The Dead Don't Speak (4 page)

Daphne closed her eyes and nodded.

"Hey, you're CFO. If you've got your heart set on Simmons, then by all means pursue him. You'll need Tovak from the Entertainment office on your side though, as I'm sure you know. That'll bring a whole other mess, having Tovak to deal with. My advice to you is be cautious with Simmons and watch your back with Tovak."

I don't have time for caution
.

She said, "Wise words as always. Thanks, Vince. Sometimes I think you should be sitting in this chair."

Walter, somewhat forcefully, insisted Zach do three shows the first day. Ignoring Snider's advice, Walter filled the barn with one hundred twenty seats; this way the first show would be profitable. He had insured a good turn-out by handing out ten-dollar bills to five guys and asked them to go around to stand near some of the crowded areas and brag about how good the “Boy Psychic” was. Much as he hated spending money on shills, it generally worked. The crowd grumbled a little, being crammed together like sardines, and the smell of sweat hung in the air like a thin fog. Walter didn't see a problem with this and the next two shows saw the same size audience. Walter deferred to Snider's judgment about admission cost - ten bucks a head.

With a hundred twenty people in the room, Zach was getting “hits” all over the place, hits being people answering in the affirmative to his lead-ins. The young "medium" held it together admirably and enjoyed the gasps, laughs, and occasional tears of the crowd.

One thing Zach didn't like about the Texas State Fair, and all other fairs for that matter, was the choice of food. Anything too greasy made his stomach knot up and gave him stabbing pains. So, after his last show, with Walter's permission (permission meaning that Walter could not be found once the crowd had paid their way in, leaving Zach to do as he pleased after it was over), Zach went exploring the fair workers' living area. It was a veritable village not unlike a large trailer park. His hope was to find a home-style meal, but anything that didn't come out of a deep-fryer would suffice.

Zach was trudging along, trying to avoid the smell of fat, sugar, axel grease, and diesel exhaust, when he stopped short and nearly ate a face full of gravel. Three campers down, he saw a girl, four or five years older than himself, with platinum blond hair, wearing a pair of cut-off shorts and a white tank top that displayed her concave belly button, lounging in a lawn chair. The second thing Zach noticed was a woman who could have been the girl's clone, only slightly older, cooking something on a small charcoal grill.

Zach sniffed the air. Along with the thick smell he was trying to avoid was the scent of cooking meat. Zach took a breath, his shoulders rising and falling, and started for the two blond ladies and all the promise their grill held.

The older one saw Zach approaching, "Well, lookee here, Cayte! Have you ever seen such a beautiful head of curly hair in your whole life?" The woman had a soft southern accent.

I'm in! Haven't even said a word and I'm in.

"Gorgeous," the young one agreed once her eyes located Zach.

"Boy, get yourself over here so I can see you up close," the older one said.

Zach, happy at being welcomed so openly, walked up to the lady and she plunged her fingers into his hair.

"Thick as can be," she said. "You want a feel?" she asked Cayte.

"I'm all set, Margaret." Zach noticed Cayte had the same slight drawl as the one he assumed was her mother. Only Cayte's accent was lighter, brighter, less obvious.

"My name's Margaret. That lazy girl sitting in the lawn chair is my daughter, Cayte. What's your name?"

"Zach Hepson," he said.

"You're not from around here are ya?" Margaret asked.

"No, ma'am, Pennsylvania originally."

"Pennsylvania! My stars! You are a long way from home. Me and the offspring over there are from Atlanta," she said, pointing at Cayte. "What are you doing in Texas?"

And let the show begin...

Zach's chest puffed with pride. The women noticed but had the courtesy not to laugh. "I'm doing a show at the fair."

"A show, huh? What kind of show?"

Now the boy's chest deflated. He'd seen all sorts of reactions when he told folks what he did and most of those reactions weren't favorable.

"I'm a psychic," Zach said.

"A psychic? You tell fortunes?"

"No."

"Then what do you do, honey?"

"I give messages to people from family and friends who've died."

"You are a medium," Margaret said with confidence. Then she bent in close to Zach and in a lowered voice said, "What's your game?" She smelled like lilacs.

Zach knit his brow in apparent confusion. "I hear the spirits and I pass along messages for them, that's all."

Margaret stood erect, "I see. Have your secret then."

"Leave him alone, Ma," Cayte said, rising from the lawn chair.

"The daughter and I are doing a show here too. Give him a show, darlin'."

Cayte's shoulders pulled back and she belted out a string of lyrics to a song Zach didn't know. His pulse quickened and the sunlight suddenly felt extra warm. Maybe it was because she was standing right in front of him, maybe it was that she was beautiful, maybe it was because Zach was just arriving at the age where girls were no longer gross, or maybe she had real God-given talent. Whatever the reason, Zach swore he'd never heard anything so great in his twelve, almost thirteen, years.

Zach beamed a grin at Cayte and clapped like mad.

I want to own her so she will be mine forever.

"You are too kind, Zach," Cayte said.

"Ain't she somethin'?" Margaret said.

"She sure is," Zach said with way too much admiration for Margaret not to smirk.

"You're a peach," Cayte said. "So if you're psychic, can you tell me something?"

"What?" Zach asked, not sure where this was going.

"Am I gonna' be a country star?" Cayte asked with a toss of her hair.

Zach decided she was joking and went along. He closed his eyes and began to hum, "Hmmmm-mmm-m-mmmmmm... I see..." He gave it a moment, "I see bright lights in your future. Guitars, Cadillacs, and hillbilly music," he said, pulling lyrics from a song his dad listened to many, many times while driving from fair to fair.

*****

Meanwhile, twelve hundred miles west of Zach’s thumping heart, Daphne Carter sat in the far section of the theater watching Simmons apply his craft. It was an early show, a once-a-month anomaly that she would do away with at Versailles.

Simmons was good, no doubt about that. He drew the people in, held them ever so close, and released them with the deft hand of a well-practiced conman.

Was Simon Simmons worth fifteen million dollars? The question had kept Daphne up the previous night; it nagged at her worse than her (probably) soon-to-be ex-husband. Daphne had nibbled antacids through the wee hours of the morning and made up her mind to come see the show to alleviate any doubts. It was working.

It was easy to think of Simmons as just another two-bit crook, but when you sat in his audience you knew better. His type of show may have been morally questionable, though there was nothing illegal about it, but this was Las Vegas. Sin City, for Christ's sake! Simon Simmons was a born entertainer. Daphne Carter made up her mind that she would have Simmons at Versailles or lose her job trying.

After the show, Daphne made her way to the front desk at Camelot and asked to speak with Jimmy Spinner. She hoped calling him "Jimmy" would let the girl at reception know they were old friends.
Were
they still friends? Daphne wondered. Would they be friends after the conversation that was about to take place? Some people held to the maxim, "there's no such thing as a free lunch," which Daphne liked just fine; but the one she had taped to the bottom of her desk drawer was, "there are no friends in business."

It took half an hour, but Daphne finally got in to see Camelot's entertainment director. Jimmy Spinner stood in his office looking two decades older than the last time Daphne had seen him, which was a few years prior at the Stardust implosion.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Spinner said, once he recognized his visitor.

"How you doing, Jimmy?"

"Can't complain. Wouldn't do me any good if I did, yadda, yadda - you know how it is. Yourself?"

"Not bad. Not bad at all," Daphne said.

"What brings you by?"

"Can't two old friends get together and reminisce without there being an ulterior motive?" Daphne said.

"You tell me..."

Daphne slumped into a chair across from where Spinner had just taken a seat at his desk, "Hell if I know anymore."

"So, we've come full circle. You want to tell me what you're doing in my office without so much as phoning ahead?"

"We go back a long time, Jimmy."

Here we go, Spinner thought with an inward roll of the eyes. On the outside he didn't so much as twitch.

Daphne continued, "I'm in a bit of a situation. I need to know if Camelot would be receptive to a contract buy-out for Simon Simmons."

Jimmy Spinner leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped above his head, a wide grin on his face.

"You still sore you missed your shot?" Spinner asked.

"Who knew a psychic would be such a draw?"

Me, Daphne, that's who. You condescending succubus!

Spinner shrugged.

"I know he's got a year and change left on it. I'm willing to offer Camelot three point five for that time."

"I don't know," Spinner said slowly. "He pulls in the best kind of people, superstitious. Nothing better than a rube who believes if they lose enough eventually they'll win because they somehow earned it."

Now Daphne smiled and cocked an eyebrow, "That's not a 'no'."

"We’re friends, Daphne, so I'll level with you. The guys upstairs aren't sure they want him back. He's a good draw, no question, but there are other mitigating factors. First off, I don't trust his manager, Wright, as far as I can throw him. You know he's been in prison?"

"I've heard," Daphne said. She knew all about it. It had come up while they were vetting Simmons a couple years back. "I heard it was for fraud. I think pairing with Simmons he may have found a legitimate niche."

"You don't believe Simmons is psychic?" Spinner asked, grinning.

Daphne looked at Spinner quizzically.

The man's eyes lingered on hers a moment before he resumed. "Regardless, there are issues beyond Simmons' sidekick. In the time he's been here, Simmons has had around a dozen paternity suits brought against him."

"Outcome?" Daphne asked.

"As far as the state of Nevada is concerned, Simon Simmons has no children. I think he's either sterile or had a vasectomy. Wouldn't matter if it was one or two, that's just women looking for handouts. A dozen or so means he's fuckin' anything that'll say yes - hopefully he's not forcing the ones who don't."

"Yes. Liking the ladies is not abnormal for a guy in his position."

"I know it's not," Spinner sighed, his grin evaporating.  "It's just... I can't explain it, the guy rubs me the wrong way. There's something about him I don't like. I mean, he's a diva, but you expect to deal with divas in my line of work. It's like the guy thinks his actions have no consequences, that nothing will stick. But I tell you, he's no Gotti.”

"What about my offer, Jimmy?"

"If you want to keep it on the table after what I've told you, I will bring it upstairs and see what they think."

Daphne rose from the chair, "I look forward to hearing from you."

They shook hands. Spinner said, "Good to see you again, Daphne. Don't be a stranger."

"You too, Jimmy. See you around."

Daphne turned and left. Spinner watched her go, letting out a soft whistle once she was out of earshot.

*****

The second day of the Texas State Fair was hotter than the first. Walter, eyes still blurry from the previous night's bender, manned his station dutifully. He took the money of people who wanted to see the Boy Psychic, which is what Walter had hurriedly scrawled in cheap black paint on an old white board he'd found behind the barn. It wasn't a clever title but Walter figured they needed some way for people to identify them. That way they could tell their friends. Sweat trickled down his back in a nearly constant stream and he wondered how much water a person could lose before they collapsed.

The highlight of his ticket-taking session was the two blondes who'd come for the show. Walter figured they were sisters, one a little younger than the other. He watched them walk by, into the barn, refusing to take the next person's money until the ladies had found seats and his view was obstructed.

Zach used a knot-hole in the barn wall to see the crowd. It didn't take long to pick out Margaret and Cayte, who sat as near to the front as possible. Zach pulled his eye from the hole and rested his back against the building. Cayte’s presence had him riding the edge between nervous and excited.

As the boy stood outside the barn, his mind wandered back to when his mother was alive. Once, she'd taken him to see a medium. Zach was too young then to understand what was really going on with the "readings". As he grew, especially after his mother passed, he thought back to that man who passed along messages from the other side. Zach had desperately wanted to speak with his mother again. He went so far as to buy a book entitled, "Being a Medium for Fun and Profit." The book detailed "cold reading" an audience. The book shattered his dream of an after-life, and ignited a new, darker pursuit.