Everybody Scream! (42 page)

“Please don’t kill me!” he moaned hopelessly one last time before the vast black maw closed around him.

“I’m seeing some of the encephalic abnormalities associated with certain types of clairvoyants.” The chief of the carnival’s medical unit was a Choom woman named Regina Brass, youngish and small and thin and sharp. A walking, talking scalpel. Before her and Del Kahn and Dingo Rubydawn lay the naked corpse of Sneezy Tightrope, his head split as if from a great fall. His mouth was open, lids half closed over somewhat crossed eyes; he looked like a cat struck by a car. Mitch, so fond of touring Del through the morgue like a museum curator presenting his recent acquisitions, would have been very interested in this particular specimen but hadn’t returned. And Sophi knew of this development but was still occupied with Mrs. Horowitz, her lawyer, and now people connected with Heather Buffatoni, Bonnie Gross and Moussa Habash. No one had been discovered to weep over Fen Colon or Wes Sundry. Luckily Sophi’s lawyer Max Schenkel was here now.

A blue light passed over Sneezy’s pot-bellied, unevenly tanned body, according to Regina’s directions. Monitor screens presented findings in a series of codes easily familiar to her but as incomprehensible as hieroglyphics to Del, who watched them intently nonetheless. “So how’d it happen?”

“I’m not sure yet. It’s very strange. It certainly doesn’t seem to be the result of a tumor or growth…I can’t trace a somatic origin.”

“Well it sure wasn’t psychosomatic,” said Dingo.

“Drugs?” offered Del. “A bad mixture? I can assure you, this guy was into drugs.”

“Oh, I can see that.” Brass touched key pads. New columns of cryptic characters. “I can see iodine, gold-dust, purple vortex, red shockers, buttons, beans, kaleidoscopes, even a little fish…from a longer while back. I could pretty well tell you how much of what he’s taken over the past month, and a fair idea of his drug behavior over the past year, and even throughout his life, based on the condition of his organs and brain. What’s left of that.”

“Kaleidoscopes and red shockers,” said Del, looking up at Dingo.

“Common drugs,” Dingo warned him, but one could see the interest in the Choom’s eyes as well. “Has he taken any shockers or kaleidoscopes tonight, Gina?”

“Ahh.” Dancing fingers, one-handed. “I’d say yes to a few shockers…nnno to kaleidoscopes. Not today. But not distant.”

“Could he have been murdered?” Del asked.

“Anything’s possible. Lots of ways to murder people. I’ve never seen this way before, though, I’d say.”

The old woman who had called for an ambulance had given a description of a man she saw kneeling by Sneezy. The man mustn’t be a suspect, since he had asked her to call for the ambulance, but he might know something. Vague description, though–could have been anybody. What Dingo had, he had passed on to the KeeZees, in case they chanced across a person who matched the information. Dark-haired Earther, mustache, black plastic jacket.

Sounds beyond the room, a knock, a tech robot opened the door and past it pressed Johnny Leng, arrogantly muscular, and Eddy Walpole, increasingly smirkless. Where was Roland LaKarnafeaux, Del thought, the boss? Johnny was his body and Eddy was his brains. So what was there left of LaKarnafeaux? Del was reminded how inarticulate and lacking in charisma LaKarnafeaux was, like a senile Buddha. The fat man was a balloon filled with hot air of the past and legend. Why hadn’t they overthrown him? Could they possibly be as mindlessly entranced as were the teenage boys who emulated that dozing sage?

“God!” Eddy gasped, staring over Leng’s shoulder at the starkly dead form. “What happened?”

“We don’t know,” Dingo said. “It wasn’t a tumor or anything like that.”

“He’d been acting funny tonight,” muttered Leng, grim. “Staring off into space. He dropped a beer out of his hand. Really fuzzed.”

“I’m sure this didn’t help,” Del said, pointing at the screen. Leng looked.

“What’s that?”

“Iodine, fish, gold-dust…purple vortex. Kaleidoscopes and red shockers.”

Leng matched Del’s intense, probing gaze. “Yeah…a lot of people indulge. But their heads don’t explode, do they?”

“Your friend was exceptional…clairvoyant. That’s funny, though, huh? Two of your friends in one night connected to purple vortex; not exactly one of the most widespread drugs.”

“Yeah, funny–hilarious. I guess you’re happy my friend’s dead.”

“No…but I won’t wear black tomorrow.”

“You’re a real smug fuck tonight, aren’t you, Kahn?”

“Johnny,” Walpole hissed.

“Watch your mouth, punk,” snarled Dingo Rubydawn, doing a mild imitation of Mitch Garnet.

Walpole changed subjects quickly, placing his words as if they were his body between Kahn and Leng. “Sneezy told me that he was picking up some kind of transmission telepathically.”

“Of what nature?” asked Regina.

Walpole hesitated. Should he mention the Bedbugs? He didn’t want to voice the word, so intent was his group on keeping the secret of purple vortex–more secret than even he suspected. Sneezy wasn’t coming back, so why bother? But then, what if the Bedbugs had murdered him somehow? Had Sneezy told someone that the Bedbugs sold the Lobu the main ingredient of vortex…and had the bugs then found out? Were all of LaKarnafeaux’s crew in danger? It was best if they investigated that possibility mostly on their own, but maybe a few careful clues toward that end wouldn’t hurt.

“It seemed mechanical. Voices, he said. Not a standard advertising wavelength, apparently–he took blockers for that. And he assured me that he had not been taking drugs.”

“That’d be a first,” said Del.

Eddy ignored him. “His temples were pulsing, man…you could really see it.”

“Zebo over at
Zebo’s Saucer
diner is a telepath to some extent, I believe,” Del said to Regina. “We should call and see if he’s alright and if he’s feeling any strange vibes.”

“Good idea,” said Regina.

Del’s voice was admirably even, considering the tremulous anger…nervousness?…vibrating inside him at his confrontation with Leng. They had spoken with Sophi about Mortimer Ficklebottom and she had agreed to let him go. She had assured Del that they hadn’t threatened her. Would Sophi lie about that? Del felt as if somehow Leng knew that he had given Mitch instructions to cuff one of the LaKarnafeaux boys. Since Leng’s curse at him he’d avoided those hard, almost slanted eyes. Maybe he did feel a little nervous.

Dingo phoned
Zebo’s Saucer
. To Leng and Walpole, Regina Brass said, “I’m almost done with your friend for now, then I’ll transfer him to the morgue. I’ll keep analyzing my findings. I’ll let you know when to pick him up–I may need to keep him around a little while.”

“Well, ah, we’ll be moving on tomorrow,” said Walpole. “We won’t be around.”

“Is there a way we can contact you?”

“Ah…we’ll contact you. I’ll call a funeral parlor when I get back to the trailer, then I’ll call and let you know who I choose. When you’re done with Sneeze you can let them know to pick him up. Then they can cremate him and hold onto the ashes until we’re able to swing by sometime…or maybe they’ll mail them to us. We don’t know when we’ll be around this way again.”

What would they do with the ashes, Del thought…scatter them? Snort them? Ha–that’d be an appropriate tribute to Sneezy Tightrope, he smirked inside.

“No answer.” Dingo had given up. “Hope he’s alright.”

“You’d better stay here–I’ll go take a look,” Del volunteered.

“Ah, doc,” said Walpole. “Could the transmission have done that to Sneeze, or could he even possibly have been purposely murdered with some kind of transmission?”

“I don’t know at this point. I hope to be able to find out. This one’s a little extra intriguing.”

Del was outside, heard others leaving the med trailer behind him and stopped to see. Approaching him were Walpole and Leng, looking like they also intended to stop, and speak to him. They did. Del vibrated again as Leng’s eyes skewered him like black pokers heated in a fire.

Walpole asked, “Mind if we come with you?”

“If you want. How come?”

“If Zebo was affected, then it’s less likely it was murder.”

“Do you have a reason to feel that someone would want to murder any of you?” Del asked in a provocative sort of tone.

“You ever feel like someone might want to murder you?” Leng replied.

“Johnny, smarten up,” Eddy hissed.

Leng whirled on his friend–the instant ferociousness that distorted his face and neck so startling that Del was sure Leng meant to strike Walpole one massive blow that would kill him, and he almost stepped back from them. Leng snarled, “Don’t you ever fucking tell me to smarten up in front of this smug little ass-wipe, Eddy–don’t you fucking
ever
…you hear me?
Huh?
”

Walpole remained calm, perhaps in an effort to appeal to Leng’s reason, perhaps out of self preservation. But he did say, with an understated firmness, “You’re out of control, Johnny. Better think about it.”

“Think about what? I won’t have you humiliating me in front of my enemies…I won’t fucking stand for it.”

“Your enemies?” Del echoed, before Walpole could respond.

The ferocious hatred swivelled to blast him now. Correction–directed at Walpole it had been furious
anger
. Now it was, however, hatred.

“Don’t act so stupid, Kahn…Sneezy told us. You couldn’t fool the Sneeze. You sent your dog-boy Garnet down to see us and make trouble…”

Oh God…so they hadn’t avoided Tightrope’s ability. Then LaKarnafeaux’s people had approached Sophi. That was how she knew he had instructed Mitch, not from Mitch himself, who wouldn’t have betrayed his boss…or pseudo-boss. Del felt naked. He was glad Sneezy Tightrope was dead.

“You hid behind your rabid little trigger-boy, huh, Kahn? What for, huh? You know something about me you don’t like?
Huh?
” A savage smile. A tyrannosaur might have displayed such a smile. Johnny Leng’s muscles seemed to extend beyond his physical body, forming an aura around him, tight and electric and dangerous.

“I know things I don’t like about you,” Del said softly, trying not to swallow, lest Leng hear it or see his adam’s apple rise and drop; thus, perversely, he felt the aching need to swallow.

“Oh, is that right? Such as?”

“Let’s go back to the trailer, Johnny…” Walpole tried to interrupt.

“Such
as?
”

“You sell drugs. Strong drugs.”

“Interesting theory. Anything else? Anything more related to you, maybe?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“No…you really don’t know, do you? You don’t know much of anything, looks like. For one, you obviously don’t know what’s good for you, because you don’t know what I’m capable of. You don’t even know much about your wife, do you?”

“Johnny…I’m gonna talk to Karny…”

“
Talk to him!
” Leng hadn’t taken his poker eyes out of Del’s sockets. “Huh? You don’t know much about your own wife, Mr.
Del Kahn
, do you?”

“What do you know about my wife?” Del couldn’t get much voice past his clogged adam’s apple.

“Hey, did I say I knew anything about your wife? Hey, I don’t know either. I don’t know what her favorite color is, or what her favorite movie is…but come to think of it now, I
do
know she has this little freckle or mole or something right at the crack of her ass.” The predator’s grin was Choom-like in size, scarring deep crease lines in Leng’s weather-worn face. “Ha–the first time I saw it I thought it was a smudge, if you get my meaning. Turned me off until I got used to it. You ever been bothered by it?”

“You scum…you fucking scum…what do you know?”

“Only what she let me know, Mr. Kahn, sir.”

“Johnny, you’re going to hurt us. Stop. I mean it.”

“What did you do to her?”

“I did to her what she did to me. You want specifics? I wish I had thought to take a vid without her knowing, but I don’t have a camera anyway.”