“But will he? I’ve worked carnivals, circuses, and sideshows when it was politically correct to pay money to point, stare, and laugh at what were called freaks of nature. The real freaks aren’t created by nature. Greed is the mother of most spiritual mutants. Evil is their father. Mr. O’Brien, the Bandinis aren’t freaks of nature, they’re products of gluttony. After you and Nick leave, I will be questioned by them. When this season ends, I’m hanging it up. You’d best be going now.”
“Before I leave, tell me, do you know where I can find Courtney?”
“No.”
I watched him for a moment. “I think you know. And you believe that by not telling me, she will be better for it. She won’t. That’s no guess. It’s a fact. You have my number. If you change your mind, call me. If you hear from Courtney, have her call me.”
Nick and I left and walked toward the midway, the two men following us trying to blend into the crowd. I glanced at the House of Mirrors and caught a quick reflection of the Guesser still sitting on his stool, watching us leave. For an instant, he resembled a character from a Lewis Carroll book, Tweedledee or was it Tweedledum? All I could remember from Through the Looking Glass was something about how a large black crow swooped down on the little men.
Even through the noise from the midway, somewhere near the vanishing point of my perception, I thought I heard the mocking cries of a crow.
30
From the west side of the midway to the lot where I’d parked my Jeep, it happened. The two guys tailing us disappeared. Maybe they thought we’d spotted them. Maybe they’d decided to ask Isaac Solminski what we’d chatted about. He was a savvy carny. A survivor. Smart. He’d tell them what he wanted Bandini to know.
The parking lot was nearly filled. My Jeep was parked between two yellow school buses, almost invisible from any passersby. Nick glanced over his shoulder and said, “Looks like the dudes are gone. You think that guesser guy really doesn’t know where to find Courtney?”
“I believe he knows, but until he trusts us, he’s keeping his cards close to his red vest. In the meantime, the feds and police will tighten the dragnet for her.”
Walking across the lot, my phone rang in my jeans pocket. Dave Collins said, “Sean, you and Nick had better get back here. This thing with Senator Logan’s wife is gaining traction. The video with you and her in the coffee shop has more than two million views on YouTube. Kim Davis told me that a TV news satellite truck drove up a little while ago and parked in front of the Tiki Bar. Looks like something’s going down. The final Republican primary debate is tomorrow night. I have a feeling your former relationship with the senator’s wife might be part of the agenda.”
I listened to Dave as I unlocked the Jeep, Nick walking around to the passenger side. From the reflection on the Jeep’s side window, I noticed a slight movement inside the school bus behind me. Maybe a student. Maybe the driver. Maybe not.
The bus door flew open and Randal Barnes stood on the step with a .357 pointed at me. “Hands up asshole!”
I dropped my phone and lifted my arms as a second man came from behind Barnes. “You too!” he yelled at Nick. Nick’s hands shot straight up. Both men stepped out of the school bus, Barnes first, followed by the guy who wasn’t showing a pistol. He seemed to be the leader. He was tall, hawk faced with dirty blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. He wore a tank top, steroid biceps, Australian bush hat, and an alligator-tooth necklace. A knife protruded from a sheath on his hip. Gatorman looked at Nick, “Move! Stand beside your pal.”
Nick’s jawline popped. His dark eyes narrowed. He rolled his shoulders and walked around the Jeep and stood to my left, closest to the Jeep.
Gatorman said, “We really don’t need the silencer. So much noise at the carnival, nobody would ever hear us pop you dudes. You with the Hawaiian shirt on, turn around and put your hands on the top of the Jeep.”
I complied and he lifted my shirttail, pulling the Glock out of my belt.
He held my Glock and said, “Turn around and stand next to your pal.”
Nick and I stood beside each other. Gatorman slipped my Glock beneath his belt next to his right pants pocket.
Barnes moved to my right, gun pointed at my chest. He said, “You fucked up when you pulled a gun on Smitty.”
I smiled. “Thought you didn’t know anybody called Smitty.”
“Shut up!”
Gatorman stepped next to Barnes and sneered, his predator teeth small, lips thin. “Nobody walks into Mr. Bandini’s sandbox and pulls a pistol on one of his employees. Sends the wrong message.”
“Why doesn’t Carlos tell me that?”
“That’s what he’s doin.’ We’re just delivering the message.”
I watched Gatorman. His first mistake was sliding the Glock under his belt. So the immediate plan was to remove the cocked gun from Barnes’ right hand, the same hand where the tattoo on top of his fingers spelled E-V–I- L.
Gatorman pursed his thin lips, looked away for a second, and then cut his red-rimmed eyes to me. He shook his head like a disapproving parent. I knew he’d say something mild, non-threatening, before he made his move. Keep the prey off-guard. In that moment, I wished I could warn Nick. Gatorman said, “Maybe you boys can promise to never come back to our sandbox and we can all do what we do without gettin’ in each other’s ways. Follow what I’m sayin’?
Nick nodded and glanced at me. That one second was the green light. Gatorman slammed his fist into Nick’s mouth. Barnes aimed the pistol at my head. The tattooed E on his trigger finger less than three feet from my face. Come a little closer, I hoped. As Nick wobbled, holding onto the Jeep’s hood, blood spurting from his mouth, I pressed the emergency button on the key remote in my left hand. Barnes whirled around toward the Jeep. Green light in my lane. I hit him hard as I could on the left jaw. He fell to his knees like he was hit with a Taser. He dropped the pistol on his way to the sawdust. I scooped it up and had the barrel pointed at Gatorman before he could pull the Glock out of his belt.
I nodded. “Nick, get my gun.”
Nick held his left hand to his bleeding mouth and pulled the Glock from Gatorman’s belt. As soon as Nick stepped back, Gatorman said, “You have no fuckin’ idea what you’re doing.”
“You’re wrong. I have more than an idea, I have a plan. Let’s call it a business plan. Here’s bullet point number one.” I fired a shot, the bullet making a thump in the sawdust next to his left foot.
“You’re fuckin’ crazy!” His eyes jutted, a string of saliva hanging from his lower lip.
“You’re probably right about that. Bullet point number two will be through the top of your foot if you think of lying to me. What and how much is Bandini running?”
He glared at me, a vein moving like an earthworm under his right eye. I pointed the pistol at his shoe.
“Okay! Fuck! He’s runnin’ coke, crystal meth, and heroin. Used to sell a lotta weed ‘til they started making the shit legal in some states. And then the medical marijuana crap hurt business real bad.”
“How much is the family running?”
“What?”
“Quantities? How much do the Bandinis move?”
“I don’t know that. A shitload. They got six carnivals. They’re all over the country, which means their drug operation is all over the nation. Movin’ from one city to the next.”