was the decay of her strength. The shame came mostly from that. She had never seen anything more hideous and disheartening.

“You know I mean it. I will kill you, and then your husband, and you know I will, don’t you? You know I’m not afraid.”

“I’ll get Mortimer out for you.”

“And you’ll suck me off.”

“No…” It wasn’t a statement, but a ragged plea.

“This gun doesn’t make a sound. You know I mean it. I wouldn’t be holding a gun on you now if I wasn’t serious. Do as I say and we’ll be finished with our relationship, Sophi. We won’t be back next year. Do as I say and it will be all over. If you don’t, you lose. And you know I mean it.”

Whimpering, shaking, her face red and wet and contorted, Sophi hated herself. She knew he meant it. And when the clamp began to lower her, she didn’t resist.

Del had sent Noelle back to the security trailer; he would rejoin her shortly. He wanted to be alone for a few minutes. The cacophony of music and machine all around him didn’t disturb his thoughts–he was used to deafening music, the roar of an audience machine that he played directly like an instrument.
Had
played. That had been one of his greatest trademarks: his
closeness
to his audience, his talks to them, his stories, his intimacy with them in quiet and his involving of them when loud.

He could weave them all into
harmony
with him. All he had to do was clap once in one part of a song and thousands of people would take the cue, clapping along just the right way at just the right time and rhythm, in unison. In fact, those who didn’t clap, at the height of his fame, were so few as to seem nonexistent. The image, particularly in a surrounding arena, of thousands upon thousands of hands clapping along with him was uncanny. Sometimes,
without prompting
, the audience would chant out his chorus for him and he wouldn’t even have to sing it, just smile and wait for his turn. They were zealots. It was scary to have such power. Would they all have burned a cigarette tip on their foreheads if he suddenly did this on stage at the height of the concert? Not as many as chanted, but many would, and did such things at the concerts of other performers.