Stuffed (25 page)

Had I done that? Did it do that? Or had they just shut off the light? Forget making a swim for it. Hightail it back to that hole and the fence.

But it was a long way back to terra firma, and I could hardly see in the sudden darkness.

How had I gotten into this jam? How could I keep this from happening again? If there was an again.

I realized that the answer was in my grasp. The damnable kving-kie, of course. Nobody wanted me—they wanted the horn. That’s what got me into this mess. The question of what to do? Pellucid.

After dragging myself to the pier’s edge and seeing that there actually were Pampers down there, I tried to stand and immediately doubled over. My gut was in a bad way, worse than I knew. So I scuttled crablike, cursing a blue streak, not a
ding bust
in the bunch.

Dyep deya vya boga duga seraza mat!
Habit sometimes prevails, even under duress. I managed to get to my feet and began loping away from the pier’s edge toward the lights of the carnival. No more Walter Payton. More like Walter Brennan with a thumbtack in his shoe.

My eyes were blinded by the bright lights of the carnival, and I hoped that my silhouette wasn’t visible to the machine gunner.

It seemed impossibly far, loping like that, pain knifing my sides. Broken ribs for sure.

Squeak-heez.

Something was under my foot, and I knew what it was. I stooped and picked up the toy, shoving it in my pocket. Hell, it couldn’t hurt to have it on hand. It had caused Flip to stop in his tracks, though what ultimately transpired between him and Waldo was anyone’s guess. Mine was that the pygmies got Waldo and that he’d run back to the carnival before collapsing. But if so, why wasn’t Flip out here after me? He must have known about the submarine. Even he wouldn’t try to go up against all that.

From behind me I heard shouts and a few stray gunshots. I glanced back. Flashlights were bobbing along the deck of the sub and the end of the pier. The tromp of boots on the pier was like a stampede headed my way. They were giving chase.

It was like a nightmare where I couldn’t run, and the harder I tried, the farther away that hole in the fence seemed. Here I was in the good ol’ USA being chased down by Korean troops. It just didn’t seem possible. This couldn’t be happening.

Twenty feet from the fence, a figure appeared in the opening. The figure was surrounded by several men holding guns.

“Garth!”

It was Pete Durban. He trotted forward, grabbing my arm to help support me.

“Pete, the Koreans, they’re right behind me!”

He chuckled. “It’s going to be okay, Garth.”

“But . . .” I twisted my head back toward the squad of men approaching the carnival.

My eyes were blurry with the tears of pain and panic. All I could see were men in uniform. Except one. He had a tennis sweater tied over the shoulders, and when he stood before me, I could smell cloves. Sure enough, it was Jim Kim, and he was surrounded by soldiers. Even with my vision blurred, I could see that the soldiers were in commando gear, with ropes and night vision goggles. I could hear them talking into radios saying things like “target secure” and “captive hostiles” and “perimeter.” They were Americans.

Like butter in a microwave, I melted with relief, but Pete kept me from collapsing into a pool at his feet. I was surrounded by good guys for a change and wanted to burst out in tears. I was safe from Flip.

“Medic!” Kim yelled over his shoulder. Then to me: “Hey, buddy. You okay?”

I tried to speak but broke into a coughing fit instead.

“Garth, do you still have it?” Kim patted me on the shoulder. “The kving-kie? Do you still have it?”

I ignored the question. “Did you get Flip?”

“We will. Got the nasty munchkins.” Pete held up one of their toothpicks. “One of the little buggers hit me with this.”

“How come . . .”

“Hey, I get bit by snakes and poisonous critters all the time. I have a high tolerance for toxins. So, amigo, tell us—where is it?”

We stepped into the light of the carnival, Kim following. His troops stayed out on the pier, searching it with flashlights.

“Did Flip have it?” Kim grabbed my elbow. “Did Renard have it? Is it out on the pier somewhere? Who had the kving-kie last?”

“I did.”

“Great!” Kim’s smile faded. “Did?”

“Did,” I repeated. “All I’ve got now is this.”

Squeak-hee, squeak-hee.

They stared quizzically at the rubber penguin.

“So who has it now?” Kim persisted. “The horn—what happened to it?”

“I dropped it out there, then they started kicking me. Maybe it fell in the river, I dunno.”

Kim cocked an ear closer to me, like he hadn’t heard right. “You—”

“I don’t have it, I dropped it out there.”

Kim looked at me like I’d just told him his mother was actually a secret agent. Hmm. Maybe she was.

“Divers!” He dashed back out through the hole in the fence and started shouting orders to the troops. “Get the SEALs over here!”

Pete tightened his grip, helping me along. And I felt him vibrating. Deep in his chest, he was laughing.

“Garth . . .” he began mirthfully. Then he leaned in and whispered in my ear: “Good job.”

Chapter 26

A
s the Navy medics looked me over, wrapping my torso and ribs in Ace bandages, the carnival was almost cleared of revelers and employees. NYPD was all over the place and had created a gauntlet at the exit. I saw them crowd the pygmies in a paddy wagon, their heads down and shoulders drooping like kids caught sneaking into the drive-in. The cops were still looking for Flip, but I couldn’t have been safer with so many of them around. Anyway, I was sure he must have escaped. Perhaps he swam off as he did in Maine. The horn was gone, I didn’t have it, and Flip—wherever he was—must have known that. No reason to come after me anymore.

A makeshift first-aid center had been set up in the ring-toss concession, and Waldo was laid out on a stretcher waiting for an ambulance. He was still alive, probably because he was such a big man that the poison from those little arrows wasn’t sufficient to do him in. He was unconscious, arms folded across his chest like Bela Lugosi taking a catnap. I hoped they’d cart him off before he came to and started up with his Svengali act. A series of ambulances had already come and gone to take away the more-serious victims, like Renard, Smiler, Toad Woman, and the turtlenecks. I had no idea what their conditions were and, frankly, didn’t care.

What I cared about was Angie. Using Pete’s cell phone, I briefed her on what had happened and let her know I was okay. But to be on the safe side, I asked her to go stay with friends. If Flip had escaped the carnival grounds and still had it in for me, he might go to my place of residence. Who knew what he might do? He might go after Angie. I wasn’t taking any chances.

“No way! I’m coming right down there this instant!”

“Sugar, they won’t let you in. This place is sealed tighter than a diving bell. They’re still looking for Flip. The police will give me a lift to the hospital in a little while, just to have me checked over. I’ll call you when I get there, and you can come meet me. How’s that?”

She groaned stubbornly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I smiled. Hearing her voice, and its familiar cadence, was like a Christmas tree lighting up in my heart.

“Positive. Just hang out and I’ll call and then you can see me at the hospital. Just a couple hours, that’s all. I’m surrounded by police, federal agents, and Navy SEALs. I couldn’t be safer.”

“Garth, you have to be more careful. In the future, I mean.”

Don’t trouble trouble unless trouble troubles you.

“Believe me, no more chasing taxidermy. Or limousines.”

“I feel somehow responsible.”

“Not at all. Now, I’ll call you in a little bit, okay?”

There was a pause, and then she sighed.

“You better be all right.” I could hear her choke back tears. “Or I’ll kick your butt.”

“Been done.” I laughed and hung up.

Fully bandaged, I was excused, so I stepped out into the midway. All the lights were still on. The Ferris wheel’s multicolored fluorescent tubes festively illuminated its spokes, running lights along the sides of the Octopus still flickered maniacally, the sign for the Round-Up still flashed, bumper cars still hummed, the neon on the Salt N’ Pepper shakers still glowed red like hot licorice. It seemed strange having the place all lit up but almost empty, like something from a dream. Of course, police and soldiers crisscrossed the midway, so I wasn’t exactly alone, and as I made my way toward the exit, hoping for that ride to the hospital, I strolled past all those wonderful rides I enjoyed so much as a kid. I was exhausted but so relieved that I was actually in a mellow mood.

The Sky Diver! I marveled at the huge wheel, with its cars with steering wheels. Man, I used to spin my car on that ride so fast that when I came close to the ride operator he’d shout at me to cut it out. And to think there was only a big-ass cotter pin holding the doors shut on those things. Same with the Zipper, which was there too. That ride has cars facing out that revolve around a bean shape that also twirls. Sometimes, at the top, your car does a triple flip. I didn’t know that I would enjoy these rides anymore. Well, not tonight, surely. I didn’t need any excitement in my life for a while.

Then there was the Matterhorn, with its alpine facade and glitter snow peaks. I never liked those rides much. First of all, they’re a lame excuse for a roller coaster. The set of cars just goes around in an oval, and the big thrill is supposed to be the little hills and dips. Well, there was a small cave you went through in the back to give you that rush of thinking you’re going to be decapitated. And for some reason that I have yet to fathom, these rides always blared disco music, often a version without lyrics. It was supposed to be a ride for older teens or Disco Stu or something. Though the cars were stationary and it was twenty-five years later, the damn thing before me was still blaring disco.

The disco craze never did much for me as a kid. In fact, I hated it. Pounding electronic music, fluff. It was still tawdry stuff, but I now thought it kitschy. I even danced to it on occasion, more as a gag than anything else.

But seriously: Like Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York,” how many times must I be subjected to “Can’t Stop Me Now”? I’m ashamed to say I even remember it was by Boogie City Express, a wailing Cecily Trieste singing lead.

You got it. “Can’t Stop Me Now” was blaring from this contraption, without the words.

I looked at the entrance to the carnival. The cops had their hands full discharging customers and checking IDs. I wasn’t going to get a ride to the hospital any time soon.

The music was disturbing my mellow mood, so I stepped up and looked at the ride’s controls to see if I could nix the sound system.

“Garth!” Pete called.

I looked around.

“Pete?”

“Muchacho, come up here, you gotta see this.”

He was calling from the ride’s tunnel, which ran through the fake mountain.

“In there?” I couldn’t see him, so I squeezed along the side of the cars. They were halfway into the tunnel, and I had to skirt along with one hand on the wall.

“C’mon, hurry!”

I stepped into one of the cars and began clambering from one to the next, into the dark tunnel.

“Pete? My side hurts too much to be doing this.”

A loud alarm bell sounded. The cars jolted forward, and I somersaulted onto my back into the next car. Someone had started the ride, and the coaster lunged farther into the tunnel. It was dark, and the coaster’s wheels were drumming along my spine, which was pressed into the seat. I could feel my ribs click, and my chest was afire with pain.

“Pete!” I shouted.

I kicked my legs and pushed against the side of the car to right myself, shrieking with agony from my broken ribs.

Gripping my side, I pushed myself upright and saw the flashing lights at the end of the tunnel ahead.

And then I didn’t.

A pair of hairy cactuses clamped over my eyes from behind.

“Guess who?” A little girl’s voice giggled over the growing roar of the coaster.

I didn’t have to guess. What I had to do was get my heart to start pumping again.

The coaster rumbled around a curve as I gripped the stubbly flippers, trying to pry them from my head and eyes.

Flip was giggling hysterically in the car behind me. Then he broke into his best Cecily Trieste:

“At first I said no, I cannot hide

He’s the man, the one I need by my side

Let him get away

I’ll die right here, today

Then when I saw him in her arms

I got mad, I swore I’d do him harm

Can’t stop me now!

Can’t stop me now!”

I think you’ll understand if my hatred of disco and Boogie City Express was forever reaffirmed at that moment.

His grip on my head made it seem like those flippers were bolted in place; Flip was incredibly strong. But as we hit the next curve, he was thrown to one side. His grip loosened, I yanked myself forward and was free.

We approached the tunnel again, and I vaulted into the car ahead of me, yowling from the spikes of agony driven into my sides.

Flip was at least one car away now but was still singing above the coaster’s clamor:

“I turned and ran, fast as I can

But turned to fight for my lovin’ man

Walked up to him, pulled him away

Instead of hitting him I soon began to sway

Magic worked within my body

And showed him I’m not shoddy

The music raged, we danced all night

In his arms I found the morning light

Can’t stop me now!

Can’t stop me now!”

Gasping for breath, I looked back as we entered the tunnel again. I could only see his hideous form framed by the receding light at the entrance to the tunnel. His flippers were waving a carving knife in the air like a diva on stage. All he needed was a feather boa and he’d have been a shoe-in for
La Cage aux Mort.

We came back out of the tunnel.

And there was Walker, standing in front of the ride, his gun drawn. Smiling.

I was like George Jetson on his treadmill: “Jane! Stop this crazy thing!” I wanted to crawl farther away from Flip, but I couldn’t entertain the idea of tumbling onto my ribs again. I might just pass out from the pain and then would be completely at Flip’s mercy.

But I was already at his mercy. I braced my back against the front of the car, watching Flip wriggle into the car behind me, the blade of his knife pulsing with the flash of the strobe lights as we passed yet again into the dark tunnel. I ducked, fearing I might hit my head.

Surely the police would shut this thing down any second.

But as we came back out of the tunnel, I caught the jittery image of cops pounding on the controls while others dumbly watched the ride with guns at their sides. We were going too fast for them to try and shoot Flip.

But that didn’t stop Walker. I saw a flash from his gun at the same instant a spark exploded on the car’s handrail with a loud ping. The handrail next to me, not Flip.

Other cops were running every which way, maybe to try to find the master switch to shut down the power.

It would be too late. Flip’s tiny glowing blue eyes and smiling kewpie-doll lips rose in the seat behind me, a flipper holding the knife, Cecily Trieste at full throttle:

“Did you think I’d let you go?

That I’d let her have your soul?

Can’t stop me now!

Can’t stop me now!”

I was thrust to one side by a turn and felt something in my pocket press against my thigh. Careening around the next turn, back toward the tunnel, I managed to reach into my pocket.

Flip stood and made his move.

And I made mine.

Squeak-hee! Squeak-hee!

He howled, recoiling.

I caught a glimpse of a scripted sign that said:
Please remain seated at all times for your safety.

Then the tunnel entrance zoomed overhead, and the roof chopped Flip just under the chin.

It was like he’d been shot from a cannon, catapulting backward and out of view, blood spattering my face. The knife hit the roof butt-first and ricocheted.

I didn’t have time to react, except to put my hand up and duck my head. I felt the blade’s icy slice on my hand. The darkness of the tunnel prevented me from seeing how bad the cut was, but I felt the knife fall into my lap—blade flat, thank God.

The coaster jolted, and as I came out of the tunnel, the lights and disco music were no more. I was slowing down. They’d found the master switch.

My hand had a nice slice in it and was bleeding all over the place. The knife lay in my lap, the blade stuck right through the belly of the squeaky penguin toy.

Sorry about your toy, Fuzzy.

A squad of cops and SEALs grabbed the slowing cars as they rumbled toward the controls, bringing it to a stop before it entered the tunnel again. They were all shouting, asking me questions that I could neither understand nor answer. I felt their hands on me, someone wrapping my hand with a handkerchief. Blood was all over my shirt. I was lifted out of the car and handed man-to-man like a bale of hay. And I was just about as animated as one.

My head rolled, the flash of the pretty carnival lights blurred with the fake mountain scenery of the Matterhorn.

Just before being carried down to a stretcher, my eyes focused on the last car. On the seat there was something odd, and it took me a moment to realize what it was. It looked like a big broken egg full of ground chuck. Tiny blue eyes stared back at me. Unblinking. I felt like he could still see me.

I awake in a sweat late at night sometimes, and think Flip still can.