Peachy Villains

by Wendy Meadows

  Michelle rubbed her cheek against Momma Peach's hand. Momma Peach was her momma—and she needed a momma. “Okay,” she said and forced a brave smile to her face, “let's go see what's happening at the circus.”

  Michelle drove away from the curb and continued down the wet, dark streets. When she arrived at the fairgrounds she saw Officer Chert's patrol car parked at the back of the parking field, sitting deserted and bruised. Michelle drove up to the patrol car, retrieved her gun, and eased out into the rain with Momma Peach at her side. “Trunk is open,” she said as her eyes walked around the darkness. Surely Lindsey was watching.

  Momma Peach maneuvered her short little legs over to the open trunk. The trunk was dark and empty, with a scattering of fishing gear, an empty rifle, a protective vest and some empty soda cans. “Well, baby,” she said, “one thing is for sure.”

  “What's that?” Michelle asked running her hand over the empty rifle.

  “Fred likes to fish,” Momma Peach said and walked over to the driver's side door and poked her head into the car. A note was sitting in the front seat. “We have a note, baby.”

  Michelle ran to Momma Peach. “What does it say?”

  Momma Peach turned on the inside light and read the note: “Send the woman to Moroz's trailer and Michelle alone to the big tent with Hayman.”

  Michelle turned and looked at the dark circus. Not a single light was on in any of the trailers. The main tent sat like a dripping shadow, waiting to devour any person brave enough to step foot inside its mouth. “I guess this is where we part ways, Momma Peach.”

  Momma Peach didn't want to part ways with her baby. No sir and no ma’am. But what could she do to keep Michelle at her side? She felt her heart break. “You go handle that black widow, baby...and I will go handle that crazy old Russian.” Momma Peach grabbed Michelle's neck and hugged her. “Come back to me, Michelle. Do you hear me?”

  “I will,” Michelle promised and patted Momma Peach's waist. “The gun hidden under your jacket fires easy, Momma Peach.”

  “I hate guns. I'll find a way to take down that old man without firing a shot,” Momma Peach replied and looked into Michelle's eyes. “Baby, when you fight tonight, don't fight for anyone except your unborn child. Let that sweet future child be your strength, do you hear me? Fight for all the tomorrows you're going to have as a momma! Fight for all the diaper changes and first words and first steps...fight for your unborn child that you and Able will hold in your arms someday, do you hear me?”

  Michelle felt a wonderful power enter her heart. “I never thought about it like that before, Momma Peach.”

  “Fight that awful woman as if she is holding your child captive and not a donut-bellied cop.” Momma Peach spun Michelle around and patted her tush. “Go get her, baby.”

  Michelle nodded her head and jogged off into the rain. As she did, Momma Peach broke down in tears. “And Lord, let her come back to me in one piece because I sure need her.” With those words, Momma Peach began walking through the rain toward Max Moroz's trailer.

  Chapter Eight

  Max Moroz was waiting for Momma Peach. “Hello there,” he said in a calm voice as Momma Peach entered his trailer. His Russian accent purred a little, and the air in the room seemed colder to her. She shivered.

  Momma Peach saw that Max was dressed in his clown costume. She could deal with that. What she couldn’t deal with was the hideous, exaggerated clown makeup painted over his face. The makeup was done in black and white—an awful, tormented grin painted over his cheeks and lips. Large, deathless eyes peered out above a skeletal nose, eyes that were hungry for innocent victims. It was meant to be whimsical, but in the dark, rainy atmosphere, it looked like the designs of an insane, tortured child.

  “You look as creepy as anything I have ever seen, old man,” Momma Peach admitted, forcing her voice to remain calm. “But I know you under that paint, by your voice.”

  Max grinned and slowly showed Momma Peach the gun in his left hand and the kitchen knife he was holding in his right hand. Max's hands were covered over with black satin gloves with pom-poms around the cuffs, but the effect was sinister and cruel against the weapons. “Shut the door, lady,” he ordered Momma Peach.

  Momma Peach slowly closed the trailer door. One wrong move and Max would surely bypass the knife and shot her dead. “What are you planning to do, old man?”

  “Kill of you, of course,” Max promised Momma Peach in a sickly calm voice.

  “Just like you killed Lance Potter?”

  Max stared at Momma Peach. He was now completely in character. In his memory, he saw hard hands striking him, the frozen ground beneath his feet, the empty chill of a ravenous stomach denied day after painful day. Each painful memory empowered him—the clown would punish the adults and save the children. He felt his insanity ringing in his ears. “Lance Potter threatened my reputation. The man had to die.”

  “You're one sick puppy, old man,” Momma Peach told Max. “You killed a good man just because he was a better clown than you?”

  “No man is a better clown than Max Moroz,” Max snapped at Momma Peach. He brandished the kitchen knife at her. “Ms. Sung paid me a recent visit, lady. It seems she is in a hurry to do away with you. I was intending to play with you a bit before ending your life. However, I have been ordered to skip my pleasure.”

  Momma Peach glanced around the trailer. She spotted certain items that could use as a weapon if needed. But her main concern was to keep Max talking for the time being. She needed all the confession the man was willing to give to be picked up by the wire she wore under her jacket. “You know, at first I thought you were kinda decent. But then I saw your eyes and knew better. I wonder if Lance Potter, rest his poor soul, saw what I see in your eyes.”

  Max lowered the kitchen knife. He stared at Momma Peach with soulless eyes. “Lance kept his distance from me. Oh, he pretended to like me in front of the others, but his eyes spoke the truth. Lance knew my heart, lady.”

  “Seems like he knew a crazy old man when he saw one,” Momma Peach told Max. “Tell me something since you're going to kill me, okay?”

  Max stood silent and still, staring at Momma Peach through eyes that were no longer his own. “What?” he finally spoke.

  “How did you kill poor Mr. Potter?”

  Max grinned. “Very easily,” he replied through a rotten mouth. “It was a foggy night here on the grounds.” Max walked his mind back in time. “The fog was especially thick. I knew the fog would provide the perfect cover for my purpose.” Max stared at Momma Peach, seeing only his own madness. “Shortly after midnight, I slipped out into the fog, dressed in the same way you see me now. I walked over to Lance's trailer and knocked on his door. When Lance answered I simply asked if I could come in and explained that I thought I was having a mental breakdown and needed help. I was very clever.”

  “And poor Mr. Potter fell for your trap?” Momma Peach asked, listening to the heavy rainfall outside and wondering how her baby was doing in the main tent.

  Max nodded his head. “Yes. You see, weeks before I killed Lance I began letting on that I wasn't feeling well….mentally. I even admitted to him that I believed I was suffering a form of mental illness.” Max continued to stare at Momma Peach. “When I arrived at Lance's trailer and asked for help, the man was more than willing to accommodate me, because even though he saw darkness in my eyes, he was still a bleeding-heart.” Max took a step toward Momma Peach. If the woman tried to run, he would shoot her. If he got close enough to attack, he would stab her. “When I entered Lance's trailer, I dropped to my knees and grabbed my chest and began begging for water.”

  “You sicko,” Momma Peach said. “If had my pocketbook with me I would beat you senseless.”

  Max ignored Momma Peach's comment. “When Lance walked past me I stood up behind him and...” Max grinned, “pulled my knife out and carried out the final act.”

  “Oh, don't make me smack that paint off your face!” Momma Peach yelled at Max in dis
gust.

  Max lifted the kitchen knife in his hand. “The gun with your fingerprints on it,” he told Momma Peach. “Ms. Sung now has that gun. She is going to kill your cop friend and place the blame on you. My job is to kill you and leave a suicide note beside your body claiming that you killed your cop friend because you thought she was Ms. Sung.”

  Momma Peach nodded her head and sucked her teeth, tasting the chili again. Mr. Sam and his cayenne pepper, she fussed in her mind. “So you two have it all figured out, huh? What about Mr. Hayman?”

  Max stood very still. “Ms. Sung didn't mention Mr. Hayman to me.”

  Momma Peach nodded her head again. “Well, old man, you killed an innocent man and you're going to have to pay for your actions. I sure am going to be the one to make you pay, too.”

  “Max Moroz regretted killing Lance, but the clown did not,” Max told Momma Peach with a little bow. “The clown always wins when he performs, lady. The clown is always hungry for revenge.”

  “Oh, give the horror stories a rest, will you?” Momma Peach asked. “Old man, you may look spooky, but underneath your costume and paint you're nothing but a worn-down, mentally deranged, old man still whining about his childhood. I have news for you, boy...grow up! Ain't nobody in the world ever had the perfect childhood. Kids today whine and fuss when they have to make a bed but in the old days I scrubbed my momma's floors, yes sir and yes ma’am, because my momma liked a clean house.”

  Max took a step closer to Momma Peach. “Max Moroz isn't interested in your mother, and neither is the clown. Now be still, lady, because the clown is hungry.” With those words, Max lunged at Momma Peach.

  “Oh, goodness gracious alive, here we go, here we go!” Momma Peach yelled and backed up to a folding chair, grabbed it, and threw it at Max. The chair struck Max, knocked the gun out of his hand, and forced him back. “Stay back, old man,” Momma Peach ordered and snatched up a juggling pin from a box on the table, dropped into a batter's position, and began swinging the bowling pin in the air. “I will knock your head clear to the moon, boy!”

  Max looked down at the floor, spotted the gun, and then looked back at Momma Peach. His eyes turned red with rage. “You will die, lady,” he growled and lifted the kitchen knife into the air and took a swing at Momma Peach. Momma Peach swung the bowling pin at him, forcing Max to take a step back.

  “I'll knock you clear into yesterday!” Momma Peach warned Max. “I don't take no nonsense off of folks, especially a fruitcake like yourself. You want a piece of me, come and get some, yes sir and yes ma’am!”

  Max hissed. He was now determined to kill Momma Peach with his knife and ignored the gun on the ground. He stepped forward and swung the knife at Momma Peach. Momma Peach moved back and swung the bowling pin at the knife and almost hit it. Max stepped forward again and swung the knife even harder, coming mere inches from Momma Peach's face. But Momma Peach was fast. She ducked out of the way, bent low, and then came up swinging with the bowling pin the way a boxer would when aiming a vicious uppercut. The bowling pin struck the knife this time and knocked it out of Max's hand. Max stumbled backward, tripped over his feet, and crashed down to the floor. But he was wasn't out. He quickly reached onto a nearby table, picked up a plastic squirt bottle of bathroom cleaner, and sprayed the bleach mixture at Momma Peach's face. Momma Peach quickly covered her face with her right arm and moved back to the end of the trailer. She bumped into a wooden chest, lost her balance, and plopped down.

  Max crawled to his feet, gathered up his knife, and advanced on Momma Peach, spraying the hot water and bleach at her as he did, forcing her to cover her face. “Time to die!” he hissed and raised the knife in the air, preparing to carry out one final act.

  “Not this time,” Momma Peach yelled. She leaned back as fast as her body would let her, lifted her short little legs, and kicked both feet at Max just as Max lunged at her with his knife, prepared to strike. Momma Peach's feet caught Max in his chest. Max stumbled backward in the trailer, struggling to keep his balance, and finally came to a stop at his couch. Momma Peach jumped to her feet and pointed the bowling pin at him. “Come and get some, boy! I’m ready for round two, yes sir and yes ma’am!”

  Max hissed. He had dropped the plastic bottle and Momma Peach had tossed it far behind the trunk where it was impossible to retrieve. There were no more ready weapons. The woman was becoming very problematic. Lance has been very simple to kill. He assumed Momma Peach would be easier than Lance. Instead, the woman was putting up a good fight. “You're going to die, lady. Why resist?” he asked and began walking toward Momma Peach.

  Momma Peach prepared for round two. As soon as Max was close enough he began swinging his knife at her face. Momma Peach ducked out of the way, wrapped her hands around the bowling pin as tight as she could, and swung at Max's knife hand with all of her strength. “Take this, you used-up toilet paper roll!” she yelled.

  The bowling pin made contact with Max's hand. He yelled out in pain as the knife went crashing down to the floor. As soon as the knife hit the floor Momma Peach dropped the bowling pin and charged at Max with a flying dive. All Max saw was Momma Peach flying through the air at him like an acrobat. Then he was on the floor with Momma Peach crushing his chest. He struggled to fight, but his old body finally gave out. With his last bit of strength, he thrust his right arm out for his knife, his hand shaking violently. But the clown failed to achieve its mission and Max's hand fell down onto the floor. Or so it seemed to Momma Peach. “Sick old skunk,” she said and slowly began to crawl off of Max. As soon as she did. Max opened his eyes, a hideous monster coming back to life, grabbed his knife, and tried to stab Momma Peach in the back. The knife struck a protective vest.

  “What?” Max wheezed as he tried to push the knife through the vest.

  Momma Peach spun around, and kicked the knife out of Max's hand. Max tried to stand up. “Oh stay down!” Momma Peach yelled and belly-flopped right on top of Max. The last thing Max remembered before falling unconscious was Momma Peach squeezing the air out of him. At last his head went limp and he did not move.

  “Good grief,” Momma Peach fussed to herself, “crazy old coot really stabbed me. Good thing Michelle forced me to wear this here vest.” Momma Peach rubbed a spot between her shoulder blades and felt a tear in her jacket. “See what you did, old man? Now I’m going to have to do some sewing and I ain't especially fond of sewing.” Momma Peach rolled her eyes. “If it ain't one crazy skunk trying to stink up my life it's another. What I need is a vacation to the middle of a deserted island, but with my luck, I’d probably run into an angry cannibal. Oh give me strength, give me strength.”

  Momma Peach quickly searched for the trailer for some rope, located some in the wooden chest, and tied Max up tightly. “Stay put, old man,” she said and hurried back out into the rain and got her short legs moving toward the main tent. But then she stopped, turned around and looked at Lionel's trailer. “Of course,” she said. “Baby, hold tight and let me find Officer Chert.”

  Momma Peach turned and ran toward Lionel's trailer and found the front door unlocked. She yanked open the front door, rushed inside, and saw Fred Chert lying face down on the floor with his hands handcuffed behind his back and his ankles tied together. “Fred?”

  “Momma Peach?” Fred asked turning his head. “What in the world are you doing here? Where is Detective Chan?”

  “No time to explain,” Momma Peach said and squatted down next to Fred. “Where are your keys, baby?”

  “That woman took the keys to my handcuffs long with my gun,” Fred Chert told Momma Peach in a voice filled with shame. “I sure let her fool me, Momma Peach.”

  Momma Peach patted Fred's back. “Baby, you're a man and ain't a man alive immune to a pretty face. Now let me think, okay?” Momma Peach stood up and searched the inside of Lionel's trailer. “Ain't nothing in here I can use,” she said in a worried voice. “Fred, baby, I’m going to untie them ropes around your ankles and then you're going to have to hightail i
t out of here with your hands handcuffed behind your back, okay?”

  Fred nodded his head. What other choice did he have? “Okay, Momma Peach, But tell me one thing. Where is Detective Chan? That crazy woman who brought me is out to kill her.”

  “I know, baby. I know,” Momma Peach said and looked out of the front door toward the main tent.

  Michelle stood before Lindsey Sung in the middle of the main tent. “Here I am, Sung,” she said as the smell of hay and damp earth floated up into her nose.

  Lindsey kept her hands behind her back. She was wet, angry and feeling fatigue catching up to her. The fight would have to quick and deadly. “Where is Mr. Hayman?” she demanded.

  “He'll arrive soon enough,” Michelle informed Lindsey. “One of my officers is bringing him here. A female officer. If you defeat me you'll have no problem taking her out and getting to Hayman.” Michelle took off her leather jacket and dropped it down to the ground. The tent was dark but she could clearly make out Lindsey's figure with sharp eyes. “I gave direct orders to my people to stand down. Enough people have died, Sung. This fight ends with us. If you win, then Hayman is yours.”

  “If I win?” Lindsey laughed in a cynical voice. “Chan, do you really believe that you can defeat me? You're a foolish woman. I warned you to back off, didn't I? But did you listen? No. Now you must pay a heavy penalty for your ignorance. “Lindsey laughed again. “Your little friend will, too. By now, I'm sure Moroz has ended her worthless life.”