“We’ll find you a place to stay.”
“That would take money. I’m in short supply of it. And I’m not going to let you pay.”
“I’ll give you a job. We’ll put you on the payroll.”
“I don’t know, Nate. I…My music’s important to me. It’s me, you know? If I had a real job…”
“A job doing what you do now. But not down at the end of the boardwalk. In front of my family’s concessions. The arcade, sometimes.” He smiled. “So I can hear you. And see you. But mostly over by the Hurricane and Ferris wheel. The lines can get awfully long for those rides. You’d be entertainment for the people while they wait. We’ll pay you an hourly rate. Start you off, say, at seven bucks an hour. You still go ahead and collect from them—wouldn’t want to cheat your audience out of the joy of showing their appreciation.”
“And I’d keep the tips?” she asked.
Smiling, he said, “What do you think this is, a charity?”
“I hope not. I can’t see paying someone just to help your customers pass the time of day.”
“At quitting time, you turn over a percentage of your take. Forty percent. And you keep sixty, over and above whatever we pay you.”
“It’s awfully generous, Nate.”
“Hell, it’s good P.R. Once word gets around, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if people don’t start coming to Funland just to hear you.”
“I’m not that good.”
“Don’t bet on it. We’ll see how it goes. Maybe down the line, we’ll even set up some actual concerts.”
Grinning, Robin shook her head. “You’ve got some pretty big ideas, fella.”
“You just don’t know how good you are. And it isn’t just your music. Your music’s great, but it’s more than that. It’s you. I’ve watched your audiences. Those people…they fall in love with you.”
His words excited her. Robin knew she had magic. She’d noticed that many of those who watched her play seemed enthralled, that often the same people appeared in her audiences day after day. But to hear Nate speak of it was thrilling and a little embarrassing.
They fall in love with you.
She suddenly wondered if Nate meant that he had fallen in love with her.
“Is it a deal?” he asked.
Though she hadn’t felt cold since about the time they rushed across the street to avoid the troll, she was shivering again. “Couldn’t hurt to give it a try,” she said.
He squeezed her hands and shook them up and down. “Great,” he said. “Great.”
“Don’t break my hands off, kiss me.”
A familiar look of surprise and confusion came to his face. It was the same expression Robin had seen that afternoon when she told him the room number.
He let go of her hands. He raised his arms. She stepped into them and pressed herself against him. He felt warm and solid. He felt like a home.
Don’t count your chickens, Robin started to warn herself.
Then his mouth was there and she seemed to be melting into him.
Twenty-six
“There it is,” Dave said when he spotted Gloria’s Volkswagen.
Driving up and down the lanes of the parking lot, they’d passed at least twelve other VW Bugs. But this one was hers. Dave recognized the license plate. And he recognized the bumper stickers: “No Vietnam in Nicaragua” and “One Nuclear Bomb Can Ruin Your Whole Day.”
“Guess she’s here, all right,” Joan said.
Dave found an empty space nearby, and parked. Before leaving the car, he took his flashlight out from under the seat.
“Do we start with the boardwalk?” Joan asked.
“I suppose. Great way to spend our time off.”
Dave slipped an arm beneath the back of her open jacket. As they walked toward the front of the lot, he moved his hand slowly up and down her side. He felt her warmth and smoothness through the blouse. Each time his hand drifted down close to her hip, his knuckles brushed the walnut grip of the off-duty .38 clipped to her belt.
“What do we tell Jim and Beth?” she asked.
“Ohhh, boy.”
“We’re bound to run into them, you know. Beth’s no problem. But Jim isn’t likely to let it alone. If he gets the idea we’re going together, it’ll be all over the department. The brass gets wind of it, and one of us’ll be reassigned.”
“We’ll just have to play innocent.”
Smiling, Joan patted his rump. “Think you can keep your hands to yourself?”
“Sure. No sweat.”
She peeled his hand off her side. “Better start practicing.”
They crossed to the walkway. Dave looked both ways, scanning the pavement and the grassy slope in front of Funland. A few other couples were nearby, heading for the entrance. And he spotted someone lying on the grass near the wall of the old pavilion at the far north end. From this distance, the person looked like a pile of clothes. The heap next to the form was probably a pack.
“Over there,” Dave said.
Joan nodded. “Let’s check it out.”
As they approached the sprawled figure, Dave saw that the face was bearded.
Joan must’ve noticed it too. “Unless Gloria’s hormones flipped out,” she said, “that ain’t her.”
“Let’s go around this end anyway. If we go back to the main entrance, we’ll have to waste time doubling back.”
“I hope he’s asleep.”
He wasn’t. He got up and stumbled down the slope in time to block their way. The nearby lamp provided plenty of light for Dave to see the glare in the man’s eyes—a wild, mad look that reminded him of Charles Manson. “Help a fella down on his luck.” It wasn’t a plea. It was a demand.
Dave said, “We’re looking for—”
Joan grabbed his arm and tugged him off the curb.
“Lookin’ for God?” the man blurted. “Tha’s me! Gimme a buck.”
“Get lost!” Joan called over her shoulder as she dragged Dave along beside her.
“Ge’ fucked, cunt! Huh? Wha’sa matter witcha, cunt?”
Dave jerked his arm free. He whirled toward the man. “I’ll give you something, you filthy…!”
“Gimme a buck! Gimme a buck ’r I’ll put the cursa squirmy death on ya!”
“Dave!”
His left arm was suddenly grabbed from behind. He realized it was cocked back, ready to swing. In the hand was his sixteen-inch metal flashlight.
“Dave!” Joan snapped again. “Don’t! Come on! Let’s go!”
He let Joan guide him backward off the curb. As she pulled him along, he sidestepped, keeping his eyes on the derelict.
In a leaping frenzy, the guy yelled, “Fuck ya!” He jammed the middle fingers of both hands together in front of his snarling mouth and blurted, “Cursa squirmy death, cursa squirmy death! Whammy whammy presto fuck ya!”
He kept on leaping, waving his arms, and shouting. Once they rounded the corner of the pavilion, they couldn’t hear him anymore.
Joan leaned back against the wall. She seemed to sag against it. She shook her head.
“Are you okay?” Dave asked.
“Me? You were gonna brain him.”
“Yeah. I lost it for a second there.”
“That’s for sure. Jeez.” She pushed herself off the wall. She rested her wrists on his shoulders and caressed the back of his head. “I appreciate the gallantry, pal, but you don’t have to defend my honor. I don’t give a rat’s ass what a troll calls me.”
“I do.”
“Macho pig.”
“That’s me.”
The way she massaged his scalp and neck soothed his tension, made him feel a little drowsy.
“Now you got us whammied with the curse of squirmy death.”
“Bummer,” he murmured. “Should I go back and pay him a buck to take it off?”
“Give him five. Can’t be too careful.”
Dave started to move back, but she clamped his neck.
“Where do you think you’re going
?”
“Oh.” He realized she’d been joking about the five. Of course. Pay the guy to remove some ridiculous curse? But it had seemed like a good idea there for a second.
Joan’s grip on his neck relaxed, and she started massaging him again. He let his head droop. He let his eyes shut.
“From now on,” she said in a smooth, soft voice, “let’s just keep our distance from any trolls we happen to run into. I don’t think we want to be asking them about Gloria. Wouldn’t find out anything anyway, not from those people. And we might just blow her cover.”
“Okay. That makes sense.”
“Besides, they scare me shitless.”
That remark was like a rock plopping into the still pond of his lethargy. He lifted his head and smiled, amused by her language but touched by her confession of fear. He put his hands on her sides. “Maybe I’d better get that curse removed.”
“A superstitious macho pig.”
“Can’t be too careful. We’re talking ‘squirmy death’ here.”
She drew Dave’s head toward her and kissed him lightly on the mouth. Dave felt her breasts push against him. He wrapped his arms around her, underneath her jacket, and slid his hands up and down her back. She turned her head, taking away the soft moist warmth of her mouth.
“We’d better find Gloria,” she whispered, her breath tickling his ear.
“Why don’t we just forget about her? Let’s get out of this place and—”
“That’d be nice.”
“It’s her game. She wants to play Ace Reporter, who’re we to stop her?”
“Keep talking. Maybe you’ll convince yourself.”
“Dammit.”
“Let’s just give it an hour or so,” Joan said. “Then we’ll go back to my place. Whether we find her or not. We don’t have to stop her. We don’t even have to warn her. All we have to do is try. Give it a fair try.”
“She knows the dangers,” Dave said.
“But that won’t do our consciences a whole lot of good if she gets hurt.”
“Okay. We’ll give it an hour.” He eased himself away from Joan and checked his wristwatch. “It’s nine-forty now.”
“Funland closes at eleven. Let’s give it till then.”
“What time is Debbie’s party over?”
“She’s supposed to be home by midnight.”
“This is the pits.”
Joan stared into his eyes. “I know. But it’s only one night. Then we’ll be done with Gloria.”
“Yeah. It’ll be worth it, I guess, just so we won’t have to feel guilty for not doing it.”
They climbed a flight of concrete stairs at the corner of the pavilion. This end of the boardwalk wasn’t crowded. During the past few days, a small crowd had been gathered here for the banjo girl. Dave tried to remember her name. A bird name. Dove? No, Robin. A cute gal. He wondered where she was. This was no place, at night, for a lone girl. Not with crazies around like that bastard they’d just run into. Not with trollers on the prowl some nights, looking for indigents to torment. He hoped she’d taken his advice to stay in motels.
“Should we check in there?” Joan asked, nodding toward the pavilion’s doorway.
Dave didn’t see any trolls on the boardwalk between this door and the one at the pavilion’s far end. “Just a quick walkthrough,” he said.
They went inside. The big auditorium was brightly lighted and warm. Calliope music accompanied the spinning merry-go-round in the center of the floor. Along the walls were booths where people could buy specialties such as fudge, saltwater taffy, soft pretzels, churros, nachos, straps of beef jerky, and ice cream. At one end was a snack counter for burgers, hot dogs, fries, and pop. There were booths that sold Funland souvenirs: ashtrays, plates, tom-toms, rubber knives, shot glasses, coffee mugs, and pennants. Others offered assortments of seashells. Others sold Funland T-shirts, sweatshirts, caps, and plastic visors.
Dave had often seen the place jammed with people. Tonight it wasn’t especially crowded. Quite a few people were wandering around, some sampling food, some browsing for keepsakes, a few snapping photos of their kids on the carousel.
He didn’t see any bums.
He didn’t see Gloria.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“No. You go ahead and get something, though.”
He shook his head.
“We can have a snack when we get to my place.”
“Okay.” He appreciated the reminder that they would get to Joan’s place later.
We could be there right now.
Thanks a heap, Gloria.
They exited at the next door. Stepped out onto the boardwalk right into the path of Jim and Beth.
Beth’s head drew back, doubling her chin. Her eyes opened so wide she looked as if her lids might get stuck up there. One side of Jim’s face curled up, giving him a cross between a smirk and a snarl.
Thirty seconds, Dave thought. Thirty damn seconds, and we would’ve missed them.
“Well, I’ll be screwed, chewed, and tattooed,” Jim said. “Hello, young lovers.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Dave said. He decided that sounded stupid.
“We’re looking for Gloria Weston,” Joan told them.
“Planning a ménage à trois?”
Jim knew that Dave had been going with Gloria. Hell, everyone knew. It had been a source of constant ribbing from most of his fellow officers—the cop and the nosy pinko reporter.
“How about waiting till we’re off duty?” Jim suggested. “We’ll have a fivesome.”
“Try to pull your head out of your butt for a minute,” Joan said, “and listen up. Weston’s gone undercover to get a lice-eye view of the life of a troll.”
“Figures. What’s the big deal?”
“It isn’t healthy,” Dave said.
“Have you seen her?” Joan asked.
“I don’t look at those maggots. They put me off my feed.”
“Would we recognize her?” Beth asked. “Has she altered her appearance?”
“Mussed up her hair,” Joan said, addressing Beth. “She’s wearing a gray sweatshirt, purple skirt, and red tights. They’re all pretty filthy and ragged. And she’s got grocery bags. Two on her feet, and she’s probably carrying the third.”
“She’s wearing bags on her feet?” Beth asked.
“The latest fashion in troll footwear,” Joan said.
“She really got into this, didn’t she?”
“You haven’t see her?”
“I doubt it. I think I would’ve noticed the bags. What do you want us to do if we find her?”
“We try hauling her in,” Jim said, “she’ll scream bloody murder—all over the pages of that rag she works for.”
“Just keep an eye on her,” Dave told him. “We’ll be looking around ourselves. We’ll check with you before closing time. The thing is, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she isn’t planning to spend the night out here someplace. She doesn’t do things halfway. She wants to find out what it’s like to be a troll, she’s going to stick it out.”
“You ask me,” Jim said, “it’s none of our business.”
“She could get hurt,” Beth said.
“And wouldn’t that be a pity?” He met Dave’s eyes. “Sorry, man. I understand you got something going with her. But whistling Jesus, she crucifies us every time she plants her ass in front of the typewriter. You read that trash on the trollers?”
“I didn’t like it any more than you did.”
“So she wants to cozy up to those runny sores on the rump of humanity, let her. Spends some time with ’em, she’ll change her tune. That’s for damn sure. She might start calling for mass executions.”
“That’s not very likely,” Dave said.
“Yeah. ‘They were children once, who stayed up all night waiting for Santa.’ Last time I saw that kinda shit, it was floating in the toilet bowl.”
“You’re making me sick,” Beth said.
Jim scowled at her. “I kno
w what you think of that…lady.”
Beth looked pretty sheepish all of a sudden. She shrugged and met Dave’s eyes. “I still wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.”
“Gloria doesn’t know what she’s getting into,” Joan said. “We just want to warn her off.”
“We’ll keep an eye out for her,” Beth said.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah,” Dave added. “We appreciate it.”
As he stepped past Jim, the man winked and whispered, “Lucky fuck. My advice, lose Weston.”
Dave shook his head and kept walking.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Joan said.
“We’ll see.” Just ahead were the stairs leading down to the beach. Dave was suddenly glad they’d run into Jim and Beth. “Maybe we can speed things up some by skipping the rest of the boardwalk. They’ll spot Gloria if she’s up here.”
“Beth might, anyway. I think Jim would like to see her move in with the trolls.”
“I can see his point,” Dave admitted. “But how about it? We leave the boardwalk to them?”
“Sure.”
They trotted down the concrete stairs. Joan stopped when she reached the sand. “Where do we start?”
“I don’t know.” Dave scanned the beach. It was pale with moonlight. There were dark patches, here and there, that appeared to be people on blankets. Most of the people were in pairs. Some were sitting, but many were lying down, embracing.
Dave saw a lone man running along the shore. A dog trotted ahead of him to check out a group of three people coming from the opposite direction. The dog wagged its tail. One of the three, a woman with a ponytail, squatted down to ruffle its fur. Off to the right, a couple was strolling past the front of the lifeguard station.
“Wonder if anyone’s getting it on,” Joan said.
Obviously she was intrigued by the people on the blankets. “Kind of nippy for that,” Dave said.
“Love breeds desperate measures.”
“Want to check them out?”
“I’d rather find Gloria.”
“That’s what I meant.”
“I’d be awfully surprised to find her out in the open,” Joan said. “She’s into the life-styles of the down and dirty. She’ll be where she’s most likely to meet trolls.”
“Around here, that doesn’t narrow the field by much.”
Funland Page 24
