by Jack Lugar
“And you are?” he asked.
I realized that I hadn’t made up a clown name when he asked, so I tried to come up with something quickly. “I’m Mr. Bumble Britches,” I said.
“I like that,” Tiny Tom said as he nodded. “Very appropriate for a clown.”
I let out a mental sigh, feeling I’d once again averted blowing my cover.
“So are you lost?” he asked.
“Oh, no, I was wanting to see the strongcat,” I replied.
Tiny Tom nodded and said, “That accident was really unfortunate.”
“Who would’ve thought a paw could swell so big it couldn’t fit in a clown shoe,” I responded.
“I’ve seen clowns cry before, but usually it’s to make a cat laugh,” he added.
“So do you know where I can find the strongcat?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said. “She’s just around the corner in the green room.”
“Thanks.”
“You bet.” Tiny Tom responded cordially. And as he made his way out the tent, he turned to me and said, “Don’t be a stranger, Bumble.”
I waved to him as I watched him disappear into the sunlight. And then it hit me. Did he say “she”? Maybe I didn’t hear him correctly, I thought. Strongcats are supposed to be tomcats - big, hulking, larger-than-life tomcats.
Of course, the only way to find out was to walk around the corner and see for myself, which is what I did. I turned the corner and found almost exactly what I was expecting. A big, hulking, larger-than-life strongcat. I also confirmed that I did not hear Tiny Tom wrong. This cat was a “she” and there was no denying it. Despite her size, she was every bit a lady cat, oozing of femininity from her perfectly applied make up to her shimmering violet leotard. Even the way she held the two-hundred-pound barbell in one paw without strain displayed a feminine grace.
As soon as she saw me, she set the barbell down and ran over to me. “Oh, honey, you don’t want to be in here,” she exclaimed. “The last clown that was didn’t walk out.”
The way she said it with her lilting voice was so soft and kind, and also, somewhat humorous because she made it sound like the clown didn’t survive the broken paw. As I already knew, the accident was real and the clown didn’t walk out, but he did survive.
“Don’t worry,” I assured her. “I think I’m safe.”
“You can never be too sure,” she warned. “I’m a dangerous cat.”
“I’ll bet you are,” I concurred as I admired her imposing presence.
She seemed to relax a bit when I confirmed that I wasn’t afraid of her dropping a barbell on me. As she circled me, admiring my costume, a scratching sound came from a box in the corner. We both paused for a moment and looked toward the box. I looked at her quizzically.
She smiled softly and said, “A little morsel I caught.”
I smiled back and nodded.
“As I said, I’m a dangerous cat.”
I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or take a step back. She certainly was intimidating, but I was figuring the “morsel” she spoke of was a mouse and that I was still safe.
There was an awkward but brief moment of silence before she continued her assessment of my attire before she changed the subject and asked, “You new here?”
“You could say that,” I verified. Of course, this was my first day, but the meaning of my answer probably wasn’t what she understood me to say. “I was just wandering around to get familiar with the place. The sideshow tent is always a great place to feel the pulse of a carnival.”
She smiled at me and asked, “What do you think so far?”
“Between you and Tiny Tom…” I paused for effect. “I like it.”
She blushed and batted her eyes, obviously flattered. “You certainly are a charming clown.”
I smiled, knowing that my charm had put me in a good position to ask questions that might otherwise seem suspicious. “I’m Mr. Bumble Britches.”
She laughed at my name before apologizing.
“No need to say you’re sorry. I’m a clown. I’m supposed to make you laugh.”
“Gigantress, the Strongcat,” she said as she extended a lioness sized paw. “My friends call me Gigi.”
Shaking her paw, I could feel her strength rippling through her hidden claws. She truly was a strongcat. I made it a point to take in her surroundings as we spoke, noting the rack with dumbbells and weight lifting bench, a makeshift changing room, and a couple more holes in opposite corners. This made me wonder if moles were connected to the sabotage, so I added it to my list of clues to investigate further.
“You know, I was wondering…” I paused again trying to draw out her curiosity.
“You were wondering what?” she inquired.
“Oh, it’s really none of my business. Please forget I even said anything.”
“It’s okay, Bumble. Is it okay if I call you Bumble?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I assured her.
“Please, you can ask me anything,” Gigi said, encouraging me.
“I just… I wondered how the weight fell off the bar.”
Her eyes saddened as she remembered that moment before responding, “I wish I knew. I put the weights on the bar myself that morning, and double checked that they were secure like I always do.”
“And was anyone else around at that time?” I asked.
“Not that I remember,” she answered. “Tiny Tom had been here riding the two-headed goat, but he left before Bobo Bananas came in.”
That was the first time I’d heard Bobo Bananas name, so I had to fight the temptation to laugh. I clenched my jaw to keep the smile off my face much like I was fighting a yawn. Successfully resisting the urge chuckle, I asked, “Why was Bobo even here?”
“He said that I had asked for him to come over.”
“Did you?”
“No. And now he thinks I dropped the weight on him on purpose,” Gigi said looking to me and silently asking for support. “But I didn’t. I assume you know him, being a clown and all, but don’t believe him if he tells you anything like that. I wouldn’t hurt a flea. Literally. Some of my best friends are in the flea circus.”
“You said someone sent him to see you?”
Confirming, Gigi said, “Yes.”
“Any idea who did that?
Gigi shook her head no. “I guess it’s a lost cause.”
“I hope not,” I said thinking I might perk her spirits. I was also thinking that the best detective in New Purrt, Catifornia was on the case, and if anyone could solve this mystery, it would be me.
I told Gigi that I was glad to meet her, and I looked forward to seeing her perform. My kind comment was the truth too because having not been to a carnival in so long and never having seen a female strongcat, I was very curious. She returned the compliment, expressing interest in my performance, and I thanked her. At that, I did a goofy clown dance, or at least something that I thought might look like a goofy clown dance and backed my way out of the room.
It seemed logical that I should find Bobo Bananas and see if I could connect some of these loose puzzle pieces that I had gathered. I wondered who had directed Bobo to go see Gigi and why. Other than being performers at the carnival, what was Bobo and Gigi’s connection?
And I still didn’t have an answer to what had happened to the broken wire from the tightrope walking act. After meeting with Bobo, I probably needed to find my way back to C. T. Barncat and have him fill in some of the blanks.
As I found my way back to the Clown Show tent, I was greeted by a rush of patrons running out of the tent in a panic. If I had been one step earlier, I might have been knocked over and trampled by a hundred cats. There are worse things that can happen because cats are pretty light on their feet, but it still would have been unpleasant.
I couldn’t see what was causing all the commotion, but I could smell the distinct scent of smoke. And where there’s smoke, there’s fire. So as the last audience member escaped the tent, I ran it to see what needed to be do
ne. I could see the yellow and orange flames consuming a section of the bleachers to the right side of the stage. Having been trained in fire safety as a Cat Cop, I ran across the stage area toward the fire, looking to see if any of the buckets on the stage either still had water and make sure they weren’t filled with confetti. You can imagine what throwing a bucket of confetti on a fire would do.
Fortunately, I found two buckets that were still filled with water, so I grabbed both as I continued toward the flames. Quickly, I was able to douse the fire with the aid of both buckets of water, leaving only a few crackles and pops and a lot of smoke. That section of bleachers was going to need a lot of repair, but the rest of the tent and stage area appeared to be unscathed.
Setting the buckets back in the stage area, I exited the smoky tent by the back exit. I still had a job to do and that was to speak with Bobo. Stepping into the daylight, I discovered that I didn’t have to go far to find him. In fact, he was seated just outside the tent doorway looking a bit winded.
Seeing his heavily bandaged foot, I was able to make the quick connection. “You must be Bobo,” I said.
He looked up at me from his seat and scowled. He was not a happy clown, and understandably so, because he had been seated in the section of bleachers that had caught on fire. Since he couldn’t be in the show, he was watching, still dressed as a clown. When the fire broke out, he had to hobble all the way across the tent to get outside. “What do you want?” he replied.
“I was just seeing if you were all right,” I said, attempting to cut the tension.
“All right?” he huffed. “Do I look all right?” I was about to respond when he continued on. “This is the second time in a week that I’ve almost died”
“So then maybe you should be happy,” I suggested.
“Happy?”
“Sure. Because you didn’t die,” I pointed out. “You’re alive and… well… that seems like something to be happy about.”
He paused and looked to the ground for a moment. When he looked back up at me, he smiled and said, “Spoken like a true clown.”
“That’s what I am,” I replied as I smiled back and honked my big red nose.
His smile faded quickly. “So are you taking my job?” Bobo asked suspiciously.
I laughed enthusiastically at the thought, but I might have been a little too enthusiastic. I think he perceived it as more of a devious, scheming laugh even though it was sincerely expressed considering the absurdity of the idea. Of course, I had no intention of taking Bobo’s job no matter how much I enjoyed my debut performance as a clown.
“I can assure you I’m only here temporarily.”
Just as I was about to engage Bobo in a few investigative questions, I saw C. T. Barncat being led around to the backside of the Clown Show tent by the same clown cat that had dragged me into the show. “This is the cat right here, Mr. Barncat,” I could hear the clown cat say in a squeaky voice. “He’s the one who put out the fire.”
“You saved the clown show tent and everyone in it?” C. T. Barncat questioned enthusiastically.
“Actually the tent was empty by the time I got here,” I clarified, “but I did put out the fire.”
Mr. Barncat shook my paw enthusiastically, his smile extending from ear-to-ear. It was a humorous moment because I could tell Mr. Barncat didn’t know that it was me. My disguise was so good, I even had the one cat that knew I was at the carnival fooled.
“What’s your name, son?” he inquired.
At the moment, I couldn’t reveal that it was me and not one of his hired clowns, so I responded, “Bumble… Bumble Britches.”
He laughed a booming laugh of pleasure at my name. “I love it,” he exclaimed as he looked to the others. It was then that he spotted Bobo and asked, “Bobo, are you all right?”
Bobo, being the grumpy cat clown I’d come to expect, grunted and replied, “I’m not dead.”
This elicited a hearty laugh from his boss as he said, “You’ve always had a great sense of humor!”
Bobo followed that with the most deadpan, “I guess that’s why I’m a clown.”
Turning his attention back to me, C. T. Barncat demanded, “You must join me at my tent so I can properly express my appreciation.”
Nodding, I responded, “Of course, I’d like that.” It wasn’t quite the timing that I’d planned out. I would have preferred to stay and talk with Bobo a little longer or even get to know this clown cat that seemed to appear at all the wrong times.
Mr. Barncat put his arm around my shoulder and started to usher me away. As he did, he looked back and said, “Thanks for your help, N. Kahoots.”
N. Kahoots responded with a, “no problem, boss,” but we didn’t stop to engage in any further conversation. We left the area as quickly at C. T. Barncat had originally arrived, swiftly like the summer wind.
As we walked to the palatial tent, I made a mental note that the clown’s name was N. Kahoots. He already sounded like trouble, and at the appropriate time, I’d need to find out more about him. I also pondered whether to reveal to Mr. Barncat that it was me or use the time to secretively get some answers from the main cat himself. I don’t make it a policy to be suspicious of my employers, but as I’ve said before, everyone is a suspect at the beginning. Surely, he wasn’t sabotaging his own carnival, but over my years of experience, I’d found that I had to consider every possibility in my search for the answers.
We walked through the midway filled with game carnies calling out to passersby with offers to win giant stuffed animal prizes. “Only two in, wins,” “toss the ring,” “you look like you could be a winner.”
Passing the Balloon Dart game, which had been my favorite as a young tom, a carney cat in a straw skimmer hat, candy-striped jacket, bow tie, and thick coke-bottle glasses stepped out to stop us. “Did you find out what was happening, boss?”
“It was a fire in the Clown Show tent,” Mr. Barncat told the carney.
“That’s too bad,” he lamented. “How long will the show be shut down?”
With a smile crossing his face, Mr. Barncat replied, “Well, that’s the good news. Thanks to Bumble here, there was very little damage.”
“Really? What fortune.”
“I’ll say,” he agreed. “Bumble saved the show.”
The carney cat looked at me suspiciously, squinting to see clearly even with the help of his glasses. He scanned me from my enormous clown feet to the top of my head and then back down. After a moment, he extended a paw and said, “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“You are correct,” I confirmed. “I’m a temporary replacement until Bobo gets better.”
“I see,” said the skeptical carney. “So the new cat saved the day.”
I could see that it was beginning to dawn on Mr. Barncat that he’d never met my alter ego, Bumble Britches, and he prided himself on knowing all his employees. He too looked me up and down, but his mistrustful look turned to a wide-eyed realization that it was me under the clown paint and costume.
Before Mr. Barncat could accidentally blow my cover, I responded to the carney, “I didn’t catch your name, Mr. …?”
“I didn’t drop it,” he wryly quipped. “What carnival did you last work for?”
Deciding it was best to stick with a story I’d already told, I said, “Crazy Cal’s Flying Cat Fair.”
Of course, when he told me that he used to work at Crazy Cal’s too, I was a bit concerned. I was beginning to realize that the carnival work world was a pretty small community, which made sense. How many carnivals could there be? I didn’t know the exact answer off the top of my head, but I was starting to conclude that number was small.
The carney cat stepped a little closer to me, such that we were almost nose to nose.
With the tension building between the anonymous game runner and me, Mr. Barncat stepped up and said, “Okay, Ichabod, that’s enough. I appreciate your concern, but I’ve got the problem under control.”
The carney cat, apparently na
med Ichabod, backed down and apologized, “Sorry, boss. I’m just a little on edge.”
“I understand,” he assured. “As soon as I find out more, I’ll let you know.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
As Mr. Barncat and I continued down the midway, I couldn’t resist looking back and saying, “I’ll see you around, Ichabod.” It probably wasn’t the most prudent decision to egg him on like that, but it felt good to have the upper hand on him. And I was telling the truth. Once I changed disguises, I’d come back and see what more he might be able to share.
Back at the palatial tent of C. T. Barncat, I took a moment to sit with him and share an update on what I’d found as well as inquire with him about the missing broken wire. We sat in the same seats as before almost like they were assigned.
“What have you found?” he eagerly asked before we’d even sat all the way down.
“Not much,” I told him. “I’m still gathering information.” I explained how things usually start out slow with investigations and then quickly pick up steam as each clue adds to the next.
“So you are no closer to finding a culprit?” I could hear the disappointment in his voice.
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” I advised. “Yes, I don’t know who’s responsible for all these acts of sabotage, but I can guarantee that I’m closer. What I can’t tell you, just yet, is how close.” Of course, I was still in my clown costume and I wasn’t confident that my appearance helped lend to my credibility.
He seemed to understand but still wasn’t happy with the slow progress. I wanted to explain further, but I knew that wasn’t going to make any difference. The solution to keeping my client happy, as with all my clients, was to solve the case. That meant I didn’t have time to waste chatting.
As I was thinking of my next move, he complimented me on my clown costume.
“It is a pretty good disguise,” I agreed. “Thanks to Barkley and Saber, I’ve been able to maintain my cover.”
“I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“Actually, you didn’t,” I pointed out.
“Well, I’m pretty thankful you were around,” Mr. Barncat expressed. “We might have lost the whole tent if it weren’t for you.”
