Jamie and Dean sprinted away, past Doopy and Rufshod head-locking each other out in the main room. The circus music outside had stopped playing; the tricks had been sent home—the day's show was done. "He heard too much," Dean said when they came at last to a halt. "We're fucked."
"Maybe, but he can't talk. He can't tell the others what he heard."
"You sure about that?"
"Christ, Dean. No, I'm not, but let's hope it's right." They jogged through the showgrounds. It had changed its layout from what he remembered, but it wasn't long before Jamie found the alleyway with a popcorn vendor at one end. They walked casually into the alley's shadows, and no one seemed to see them. Jamie said, "Now look, this board here?" He wrenched it back. "Here's a place to hide. If you can't find a home in the showgrounds, stay out here. I can bring food and water, when no one's watching." Dean looked out at the abyss with wide eyes. "The path's only thin for a little while," Jamie said. "There's a wider platform out there. It's where the good guys used to meet when I was here last time."
"And how'd that work out for you?" Dean said, perhaps irritated because he had a bunch of new fears to contend with, including the drop to oblivion at his feet. "I'm going to try for a room first. This is—"
"jayyy, meeeee!" a singsong voice called. "Wherefore art thou, most handsomest clown of all?"
"Fuck! It's JJ. Go, Dean, get out there. Don't let him know we're using this spot."
"Look, is he on our side or not?"
"I don't know. I'll be back as soon as I can. Hold onto the fence as you go around." Jamie sprinted from the alley before JJ could find him there, although maybe JJ would guess where he'd been anyway. A hand grabbed his shoulder; he jumped and screamed.
"So nervous," JJ observed. "That's quite a flinch. What shenanigans have got your nerve strings all aquiver?"
"Ah, you know, I'm just looking for some action."
"Look no further! Some action comes our way. Gonko sent me to find you, wants you to witness the proudest moment in clown history. That's what he said."
"Lead the way my man," said Jamie with forced cheer. JJ skipped off ahead and Jamie could think only of waking in their shared body, covered in blood, with shared memories of killing, murder, death . . .
•
On a patch of turf near the Funhouse there was a large bucket that spun on an axle. Below it was a steel cover, which opened when a pedal was stepped on. It was into this bucket that management—either one of the Pilo brothers or a trusted lackey—would drop the tribute for those below, sometimes several bucket loads, which then dropped down a chute, passed along a tunnel and fed the dust to the bosses beneath. Carny rats had an old tradition of coming by immediately after, to scavenge anything that may have spilled to the ground, the odds reckoned roughly a one perfect chance for any spillage at all, rarer still for a goodly amount (rare, but not unheard of.) Tonight's odds, of course, were substantially lower; for the first time in memory, a show had been put on with not a single grain of powder offered to those below.
Consequently, in George's boarded up trailer, the phone began to ring.
For an hour, it rang. In that time it became the sound of insanity itself. George knew he was fucked, whether he picked it up or ignored it. Taking it off the hook alone did not stop it ringing. So he ignored it, right up until it seemed the pain of its ring drilling in his skull was worse than anything they might dish out. He put the earpiece to his ear. The tense silence spread beyond his trailer; the din of expectant chatter outside quieted down to nothing.
Through the earpiece came what may have been breathing. George sucked in air to say "Hello," but at that moment came "you. are. doomed."
"Aw, c'mon!"
"come. below. now."
"I can't. I'm trapped in my trailer, see? Long story. And see, I'd love nothing more than to come explain to you all what happened, but we have a little trouble up here, and these employees are getting rowdy. It's Kurt's fault really. Kurt was interfering with the show. You gotta get rid of him, then it'll all go back to normal."
"come. below. now."
"Why wouldn't you ever help me when I asked?" George's voice went shrill. Outside, many listened with interest. "I told you something fishy was going on up here, but you didn't even—"
"come. now."
"I can't!"
"then one shall. be sent. for you. and your. torment. made worse." The line went dead.
•
"Say, George, everything okay in there?" Gonko called. "Just weep hysterically if there's anything Uncle Gonko can do for ya."
The quiet sobbing was not hysterical, but it was still a pretty sweet symphony. A fair crowd had gathered by now, mostly waiting for their promised cut of George's fabled private stash, but many who bore scars from the lash were, like Gonko, enjoying the show. JJ kicked and shoved a path through the crowd, earning hateful glares for he and Jamie, who followed him.
"Where's the cut you promised us?" someone in the crowd yelled at Gonko, provoking a chorus of "Yeah!" and "Where's the goods?"
Gonko looked out at the gathered faces for whoever had initiated this hassle, to make note of another carny rat to visit when all was normal again. In so doing he spotted Jamie and JJ, gestured for them to come near, whispered: "Go up top; get my stash. Divvy it into small bags—just a pinch in each. Any amount will be a feast to these turds. Hell, just get me twenty bags, then they can duke it out themselves. Hustle! I'm trying to enjoy the demise of George here, and now they bug me with this crap."
"Should we do that other thing, boss?" said JJ. Jamie looked at him sidelong and saw eagerness.
"Not yet. We ought to know George's future in the next hour or two. Then we'll talk."
***
17. ABOVE
It was quiet among the tents in the twilight above—in fact, so quiet Jamie felt the hairs on his neck stand up. There was no snoring, or murmuring in sleep that was the usual late-night soundtrack to the aboveground show at night. JJ seemed not to notice, happily whistling as he retrieved a shovel from under the caravan and went to the buried stash. "What's with you, Jamie?" he said, pausing mid dig and looking into Jamie's eyes with his own flat buttons.
"What do you mean?"
"You gone all quiet just lately. All quiet and thinky."
"Guess I'm just trying to think up a plan, as to what we can do about all this. It might be different for you, but I come from a place where all of this stuff is not normal. Freaks me out sometimes, you know? We're not taking on an easy job."
JJ resumed digging. "Job? Oh, all that stuff you wanna do. Guess I forgot about it."
Jamie tried not to make it obvious that he watched JJ closely. Could not a suicidal, homicidal loon be made valuable to almost any cause? Maybe tasks awaited that Jamie and Dean simply had no stomach for. But what he now remembered of JJ troubled him deeply; the clown may have agreed to help them on a moment's whim, which could change literally at any second, with JJ blabbing what he knew to Gonko or Kurt. Suddenly Jamie and Dean were in one hell of a hurry or . . . a quiet voice suggested deep from his mind's recesses, there were ways to ensure JJ wouldn't say a word of it to anyone, ever . . .
"Help me bag this stuff," said JJ, yanking out one of the powder sacks from its hole. "Don't just stand there deep in contemplative thought."