Time Was (39 page)

“Sorry, Lawrence, but you're money's no good here for the next fifteen minutes.”

The boy's eyes grew so wide they threatened to burst from the sockets.
“Really?”

“Why, sir, I never lie, not to a sharp-witted gentleman like yourself, nosir. Why, I can take one look at you and know that here's a man who knows the value of a dollar, by gosh, and he
knows
a bargain when he sees one—”

Lawrence and his mother were both laughing, and the sound was music to Morgan's ears.

“—see there?” he cried. “You're laughing because you can tell that you've got me
rattled!
Yes, indeed. And there's only one thing I can do when a customer so smart as you rattles me, and that's to tell them that their money's no good here for the next fifteen minutes, so I'll just take that pistol away from you”—he did—“and I'll be giving you the sharp customer's sharp-shootinest-shooter that was ever sharply shot!” With a flourish, he handed Lawrence a plastic rifle filled with water. “Go on then, sir, take aim and see if you can't make the clown's tie burst! Win yourself any of the grand prizes you see hanging on the wall behind me.”

The boy's face glowed.

He looked the way Morgan was feeling inside at the moment, knowing that
she
was going to be here soon. . . .

Rudy walked along the midway, keeping pace with DocScrap and the Piece, wondering how soon he should make his move.

He had a couple of options; he could wait until they were so wrapped up in whatever it was they came here to do (it was obvious even to Rudy that they were up to something more than just a night out) that there was no way they'd be expecting trouble, or he could hit them now, while things were just really shifting into high gear. The place was crowded enough, that was for damn sure, and he was close enough to make his move—

—whoa, hold the phone.

Rudy stopped dead in his tracks and knelt down as if about to tie his shoelaces.

Except he was wearing boots.

Had he remembered to bring the Cutter with him?

He knelt, made a pantomime of tying his nonexistent laces, and ran his right hand up the right side of his right boot, relieved to find that the sheath was indeed taped in place under his pant leg.

He rose, shook his pant leg back down over the boot, and felt the solid tap of the Cutter's hilt against his calf.

Ten inches of the sharpest steel you could find.

Guaranteed to cut through bone as easily as a finger through melted butter.

Rudy grinned as he continued on his way, thinking about the awesome scene in the old movie
Apocalypse Now
where that fat Marlon Brando guy walks past Charlie Sheen's old man and tosses down that one dude's face.

Cut it right off like it was a mask.

That's what Rudy intended to do to DocScrap with the Cutter.

He looked behind him, caught a glimpse of the redheaded bitch stopping at one of the booths where you tossed balls at a row of stuffed cats, then made his way across the midway and fell into step a few yards behind the Doc and his Piece.

Now, or later?

He looked back toward the entrance.

People were pouring in. You'd think no one in these parts had ever seen a carnival before.

Lots of people.

All of them looking around and trying to decide what to do first, where to go.

Early confusion.

So Rudy, looking back at his prey, made a snap decision.

You're gonna have to stop at one of these booths sometime, doesn't matter if it's to get something to drink or shoot at rubber duckies, you're gonna have to stop soon.

Then you're all mine. . . .

Killaine watched carefully as the first customer, a teenage girl, stepped up to the “Six Cat” booth, paid her fifty cents, and was given three baseballs by the operator.

“We got ourselves an athletic-looking young lady here,” said the operator. “Looks like she's a ballplayer, folks! I think I might just be lookin' at our first winner of the night here! Stand back, stand back, give 'er room.”

Killaine scanned the interior of the booth.

Not only was there a Flash Cloth—a colorful drape—covering the counter, but one was laid out on the floor of the booth, and a third hung down from the shelf where the three large stuffed cat dolls were placed.

The young woman drew back and threw her first ball, hitting the center cat dead-center and knocking it off the shelf.

“One down and two to go,” shouted the operator. “I'm in deep trouble here, folks!”

Killaine saw the shape of the cord that ran from under the counter to the side of the booth, then snaked along the length to vanish under the shelf. The shape of the cord was very subtle—most would mistake it for a simple wrinkle in the cloth—but she knew what it meant.

The girl threw her second ball, hit the cat on the right with such force it flew off the shelf and slammed into the rear of the tent with a loud
whumpf!

“Two down, only one to go, folks! See the way my hands are shaking? I'm about to lose my shirt here to this lovely little lady!”

Killaine knew what was happening right this second.

The operator, standing just a bit closer to the edge of the counter than he had been before, was pressing his foot down on a pedal hidden beneath the counter Flash Cloth.

That peddle activated a rod that ran along the length of the booth, engaging a small brace that was moving forward to catch the remaining cat.

The girl threw her third ball and hit the last cat on its base.

The cat wobbled, started to fall backward—

—then, miraculously, regained its balance and stayed in place.

The onlookers all groaned their disappointment and the girl stamped her foot and said a most unladylike word.

“Oh,
too bad
,” said the operator, grabbing two fresh cat dolls and placing them on the shelf. “You had me worried there for a minute, young lady. But don't fret! Nothing worth having is ever easy!” He held out three more balls. “Try your luck again!”

“I got your balls right here,” said the girl's boyfriend, putting his arm around her and pulling her away from the booth.

Many of the onlookers followed.

The operator looked around, rolling one of the balls between his hands, then caught sight of Killaine.

“Ma'am, if you don't mind my sayin' you look even more formidable than my last customer. What say you give this game of skill a chance? Why, for a mere fifty cents you can—”

“No thanks,” said Killaine, pulling out the fake ID Itazura had whipped up the night before. Flipping open the wallet, she displayed her identification, along with a gold badge.

“Karen Williams,” she said, “State Gambling Commission.”

“. . . son-of-a-bitch . . .” muttered the operator.

Killaine closed the wallet and pointed to the side of the booth. “Mind showing me what that lump over there is?”

The operator looked to the spot where the shape of the rod was evident, wiped some sweat from his face, then stepped to the edge of the counter and gestured for Killaine to come closer.

“Look, ma'am,” he whispered, “I can't afford to get busted any more this year. Isn't there some”—he looked around to make sure there were no customers approaching—“some way you and me can come to some sort of agreement?”

“Can you be a little more specific?”

“I mean, what's gonna happen to me if you haul me in? I'll do a couple days in jail and pay a fine. What say you and me just skip the middle of the process and I'll pay the fine to you right here.”

Killaine tilted her head to the side, considering. “Well, I don't know about that, friend. We've had several complaints about the games at this particular carny, and the suits are gunning for a bust.

I let you off and someone finds out, there'll be hell to pay. Know what I mean?”

“I wouldn't expect you to take that kind of a chance for nothin', no, ma'am.” He was looking outright panicky now. “I mean, I'll be more than happy to throw in somethin' extra for your trouble.”

Killaine drummed her fingers on the counter. “Give me a number.”

“Five hundred.”

“Give me a better number.”

“Eight hundred.”

She squinted her eyes at him, took a deep breath, then exhaled and said, “Tell you what I'm gonna do. In about ten minutes an associate of mine will come over to play the game. Let him win—give him that portable radio up there. Let him stick for you for the next hour or so.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“At the end of the hour, you give him the eight hundred. At the end of the evening, I'll come back and settle for ten percent of the night's take. For my trouble, you understand.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She described Itazura to him, then reached over and put a hand on his shoulder, applying some pressure as she squeezed.

The operator visibly winced.

“Don't try anything,” she said. “You make a move to skip, and I'll be all over you.”

“Wouldn't . . . wouldn't think of it. I'm a cooperating type.”

“You'd better be.”

She let go of him and just happened to glance down the midway.

She saw Zac and Radiant standing at Morgan's booth.

She saw the little boy excitedly shooting water at the clown within, his smiling mother standing just off to the side.

And she saw Mr. “Guess-I'm-Not-too-Swift-Tonight,” from the parking lot, his clown-face looking around him as he approached Morgan's booth.

Unzipping his windbreaker.

Crossing his arms over his chest as his hands went under the jacket.

She had just enough time to think,
shoulder holsters
, before things got crazy. . . .

Zac and Radiant were taking their time along the midway—they'd stopped at a dart-throw booth where Zac won a small stuffed elephant—but it was obvious that Radiant wanted to get to Morgan's booth and “read” his energy.

“Would you slow down a little?” said Zac. “You pull any harder on my arm and you're going to pop my shoulder.”

“Sorry,” said Radiant. “It's just that I'm so
happy
for Killaine, you know?”

“I know.” He tried to figure out what to do with the elephant, couldn't find a pocket big enough to stuff it in, and so settled for just hanging on to it and feeling like a big kid.

“She's been so alone for so long,” said Radiant. “I just can't help but want to get a reading on the man who stole her heart.”

“Okay, okay,” said Zac, realizing that Radiant, for once, wasn't totally absorbed in herself; she hardly noticed the unadulterated looks of lust she was attracting from the men who passed by them. “We'll go to his booth—but could you
please
calm down? If we get over there and you start jumping up and down with glee, he might think something's wrong.”

“Party pooper.”

“Yeah,” said Zac. “I get a lot of complaints about that.”

They sauntered slowly to the area where Morgan's booth was located.

“There's a lot of joy coming from there,” said Radiant. “Crystal wings and song. There's a child there, isn't there?”

“And a darned cute little boy he is, too.”

“I knew it! But there's also . . . wait a second . . . there's also a feeling of great
relief
from his mother.”

“She looks happy that he's enjoying himself.”

Radiant shook her head. “It's more than that. There's an echo of . . .”

“What are you doing?”

Radiant looked at Zac. “Something about the way she looks . . . could I just expand my neurofield enough to get a sense of her feelings, nothing more?”

“A couple of seconds, no longer.”

“Thank you.” Radiant expanded her awareness for a moment. “ . . . pain . . . ugly pain under the surface.”

They slowed their steps.

“What do you suppose that means?” asked Zac.

“There's a twisting sense of . . . I don't want to call it paranoia, but at the very least a constant fear.” She stopped for a moment. “Hold on, the energies are coalescing.”

“And . . .?”

Radiant held a hand to her mouth for a moment, made a sad sound, then whispered, “I'm sorry, Zac, I . . .” She shook her head, retracting the field back to only ten feet. “I'm sorry, I . . . I caught a few random strands of thought. I didn't mean to, it was an accident . . . but some of her thoughts are so close to the surface that—”

Zac touched her shoulder. “It was an accident, I'm not mad. But you caught something pretty serious, I can see that.”

Radiant nodded. “She and the boy are living at a shelter for abused women. I felt the resonance of the cumulative anxiety of the other women there. A group of them are here tonight for their kids.”

“Did you sense her husband's energy anywhere?”

“No, he's only a memory to her now. Distant. Probably in jail or prison. But the anxiety, the fear of him, is still very much a part of her.”

“Well, at least her boy's enjoying himself tonight.”

Radiant smiled. “Oh, yes, she's very proud of him. It felt like glowing, golden bliss. This means the world to her, hearing his laughter and seeing his smile.”

“That's what nights and places like this were designed for,” replied Zac.

“And I can . . . oh,
my.
”

“What is it?”

“I just caught a wave of Morgan's energy.”

They were less than three yards from Morgan's booth.

“And . . .?”

“There's great strength in him, Zac. He genuinely
loves
children and seeing their joy, but I pulled back. I want to respect his psychic privacy for Killaine's sake.”

And that's when Zac saw Morgan behind the counter.