“But Gibsonton was always on the cone,” Kyle said. “We just thought we’d be spared ’cause we always are.”
“Not always,” the woman sighed.
Behind her a sign with a colorful illustration of a giant Twinkie on a stick separated her from the bulk of the machinery. The place smelled of oil or lubricant. Outside the wind was howling. The rattle of the steel roof and debris came and went with each gust. I took a step back, sat on the ground, and leaned against the wheel of a trailer. I didn’t want to think of Lisa Moon out there in this mess. It was my fault. It was a stupid idea. I shouldn’t have come.
The blond small person sitting in the elephant shrieked with laughter. The woman glanced back at him, then at me, and touched the side of her head. “Foley’s a little... you know...”
“Aren’t we all?”
She laughed. “You’re all right, Mister...”
“Riley. Wesley Riley.”
She nodded. “Funny how the storm brought us together.”
“You live down here full-time?”
“Born and raised,” she said. “Met my husband Ricky when he came down for the Lobster Boy trial. He’s a nephew of Harry Glenn Newman, world’s smallest man. I was testifyin’ against Christopher Wyant. I seen Mary talkin’ to him ’bout shootin’ Lobster Boy a couple weeks before he done it. Yeah, we’re showfolks to the bone, ran quite a business for a time. Nine rides, two concessions, and half a dozen full-time workers, ain’t that true, Kyle?”
Kyle stared at the ground and nodded, mumbled something about the financial crash of 2008.
“But we’re gettin’ back in the game. Tell’m, Kyle. Tell’m about the act.”
The wind grew loud and ominous like a train rushing overhead. We fell silent and looked up at the steel roof shaking and rattling under the pressure of the storm.
“Kyle!” Gail broke our trance. “Tell’m.”
Kyle’s eyes went wide. He swallowed hard. “We have this new act with Jacques Couteau. A real famous performer. Maybe you heard of him. Anyway, he’s one hell of a talented knife thrower, and—”
“We been practicing all year,” Gail interrupted. “Jacques and his gal Liz La Lune. She’s a real pretty gal. Got real talent for show.”
“It’s built like a play,” Kyle said. “We’ve got a whole drama. Foley here tries to steal Liz from Jacques and they start this back-and-forth dance, kind of like a jealous lover. So Jacques and Foley hate each other, but it’s Liz who’s playing them against each other. Jacques keeps throwing knifes—”
“No need to bore him with the details,” Gail cut in again. “Point is, Liz and Foley keep runnin’ round and Jacques keeps throwin’ knives but keeps missin’. It’s tragic and funny at the same time.”
“We just signed with an outfit out of Chico, California,” Kyle said.
“I’m gonna be in the circus!” Foley chirped from his perch on the elephant.
The freight-train sound shook my bones like a jackhammer. Then stopped. We looked at each other.
Foley hopped out of the elephant. “Is it over?”
“It’s the eye,” I said.
“It’s over!” Foley sang. “Over. Over. Over!”
“No. It’s just the eye,” I said.
“You don’t know that.” Kyle was already at the door. Gail and Foley followed him out. Then me. We walked together to the middle of the field. The VFW post was standing but the roof had blown away. The whole field was littered with debris, a fallen oak. The plastic VFW sign had flown off and gotten snagged on the barbed-wire fence. There was no rain or wind, just this deep pressure. I yawned to pop my ears.
“Look!” Kyle pointed. Someone was running toward us. “Ricky!”
Ricky was tall and thin with long gray hair in a ponytail. He swooped up Gail and kissed her on the mouth.
“Did you find Jacques?” Kyle asked.
Ricky put Gail down and shook his head, then nodded toward the warehouse. “We better get inside before the storm comes around again.”
We locked ourselves in the warehouse. Foley climbed back onto his ride and rocked back and forth in his perch while humming a song I didn’t recognize. Gail wouldn’t let go of Ricky’s hand. They sat together and watched Kyle fiddle with the radio, but all he got was a station playing Mexican music. Then the train sound started again, faster and louder and harder. Felt like it was going to pull the roof and the lot of us out into the night sky.
When the noise finally settled into a steady drone, Ricky stood. “I have bad news. Jacques Couteau’s dead.”
Kyle jumped to his feet. “What?”
“Someone did a number on him with his own knives. Chopped him up into little bits.”
“My God.” Gail lowered her head. “Who... who would—”
“Liz!” Kyle snapped. “It had to be Liz.”
“Cops found the body in the old train depot. Liz is with them. I think she’s the one who told them.”
“No...” I whispered. Jacques and Liz, Jack and Lisa. “He wasn’t French,” I said.
They looked at me.
“Well, he wasn’t,” I said. “And neither was Lisa.”
“What’re you talking about?” Ricky asked.
I looked down at the scar on my hand, the neat slice Jack’s fancy throwing knife made when it caught his rib and buckled. He begged for mercy in perfect English. He told me he would go away. He wouldn’t interfere. He swore again and again that he would leave. He would go to California and never look back, never contact Lisa — ever.
But that wasn’t the point. Lisa had to do it on her own. She had to call me. She had to need me. Otherwise she would always be looking past me for Jack. And it was working. She did call. She needed my help. But then...
I walked out of the warehouse. It was pouring rain and the wind was blowing hard. I made my way across the dark field to the Fairfax. The trailers were torn, mangled, and crushed against each other.
I turned. Ricky and the small people were standing across the street as two cop cars cruised slowly down Riverview Drive and pulled into the entrance of the Fairfax. In the front seat of the second car I could make out Lisa Moon. She was crying, her face slightly distorted from pain or anger, her hand raised, pointing at me.
Part IV
Family Secrets
It’s Not Locked Because It Don’t Lock
by Ladee Hubbard
Lake Maggiore
Cedric and Gerard hadn’t seen each other in five years, not since Gerard’s mom got remarried and Gerard went to live with his father in Tallahassee. Then, out of the blue, just as Cedric was coming home from work one evening, the phone rang: it was Gerard calling to say he was back in town and wanted to know if they could get together. Cedric borrowed his sister-in-law’s car and drove out to Gerard’s mom’s house to pick him up. When he got there a tall, heavy-set man was standing in the driveway. He didn’t even recognize the man as Gerard until he started walking toward the car, pulled open the passenger-side door, plopped down next to him, and smiled.
“Look at you,” Cedric said.
“Been a minute, huh?”
“What happened? You’re like a foot taller than the last time I saw you.”
“I grew up, man. That’s all.” Gerard smiled. “Thanks for giving me a ride.”
“No problem. It’s good to see you. Wish it was different circumstances.”
Gerard reached around and fastened his seat belt and Cedric put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. They cruised at parade speed down 28th Avenue, rolling past hacienda-style houses with tile roofs and sprinklers shooting jets of water above well-manicured lawns.