Freezer Burn (18 page)

“What makes you think the rain is over with?” Conrad said.

“It’s stopped.”

“Oh, good. You’re a regular weatherman.”

“What makes you think it’ll continue? Huh?”

“Hey, you win. Just as long as I don’t paint it.” Conrad peeled back his ugly lips, showed his teeth, tipped his hat, and went off on all fours.

“What do you think, Bill?”

“Mr. Frost, I ain’t got a clue.”

“Would you help me paint it?”

It wasn’t something Bill looked forward to, but he felt he was in no position to quarrel.

“Sure.”

Frost went into town and came back with lots of green paint and a sackful of brushes. By midday the dampness had burned off and the whirligig was dry and receptive to paint.

Frost enlisted the help of a couple of others but as the day progressed, like vapor, they disappeared, leaving brushes and cans in whirligig buckets. Complaints of old ailments kept popping up. One of the workers, whose only handicap was his lack of hygiene, was not missed. There had been just enough wind up there to blow his armpit aroma about, and by the time the man climbed down with some minor excuse, Bill and Frost were glad to see him go. Bill felt as if he had been wrestling a stink demon all day, and was about worn out from it.

Even though a certain amount of climbing was to be expected, mostly they rode about on the rails and in the cars by having one of the pinheads pull the switch. The problem was making the pinhead not pull the switch, and after half a day the pinhead wandered off and was last seen rubbing his ass out by the river.

Bill climbed down and tried to work the switch, but
nothing happened. He had to go get Conrad to take a look. Conrad sniffed about and worked this and worked that. He got a little box of tools and tore off the gearbox lid and eyeballed the situation. The gearbox was packed with dirt. It was surprising it had worked as long as it had. Phil had left one last little surprise for Frost.

“It’s screwed,” Conrad yelled up. “Phil packed the gearbox with dirt.”

Bill glanced up. He could make out Frost looking over the edge of the stranded bucket he was in. Frost let out a sigh audible all over the camp.

“It won’t run at all?” he yelled down.

“Nope,” Conrad said.

“Can it be fixed?”

“It can be replaced.”

Another sigh from Frost. “I guess the only thing is to climb around and finish what we can reach. We’ve gone this far. Tomorrow I’ll go into town and see if I can find someone who can fix or jury-rig a new gearbox. Phil had some problems, but I wouldn’t have expected this of him.”

“Hell, I would have expected worse,” Conrad said. “He was hoping it would jam up carnival night, kill some major revenue.”

“Bill,” Frost yelled down. “Do you think you could climb up here and help me finish this top railing, and the last few buckets?”

Bill didn’t much like the idea, but he nodded.

“If you fall,” Conrad said with a smile, “tuck your chin and think rubber.”

“Yeah, right.”

Conrad slapped Bill on the thigh and four-pawed it back to U.S. Grant’s trailer.

Bill took off his paint-splattered shirt and started up. It took him about fifteen minutes to get up to the bucket next to Frost.

“Thanks, Billy Boy. It’s good to see you’re true-blue.”

“Sure,” Bill said, picked up a brush and began to paint the railing that held the buckets. The sun was hot. It felt good for a while, but after a time he began to burn and his wrists ached from working the brush. He had paint all over him and no shirt to put on to keep out the sun.

Once he looked down, and there, with her hands over her eyes, wearing a soft cotton dress with pink and blue flowers on it, was Gidget. The dress was gathered around her and fit like a condom. You could see every outline of her there was to see. A pinhead came up behind her and lifted her dress from behind.

Like it was nothing new, Gidget whipped out her right hand and beaned the pinhead across the nose. The pinhead wandered off holding his snout.

Frost smiled and waved at her. She waved back.

As it grew dark, about suppertime, the sun fell through the metal of the whirligig and filled the bucket where Bill stood with melted caramel light. Frost turned and smiled. In that moment, to Bill, he seemed of another world. The dissolving sunlight had made him golden.

“I’m pooped,” Frost said.

“Yeah.”

“I think we should seal up the paint, have some supper. Finish up in the morning. Tomorrow, we can do the last bits as we climb down. It’ll be a little tricky, but we’re careful, tie the buckets to our belts, we can do it.
But we’ll do it tomorrow. I’ve had it with the smell of paint.”

“Might be easier to just get the gearbox fixed first, don’t you think?”

“It might be, but I like to finish what I start. We can be through in an hour or two if we start early, and I’ll go into town then and see about a mechanic of some kind. You got much paint left?”

“No. Practically out.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

They climbed down.

About a half hour later, Bill was fresh out of the shower, having gotten all the paint off himself, and the stench of it out of his nostrils. There was a knock on the door. Bill wrapped a towel around his waist and answered it. It was Frost.

“Look here, son. I need a favor.”

“Come in.”

“No. I’ll make it quick. I’m tuckered out and to be honest there’s something I want to see on the television. But I’ll give you some money for paint, and a little extra for yourself. I want you to run into town. They got a Wal-Mart there, which is about all that’s open this time a night. Fact it stays open twenty-four hours. That’s where I got the paint. I want you to get some more. I got the name of the paint written down.”

Frost produced a strip of paper with the name and paint number on it. “This is what you want. And get the number of gallons written on here.”

“All right.”

“Oh, I’m sending Gidget with you. She knows where the Wal-Mart is.”

“Sure.”

“She wants it, stop by and buy her a little something to eat afterwards.”

“Sure.”

Frost gave Bill some money. After he left, Bill dressed and put the slip of paper in his pocket. He worked his hair in the bathroom a while, trying to comb it more like the picture of James Dean. He went outside. Gidget, still dressed in the white dress with flowers on it, was leaning beside Frost’s car smoking a cigarette. She didn’t show any happiness in seeing him.

She produced the car keys and Bill took the driver’s side and she sat in her place with the window down, flicking ashes out. She looked as if she’d rather be taking a car aerial enema than going to town with him.

When they were about three miles down the road, Bill glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She smiled, slid over next to him and kissed his neck.

“I had to play it that way, baby. I couldn’t look too excited.”

“Sure. No problem.”

“Man, you look good all browned from the sun.”

“It’s more like burned.”

“Listen, hon, you know what Frost is going to do? He’s going to get up early and take the paint and finish before you get up. He thinks it’s some kind of surprise. So he’ll be up there before you get up, see. You’ll be in bed, and I’ll be in the motor home, and he’s up there in that rickety old whirligig. Everyone has tried to make him get rid of it. It’s old and it’s coming apart. It’s dangerous.”

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“I think you’ll like where it ends up. Tonight, when
we get back, you wait until late, then you take a flashlight and climb up there and loosen the bolts in the bucket where he’ll start painting tomorrow. Loosen them and set it such a way a little movement will make it tip. Since where ya’ll quit today is at the top . . . Well, it’s quite a drop. He’s a big man.”

Bill had a good grip on the wheel. They went out of darkness and into the beginnings of light from the town.

“Turn here,” Gidget said.

They went down a long street and came to a highway and Gidget had Bill turn right. He went along there and past some houses and came to the Wal-Mart on the right. He pulled up in the huge lot way away from the store. So far out they would have to walk a distance to go inside. He cut the engine and sat.

“You’ve drugged him, made him sleep. Why not just do it that way? Too many pills. Why’s it got to be done like this?”

“It’s got to look like an accident. We can’t be around. I drugged him, they got tests will show that. They’d find out right away. This is better.”

“Something like this, it can’t be undone,” Bill said. “I know. I got some things I’d like to undo. It always seems easy, but it’s more than you see. I don’t know nothin’, but I know that.”

“Yeah. Well I know this. I want you. I like the way you look. I like that eight inches of dick you got. And I don’t want to scrape for three years or four or five or the rest of my life. I need some kind of start. We deserve it.”

“Do we?”

“You deserve what you think you deserve. You get
what you get, and sometimes, you have to go get it. You understand?”

“You really think it’ll work?”

“He wants to do something nice for you. He thinks you’re swell.”

“Oh shit . . .”

“Just listen. You worked all day when everyone else took off. He appreciates that. He’s going to climb up there tomorrow right at sunrise and finish. He wants it done so it’s got time to dry and he can get into town to have someone fix the gearbox. He gets in that whirligig bucket, starts moving his big ass around . . . he’s dumped. It’ll look like an accident. No one will know.”

“How am I gonna loosen the bolt?”

“With one of his wrenches. I got it out of his toolbox. It’s hid outside the motor home now, but I haven’t been able to get it over to your trailer. We bring the paint back, I’ll give you the wrench.”

“Conrad sleeps on top of the motor home sometimes.”

“Not since he’s been sticking his dick in Synora.”

“Synora?”

“The bearded lady.”

“Oh.” Bill felt bad he didn’t even know the bearded lady’s name. Conrad was his friend, and he hadn’t even bothered to know his woman’s name.

“You got to learn to pay attention to details, baby. That little thing with Phil, it’s put Conrad in regular with her. He sleeps in her place. And the weather has been unpredictable. Think about it.”

“I’m thinking.”

“You can get up there quick and easy and undo the bolt and climb down. Take the wrench, wipe off any prints might be on it, and throw it in the river. That way,
there’s paint inside it or rust from the bolt, they can’t trace it, and even if you miss a fingerprint, it isn’t going to hold underwater. And them finding it in the river there, I doubt it. Not the way it’s churning. Toss it in there and it’s gone forever. It’s just an accident.”

“But it isn’t.”

“In a day or two, far as I’m concerned, it’s an accident.”

“The cops will come around. They’ll talk to all of us, and I may be wanted for that firecracker stand thing.”

“Cops come, you don’t need to even come out unless they ask to see everyone. It’ll just be a dumb accident. Let me tell you something, a thing happens at the carnival nobody busts their ass to find out about it. No one is all that worried about a bunch of freaks. I know I’m not. Let’s get the paint.”

They bought the paint and Gidget made it a point not to stand too close to Bill or to look in any way interested in him while they got it and went through the checkout line.

They left there, and on their way home she asked him if he was supposed to buy her something.

“Frost said if you want it.”

“I don’t want it, but if I did, it’d be about ten dollars’ worth. Give me the ten dollars.”

Bill worked his wallet out and put it on the seat. She took ten, and then a five.

“Say I’m real hungry. I think I should get what you would have spent, don’t you?”

“I guess.”

They drove on and Gidget had him pull down a little clay road and onto a trail that wound up a hill into a clutch of trees overlooking the road below through pine limbs. The road and trail were muddy from all the rain and Bill feared they’d get stuck, but they forged on, sliding a bit, and finally they came to rest at the peak of the hill. Gidget lit up a cigarette and looked out
the open window. She spent a few minutes doing that, neither of them talking.

“Years ago, when I was in high school, I used to park with a boyfriend up here. He was a smart, neat guy. Good-looking enough. He wanted to go to college and take care of me and he thought I had some art talent. He thought I could do something with it. I wasn’t patient enough. He went on and did well. Me, I’m still out here.”

“What about me, baby?”

“You’re something, hon. I like the way you look. You’re kind of cheap and not too smart and probably rotten to the core, just like me. We deserve one another.”