by Tess Oliver
The horse was at a full gallop, nearly bucking and kicking beneath the harness. I hadn’t driven a horse and cart since I was a young boy, and I wasn’t completely sure that the horse would have enough sense to slow once we neared the end of the bridge. The wheels on the old cart squeaked and clattered as we flew over wood planks.
I held down the straw hat with one hand and pulled back on the reins with the other. The mare slowed her pace from a run to a very forward trot. The ride had been wild and a little more harrowing than I’d counted on, but I was away from Griggs’s men. Their cruelty in thinking it would be fun to watch an old woman and her cart fly over the Aqueduct Bridge had also given me a quick escape out of bullet range.
I turned the cart and headed toward the address Griggs had given me. Street lamps lit the way. I pulled the cart up in front of a white, colonial style house with a green front lawn and rows of pink flowers planted along the brick foundation. There was a light on in the front room. I had no idea whose house it was. It could even end up being a trap.
I checked my watch. Two minutes past nine. Right on time. I left behind my hat and scarf and walked up to the front door.
A maid answered. “Come in,” she said without asking who I was or what I was there for.
There was laughter coming from the next room, a drawing room as some might have called it. Griggs came out from the back and stepped into the entryway. The maid scurried away.
It was hard to read what Griggs was thinking as his thin lips tightened into a grin.
“I don’t want to leave the crates out there alone,” I said. “Where do you want them?”
He walked to the front door and peered out. “You made it past the Dentons and four of my men armed with Winchesters on a goddamned horse cart?” He turned to look at me.
“I did.”
He nodded and reached under his coat. I tensed for a second wondering if he was going to pull a gun on me. He plucked out an envelope that was thick with cash. “That was twelve per crate and two for delivery, right?”
“Yes sir.”
He whistled. “Need a hand to unload some goods,” he called to the drawing room. Three of his men came out, looking just as surprised as Griggs when they saw me.
“I guess I’ve found some new runners.” Griggs held out his hand, and I shook it.
I took the envelope from him. “You’ll call off Denton and his gang, right? I’m hoping the next delivery will be a little less complicated.”
“They’ll leave you alone. I’ll see to it. Come by Breakers Monday for the next job. The boys will show you where to put the crates.”
“Great.” I turned to go outside.
“Oh, and Jarrett—”
I turned around.
“Just so you know, if you screw up or double cross me or cheat me in any way, this new partnership will become the worst thing that has ever happened to you and your brothers.”
I nodded once and followed his men out to the wagon.
Chapter 5
Charli
Heavy raindrops had pummeled the tent all night, but the camp had woken to warm sunlight. The ground beneath the tents had been so parched, it soaked the water up like a sponge, leaving behind only a handful of manageable puddles. It seemed, for a day or two, we’d all be spared the eye burning dust clouds.
Rose finished braiding my hair. “You really should think about getting one of those cute little bob cuts all the young girls are getting. It would be much more practical for you when you’re doing stunts. You’d look real pretty with short hair.” She held up the end of the braid. “Although I suppose if I had hair the color of a shiny copper penny, I’d keep it long too.”
“It does seem like short hair would be much easier to take care of. But in the drawing on the poster The Enchantress has long flowing locks.” I rolled my eyes as I said the stage name, a habit I’d gotten into. Buck had come up with the silly name, and he wouldn’t hear any arguments against it. Although I’d argued plenty.
I turned around and hugged Rose. “Thanks for that. Oddly enough, I’m looking forward to getting on my bike today. I definitely need to get some practice in before we open next week.” I hadn’t mentioned to either of my tent mates that I’d run into Mr. Jarrett again. Emma would probably have been upset, and Rose would have made too big a deal about it. Especially since I’d given him a ride on Gypsy, and he’d reciprocated with a ginger ale. It had just been a chance encounter. It was highly likely I’d never see the man again. Once the show opened, the flurry of activity would keep all of us busy. And he had his own busy life keeping the various women in his town content. That thought brought on the same absurd blush that seemed to warm my face every time I thought about the man.
I pulled on my jodhpurs, a style that I’d discovered worked just as perfectly for riding motorcycles as riding horses. The snug fit of the fabric around my ankles and calves not only made sliding on my black boots easier, but it kept loose fabric from getting caught up in the gears. The flared hips and thighs kept me cooler and gave me room to move.
I pulled my helmet down over my head. “See you later, Rose.”
“Ride safely.”
My sphere stood up tall and round above the wooden boat ride and shooting gallery. The giant globe was constructed from twelve curved panels of wire mesh. Equally rounded strips of wood and steel bolts held the panels together. Once I’d learned how to ride along the sides and then upside down, it had become almost second nature to me. As long as the bike worked and I kept my concentration on the ride and not on the hundreds of wide-eyes watching me, my stunts were quite simple.
Francine stepped out of her tent squinting into the new day as if she’d just rolled out of bed. She was a tiny woman, under five feet and less than a hundred pounds, only twice the weight of her five foot long scaly partner. As a young girl, I always worried that Rusty might swallow Francine one day and that the only evidence we’d have would be a giant lump in the middle of the snake’s belly. Wisely, Francine kept Rusty well supplied with rats and mice, and the occasional possum. The petite snake charmer’s best friend was Hector the strongman, another mismatched pair if there ever was one. The massively built Hector could crush Francine in one fist. Not that he ever would, because, as menacing as Hector looked, he was as sweet and gentle as a puppy. And, while it was never discussed, the two had more than just a casual friendship.
“Charli, you’re just who I was looking for.” She stopped and looked at the way I was dressed. “Oh, you’re going to practice. I was hoping you could take Rusty out in the sun for awhile. That cold rain last night has left him sluggish and depressed. He needs to warm up.” There was no one better than Francine at recruiting people to do her chores.
I sighed. “Why can’t you take him out? I’ve got a lot to do today.”
“Emma and I are going into town to pick up some things for the opening eve campfire.” It was traditional for all of us to sit down to a campfire just before opening day. Buck used it as his chance to build up team spirit and enthusiasm for the long days ahead.
“I suppose I can take him out once I’m done riding. Have you fed him? I don’t want to have him snag a pigeon or sparrow while he’s on my shoulders.”
“He had a rat just this morning. He’ll be good as gold for you.”
“Fine.” As I walked past the main tent, a group of men walked out. The one in front had sharp, angry features and an expensive looking suit. The men on each side of him looked as if they were there solely for the purpose of watching over the pointy-faced man in pinstripes. The man in the fancy suit stopped and pinched his hat between his fingers to lift it in greeting. A sweet scent drifted off the grease in his hair. It had a nostalgic, pleasant fragrance that I couldn’t quite place. Otherwise, there was nothing nostalgic or pleasant about the man. He grinned down at my jodhpurs and boots. “A ginger rose
dressed in pants? You’re much more suited to a fancy silk dress, baby. What’s your name, beautiful?”
Buck walked out of the tent. “This is my stepdaughter, Charli.”
The man turned toward Buck with a laugh that sounded more like a sneer. “First, you name her Charli and then you dress her in trousers? What’s wrong with you, Starfield? Maybe I should think again about this partnership.” The men standing behind him laughed. Something told me they always made a point of laughing at any of his attempts at humor.
Buck looked slightly nervous, a rarity for him. “I didn’t name the girl. And the pants are for practice. She wears something much more fitting to her beauty when she performs.”
The man’s lips were thin and mean, and he managed to make them even more so with his grin. His dark eyes stared at me. “Performance? Burlesque?”
“Charli is The Enchantress. She rides a motorcycle in the Death Sphere.”
“Well I’ll be damned. You must be a little hellcat.”
“Excuse me,” I said sharply, “I’m late for practice.” I turned and walked away. I had no idea what partnership he was talking about, but there was no doubt in my mind that the man was a gangster or racketeer of some sort. There was nothing about him that looked honest or legal.
Dodie was our motorcycle, amusement ride and anything with a motor, mechanic. He was tall and thin and had been born with a curved spine, which made his right side shorter than his left. As he got older, the tilt became more pronounced, except when he picked up a fiddle. Dodie had been born in Ireland. His deformity had gotten him dumped off in an orphanage as an infant. A kindly Gypsy woman had taken pity on him and took him home. He’d always lived the traveler’s life. He learned many skills growing up, including playing music. Dodie could play a fiddle like a classically trained musician, and when he played, the sound was so beautiful, it was hard to see anything but a straight shouldered, musical genius with a magical instrument tucked under his chin.
He was just as talented with a wrench. Which, for me, was a matter of life or death.
My motorcycle purred like a hundred wild kittens as I crossed the stretch of dirt to where Dodie was sitting on my bike. “How’s she running?”
“Smooth as cream,” Dodie said. He glanced up at me. I must have appeared as flustered as I felt. “What’s eating you?”
“Oh nothing.” I glanced back. The annoying little man and his group of hoodlums had left. Buck was lumbering across the yard toward us, looking none too happy with me.
“Christ, Charli, what was that about? Why were you so rude?” Buck asked long before he reached me.
A short laugh burst from my lips. “Trust me, Buck, I wasn’t the rude half of that conversation. Just what are you doing with a man like that?” We both had to yell over the bike motor.
“Clinton Griggs is an important man around these parts, and we just formed a business partnership, a lucrative one.” Buck looked at Dodie. “Turn that damn thing off. Can’t hear myself think.”
Dodie let off the throttle, and the bike puttered out.
“You’ve formed a partnership with a gangster? What on earth are you thinking?”
Buck looked at Dodie, who took the hint and pushed the bike away. “Truth is, Charli, the show is in real trouble. Your suggestion to sell off the big animals was a good one. But to be honest, I already had buyers for them long before you brought it up. We needed the money. Things have been tough since that tornado took out the Ferris wheel, and replacing all the torn tents cost a fortune.” He looked pointedly at the sphere, our big attraction. “Other shows are pushing the limit on the stunts. People want to hold their breath and cover their eyes and wait with terrified enthusiasm to see what happens next. They want scary. They—”
“Maybe I should cut the engine halfway around and fall to my death. Is that what’ll bring em in, Buck? I mean, that’s what it’s all about, right? Money first.” A conversation like this had no place to go logically except toward my mom’s tragic death. “Flames? Is that what you’re suggesting?” I knew the second the memory had surfaced, I would break into a sweat and tears would flow. “You were there, too, Buck. You were standing right fucking there next to me when the stunt went horribly wrong.” I wiped clumsily at my tears. “You loved her too. I know you did. There was no way to know her and not love her.”
Buck was always awkward when it came to fatherly affection, but he put his large arm around my shoulder. “Of course I loved her, and I would never put you at risk like that, Charli. You’re all the family I’ve got. But I need to get this show on its feet again, or all these people, you and me included, will be out of work. Griggs has a lot of influence out here. He’s got bookies working for him over at his speakeasy. We’re going to open up the amateur fight ring and—”
I pulled away from his arm. “Gambling? Then why should I worry? We’re saved. We know how well that always works out for you.”
“I’m doing the best I can,” he said in that sad tone that usually made me want to take back my harsh words, but this time I couldn’t. His mismanagement had led to many of the financial woes that plagued the show. His personal habits, including a more than slight addiction to gambling, had nearly sunk us more than once. Maybe it was time for me not to care. Maybe I needed to start thinking about joining the real world, with a real job that didn’t require life on the road or living out of a trunk.
“It’s your name on the side of the trucks, Buck. Do what you like. I’ve got to practice.” I headed toward Dodie, who had busied himself checking the tires of the bike. I was certain he’d heard most of the conversation. On a clear day like today, Buck’s booming voice carried for yards.
Dodie looked up from the bike. He was in his forties, but a hard life and the pain of a curved spine made him look much older. “Maybe you should skip the practice this morning, Charli. I don’t like to see you in the sphere when you’re upset.”
I took a deep breath and blinked back my remaining tears.
“Buck’s responsible for a lot of people. Sometimes it all weighs heavy on him,” Dodie said.
I took hold of the handlebars and threw my leg over the seat. Dodie’s brow creased with worry. I placed my hand on his. “I’ll just ride around the grounds. I need to feel the wind in my face for a bit.”
“Take it easy, Charli.”
I placed my feet on the pedals and pumped my legs. The motor rumbled to a start. The leather seat vibrated beneath my bottom. I clicked back the right throttle and the bike jumped forward into gear. I headed off with no particular direction or destination in mind. On a straightaway, the bike could easily cruise at thirty-five miles per hour, and this morning, I needed that speed. I roared along the midway, leaving the game booths and food stands a mere blur of color. The rainstorm had cleaned the air of dust. It felt exhilarating riding along on my Indian factory racer. It felt like freedom.
Chapter 6
Jackson
Gideon checked something under the hood of the car while I lowered one more crate of whiskey onto the handcart.
“I can just take the load myself.” I leaned the dolly back onto its wheels.
Gideon slammed down the hood of the Model T. “I’m coming. Keep your pants on. Don’t know what that clinking sound is. I’m going to go out and look at that Ford truck today. We’ll need something sturdier for delivery now that we’re working with the big guns.” He chuckled at his own comment. “If that isn’t the fucking truth. Those Griggs boys hold onto those Colts like their guns are second dicks.”
“Like I said, Gideon, I’ll handle Griggs and his gun-toting torpedoes. You just make sure we have the wheels for delivery.”
“Yeah, yeah, told you, I’m working on it.”
Rain from the night before had left plenty of ruts in the ground, but the crates were heavy with liquor and, aside from the contents getting sloshed
around like milkshakes, my load stayed safely stacked on the cart. The rain had left long streaks on the tents, and the wind that had kicked along with it had left the whole carnival looking as if huge crowds had already bustled through the place. The opening day sign was still flying high. Apparently, the weather hadn’t set them behind schedule.
I’d only been to a carnival once. Ole Roy had taken Gideon and me when I was five. The memory was vague, a swirl of colors, costumes and sounds. A large calliope cranked organ music, and clowns that I’d thought were more terrifying than funny seemed to pop out of every corner. By the end of the day, Gideon and I, exhausted and slightly sick from sweets, had collapsed into the back of Pa’s wagon.
“Remember that time Pa took us to the carnival?” Gideon asked.
“I was just thinking about it. I mostly remember the games and the sugary foods and the lady with all the tattoos.”
“That’s right. You could just see the whites of her eyes. Everything else was covered in ink. That sight left me with some terrible nightmares. And the reptile tent, hated those damn snakes.”
I laughed. “Obviously, you remember the creepy stuff. I always think it’s funny as hell that the otherwise fearless Gideon Jarrett is deathly afraid of snakes.”
“As I recall, you were hiding behind Pa’s legs every time a clown popped out of nowhere. At least I was afraid of something that was actually scary.”
“At least I was afraid of something that had legs and could give chase.”
“Those snakes don’t need to give chase. They just need to be hiding in the right place.”
The carnival was stretched out on seven or eight acres of land. The red striped cone top of the main tent jutted up above the other tents and trailers. At least a dozen people were still hurrying back and forth across the grounds, tightening up bolts on signs and kiddie rides and repairing minor damage left behind by the previous night’s storm. The workers didn’t pay Gideon and me much attention.
