Five O’Clock Shadow (23 page)

Pauly wasn't sure what first caught her attention. The sound, maybe. She was close to the back of the lot and the chain-link fence loomed over the tangle of electric cords and hoses that were half-hidden behind and under the tents and rides. A carnival was never very pretty from the back. But someone was near the fence and shaking it. Violently, it seemed. She slipped between a tent and the snow-cone booth.

What she saw seemed comical at first. There was Paco, his back to her, intent on lifting a loose piece of chain link near the ground to let an Hispanic youngster, maybe seven years of age, worm his way through. The two boys were digging furiously, not unlike frantic terriers, on opposite sides of the fence. Paco was excitedly urging his friend on, grabbing an arm and pulling, then trying to lift the fence up and away from his struggles. Finally the child emerged on Pauly's side of the fence, by way of the dirt tunnel, and Paco whispered something, then took off at a trot with the youngster following.

What should she do? Call out? She knew that there was a charge just to get onto the grounds, so this was a nicety, a treat for a less fortunate. No, she wouldn't get him in trouble. They were close to the border. It would be difficult for youngsters to see a carnival and not be able to take part.

But where was he going? He was hurrying along in the dark behind the rides. Pauly moved to see their destination and was surprised when Paco headed away from the carnival itself and towards the trailers. Then he disappeared. Quickly, she followed. What could he be doing?

Other than Davy's and Brenda's trailer, the others looked alike. There were lights on but it was impossible to tell which one they had ducked into. Pauly stood quietly and strained to hear any sound, talking, children laughing. But there was nothing. One trailer, probably not far from where she was standing, had simply swallowed up the two young boys.

She checked her watch. She'd been gone twenty minutes and needed to get back. Steve would be wondering. And she didn't want to say anything about Paco allowing a friend to come inside the enclosure. He'd probably get in trouble. And it was odd, didn't make sense that Paco would hide the child somewhere. Wouldn't the child be interested in the rides?

She'd barely returned to the asphalt path that wound past the merry-go-round when she saw Steve and waved.

“Thought I'd lost you.” He put an arm around her. “I'm ready to call it a day.”

She knew without checking again that it was close to eleven. The rides would be open another hour, but already a handful of people were heading towards the front gates. She snuggled closer and felt that familiar hint of excitement as they walked back to the motor home.

“Mr. Burke?” The man stepped out of the shadows from behind the motor home. Pauly gasped and hugged Steve. “Sorry to scare you, Miss. We've got a problem over here.” The man motioned with his head indicating somewhere behind him, possibly the big tent.

“What's wrong?”

“Well, seems like a woman has lost her son. Swears that he's somewhere inside the grounds.”

“Were they here for the show?”

“Uh, no, the woman's a Mexican National. She's pretty fired up. Says we're trying to steal her kid. She was screaming so loud that the guards out front went ahead and let her inside, thought maybe she'd shut up if they promised to help her find her kid.”

“But she didn't?”

“No.”

“Where is she?”

“Big tent. Thought it might be best to get her off to herself.”

“Good. I'll be right over.”

“I'm coming, too.” Pauly wasn't going to be left at the motor home. Steve smiled and seemed glad to have the company.

Pauly could hear the woman's wails before they entered the tent, wails and accusations. The woman was probably thirty-five and poor. Her long hair was pulled back and tied at her neck above the ratty collar of a cheap cloth coat, one of those that discount houses on the border offered at inflated prices. Thin legs poked out from underneath a cotton dress that pulled tight over the woman's protruding stomach. She was pregnant, seven or eight months' worth, and looked weary as she leaned back in her chair.

Pauly watched as Steve moved to her side, dragged up a chair and sat down. She hadn't realized that he spoke Spanish, but from what she could tell, he was absolutely fluent. But then, being bilingual would be more than an asset if you owned a carnival that played to border towns; it was probably a necessity.

He was nodding every once in awhile, but the woman was speaking nonstop, taking a break to burst into tears before starting again. Finally, she seemed to run down and just sat rocking, gently staring into space.

Steve stood and conferred with two carny workers, who left immediately. Another man was offering the woman a glass of water and Steve leaned over to say something that made the woman shake her head. Then he stood and walked back to stand beside Pauly.

“Let's go outside.”

Pauly followed him through the tent-flap and zipped up her jacket. Her breath turned white in the cold air.

“What's going on?”

Steve took a breath and looked out over the carnival grounds. Pauly could see spots of light being beamed under rides, flicked upward every once in awhile to check the roof of a low booth. Flashlights of a search party. Steve must have believed the woman.

“The woman claims that her son was enticed to run away. Supposedly a child from the carnival talked him into coming here tonight.”

“But where did the carny kid meet her child?”

“The woman cleans houses in El Paso and has working papers to cross the border. She was cleaning up after a holiday dinner tonight for some people who live a few blocks over when she looks out and sees her son talking to this stranger in the backyard, a child that she's never seen before. When she goes out to check, her son shows her a carton of candy bars his new friend has given him and says that his friend lives at the carnival and can get him into the rides.”

“Not a bad enticement, candy and rides.”

“Yeah. Poor kids wouldn't need a lot. Her son begs her to let him go. At first she doesn't want to say yes, but she says the kid from the carnival was really nice. So, she says okay but tells him he has only one hour and then he has to be back at the house. Since it's Christmas Eve, they need to get back across the border to go to midnight mass.”

“What time was this?”

“Maybe ten o'clock.”

“And the child never came back?”

“No. She's adamant. She was busy in the kitchen later than she thought she'd be, but she swears that he never came back.” Pauly was quickly calculating time. Was he the child that she'd seen crawling under the fence? Had he been lured there by Paco? “Did she say what the kid from the carnival looked like?”

“Called him a pretty boy. Thought he was about her son's age, around eight.”

Paco. It had to be. But wasn't that just like kids, showing off, trying to impress others? Living in a carnival would make Paco the envy of any child.

“Surely her son will show up once the carnival has closed.”

“Let's hope. He's her meal ticket. She'll only be able to work another month or so before the baby and she needs his income to keep going. I gathered a big part of her anxiety had to do with money.”

“He's a child. What does he do?”

“Washes cars. Cleans yards. He's the oldest of her children, there's no father. Even a couple pesos a day would keep them from starving.”

“And she doesn't think he might try to run away? That's a lot of responsibility for eight.”

“She swears that he wouldn't. She thinks we're keeping him against his will. She's heard stories of how Americans steal children. Her sister lives in Guatemala and has told her stories of how the
gringos
take the babies and young children for their organs.”

“Their what?” Pauly couldn't believe what she was hearing.

“I'm afraid there was a documented case or two where young children were lured from their homes, murdered, and their hearts and livers and such flown to the states. Babies are usually taken for adoption and sold for high prices. It's a lucrative business. More than one ring has been busted operating along the border.”

Organs? Adoption? Pauly's mind was whirling. Couldn't there be yet another reason to procure young children? Another lucrative business that might go best undetected if the participants were untraceable? Poor children from a poor country who wouldn't pass up a chance to see a carnival? What a great come-on. Probably irresistible.

“Have I lost you?” Steve was looking at her.

“Sorry. Guess I'm just getting cold.”

“I wasn't thinking. You're an ice cube.” Steve touched her cheek. “Let me walk you back to the motor home. I need to stick around, help with the search, but I could stop by later.”

“I'd like that.” Was that a look of surprise? She didn't blame him. She'd spent most of their time together keeping him at arm's length. Well, maybe she'd change that. At the door she put her arms around his neck and pulled his head down. His nose was cold but her frozen chapped lips probably left something to be desired, too. She laughed and stepped back. “I think I need to thaw out first.” But he just smiled and gently pushed her against the motor home's metal side, kissed her, his tongue pushing into her mouth and she heard her own quickened breathing as she kissed him back, hard, searching, realizing her need, not even caring that it was so transparent.

“I want you.” Pauly couldn't believe her own ears—was that her voice all croaky with emotion? Deprivation could make a person go crazy. Say crazy things. She tried to bury her face in his neck but Steve tipped her chin up and looked into her eyes. She couldn't read his expression. This time when she tried to wiggle away, he let her go and simply held her.

“I'll be back.” A quick kiss behind her ear sent a shiver across her shoulders.

Pauly watched as he walked around the corner of the motor home and disappeared into the darkness. General MacArthur or The Terminator? Depended on your generation, she guessed, as to what image those three words evoked.

The motor home was cold. She needed to fire up the generator, which meant going back outdoors, but once done it would be toasty inside and she could grab a beer and wait for Steve. She paused by the bottom of the steps. Someone had turned several yardlights on over by the trailers. She could see a group of people gathered by the big tent; a half dozen more had fanned out to walk around the rides and booths. The search party seemed to be good size.

Pauly bit her lip. Should she have shared what she saw? Of course, she should have; but if Paco was reprimanded, she'd lose any chance she ever hoped to have of talking with him again. It had taken too long to win his confidence, if she even had it now. No. If he wanted to show off to a friend, sneak him into the carnival, then that was okay by her.

But what if there was some truth to the charges of procurement made by the mother? Wasn't it possible that this was how the children were enticed away from their families? A box of candy bars and the promise of free rides? Could this have been the way that Paco joined the carnival? There was no evidence that the children were being kept against their will. But there was no evidence that they were free to come and go, either. What was it Paco had said? The morning of the balloon accident he had been running away? And why wouldn't he try to leave? The pictures, maybe more.… Was it possible that someone had threatened him to get him to stay?

Pauly pushed the generator's starter button, waited for it to sputter to life and then went back inside, reminding herself to lock the door. The search could go on for some time. She stretched out on the couch. No reason not to be comfortable while she waited.

The light startled her. She hadn't closed the drapes and the sun's full strength was dazzling. So much for parking facing east. She bolted upright. What time was it? The travel clock on the coffee table said six. She was on the couch still in the jeans and sweater from the night before. And Steve? For all intents and purposes, it looked like she'd been stood up. A little teasing promise at the door of better things to come and then a no show. That could only mean something was wrong.

She looked out the window. Six floats were lined up on the street that ran parallel to the front of the armory. The parade. God. She probably needed to hurry. She pulled a clean pair of jeans and a sweatshirt from her suitcase that was still open across the bed in the back cubicle. She really needed to try sleeping on the bed one of these nights. The sofa wasn't doing her back any favors.

She turned on the shower. Maybe there was enough hot water. Then peeling off her clothes, she leaned over the molded plastic sink and about a nose-width from the mirror whispered, “Merry Christmas, Pauly Caton.”

“Couldn't have said it better myself.” Steve slouched against the doorway of the tiny room.

She jumped back. She tried to slow her breathing, but after mastering the onrush of fright, she found his presence pleasantly disturbing. Being naked probably helped. She suddenly wanted to be brazen, show him what he had passed up the night before. She wasn't dumb. Her boobs might be a little on the small side, not Grams' perfect fakes, but they were balanced on a figure that nipped in at a small waist above rounded buttocks and long slender legs.

“You could have knocked.”

“I did.”

She watched his eyes roam her body, flick over erect nipples, the wad of pubic hair, her long legs, bare feet with chipped polish on the toes. He started to say something, then closed his mouth. His eyes were a giveaway, just plain hungry. Pauly knew she was reading him correctly. But he stayed rooted in the doorway.

“Remind me to take your key away,” she said.

Instead of reaching for a towel, she turned her back, stepped into the shower and pulled the cracked plastic curtain snug with the edge of the molded unit. She willed herself not to peek out; she knew he was still there.