The Three-Legged Hootch Dancer: Tales of the Galactic Midway, Vol. 2

by Mike Resnick

  “Don't you ever feel sorry for them after you've fleeced them?"

  “Ever been to a slaughterhouse?” he replied. “Do you feel sorry for the hamburgers you eat?"

  “Yes, I do!” she snapped. “That's why I became a vegetarian!"

  “Gloria, the world—hell, the whole damned universe—is divided into just two groups: meat eaters and meat. It has been my experience that the former never feels sorry for the latter. As Thaddeus says, it might even be sacrilegious."

  “Well, you and Thaddeus can do what you want, but I'm not going to cheat. It's immoral, and nothing you can say is going to change my mind about it."

  Diggs sighed. “All right,” he said at last. “Let's go up the row and see what the hell we can find for you to do."

  * * * *

  “How's she working out?” asked Flint, as the crowds started departing an hour after midnight.

  “Just awful,” said Diggs, shaking his head sadly.

  “In what way?"

  “Thaddeus, for a girl who's worked the carny circuit for a couple of years, she just doesn't seem to know how things work around here."

  “How the hell can she mess up the bottle booth?” demanded Flint. “She takes their money, gives them three throws to knock the bottles over, and that's the whole of it."

  “I keep showing her how to set them up,” complained the Rigger. “You know, putting them in the shadows, centering them on the bench, reaching over the counter to hand out the balls so the mark is a couple of feet farther away, and she just won't do it. And hell, she sets ‘em up so unsteadily that you could practically blow ‘em over."

  “What's the bottom line?” sighed Flint.

  “She took in nine hundred credits."

  “Not bad."

  “And she gave out twelve hundred credits’ worth of prizes."

  “So give her some slum."

  “She won't display it,” said Diggs. “She keeps pointing out the good stuff to the marks."

  Flint shrugged. “We can take a three-hundred-credit-a-night beating until I figure out what to do with her."

  “It's going to get worse,” said the Rigger.

  “Yeah?"

  Diggs nodded. “The marks lose everywhere else and they win at her booth. It starts them thinking, if you know what I mean."

  “I see your point,” replied Flint with a grimace.

  “Can't you let her go back to stripping?” persisted Diggs. “It's all she talks about anyway."

  Flint shook his head. “Out of the question."

  “But you filled the tent last night."

  “It's a matter of aesthetics, not customers,” said Flint wryly.

  “I don't understand."

  “Welcome to the club,” said Flint.

  Diggs returned to supervise the closing of the booths, and Flint wandered over to the mess hall. He dialed a cup of coffee and a sandwich, specifying that the meat could be anything except blue, and joined Tojo, who was sitting alone at one of the tables.

  “How'd it go tonight?” he asked, pulling up a chair.

  “We sold out all three shows,” replied the hunchback. “The Dancer had to adjust and do a few extra tricks, since Monk's show is a little shorter without Simba, but it went over okay. He's fantastic!"

  “Who?"

  “The Dancer."

  “You spent your whole life wanting to be a barker,” smiled Flint. “Now that you're a barker, have you decided you'd rather be a trick-shot artist?"

  Tojo shook his head. “I'm happy doing what I do. But I can admire him, can't I?"

  “As long as you remember that he's a little crazy."

  “We all are,” replied Tojo with a smile.

  “Him more than most,” said Flint seriously.

  “How did Gloria do?"

  “Don't ask,” said Flint.

  “That badly?"

  “Sometimes I think that in her own way she's as mad as Wyatt Earp here. At any rate, she's a hell of a lot more self-destructive."

  They fell silent for a few minutes while Flint ate his sandwich and finished his coffee. Then Mr. Ahasuerus walked through the airlock, spied them sitting together, and wandered over.

  “Did the hotshot get off okay?” asked Flint idly.

  “Two hours ago,” replied the blue man. “What's this I hear about a magician?"

  “A magician or a juggler,” said Flint. “It's up to him."

  “Why are we getting either?"

  “Kargennian wants to run a three-card monte game, so I traded him one of the Rigger's marked decks for an entertainer. I figure the specialty show can use another act.” He paused and allowed himself the luxury of a small grin. “And the deck only cost three dollars back on Earth."

  “I feel very fortunate to have you as my partner, Mr. Flint,” said the blue man.

  “You should, Mr. Ahasuerus,” replied Flint. Suddenly the smile vanished from his face. “Anything further from Fast Johnny?"

  “Not a word."

  “If he doesn't come back, who's on the hook for his ship—us or the Corporation?"

  “I suspect that we are,” replied Mr. Ahasuerus. “After all, he was a carnival employee on carnival business, and as best I can determine he is not being held against his will."

  “How much is the ship worth?"

  “More than we can possibly afford,” answered the blue man.

  “Shit!” snapped Flint. “Well, he's not going anywhere. We'll let it ride for a few days, until we work the new crew into shape. When are they due to arrive?"

  “Two days from now."

  “Good. Then we'll only be without the bottle booth for two nights."

  “Gloria's not working out?” asked the blue man.

  “She's not exactly dogging it,” said Flint. “She's just not cut out to be a con artist.” He shook his head. “Hell, I wonder if she was cut out to be anything but a stripper."

  “What shall we do with her, then?” asked Mr. Ahasuerus.

  “Who knows?"

  “I have a suggestion,” interjected Tojo.

  “Yeah?"

  “Well, she's more of an entertainer than a games operator, and Monk's act is running short with Simba dead. Maybe we can work her into it somehow."

  “You know, that's not half bad,” mused Flint. “A pretty girl sticking her head into a leopard's mouth, something like that. It might dress up the act."

  “Will Monk agree to it?” asked the blue man.

  “You make it sound as if he's got a choice,” said Flint. He lowered his head in thought for a moment, then looked up again. “Yeah, that just might work out all the way around. Every now and then you come up with a decent idea, you ugly little dwarf."

  “Thank you,” said Tojo.

  Flint rose from his chair.

  “Hunt her up after she knocks off work for the night and tell her to get her ass over to the training cage tomorrow morning,” he said as he left the mess hall.

  “Tojo, do you mind if I ask you a question?” said Mr. Ahasuerus after Flint had departed.

  “Not at all."

  “Why do you let him speak to you like that?"

  “You asked me that question back on Earth,” Tojo said with a smile.

  “I know. But if I'm to spend the next few years with Men, I really should make an effort to understand them, and I seem to be having some difficulty."

  “He's rude to everyone."

  “But he is especially abusive to you,” said the blue man.

  “He likes me better. It's his manner."

  “You could ask him to moderate it."

  “Why bother?” asked Tojo. “He's not going to change. I probably wouldn't recognize him if he did."

  “But these remarks he makes about your appearance..."

  “They're mostly true,” said Tojo with no sign of self-consciousness. “I am ugly and I am little. Would it make you happier if he called me a hunchback instead of a dwarf?"

  “No,” said Mr. Ahasuerus, shaking his head in bewilderment.
“If it doesn't bother you, I don't know why it should bother me. But as long as you don't seem to mind discussing your ... ah ... physique, I have another question. You've seen what our surgeons have been able to do to Fast Johnny and what they did to Mr. Romany before he went to Earth...” He paused and looked across the table at Tojo.

  “And you want to know why I haven't asked them to straighten my back?” smiled Tojo.

  “Well, yes,” said the blue man uncomfortably.

  “All my life I've tried to be accepted for what I am,” said Tojo. “I've taken thirty years of abuse and teasing and ridicule and pity."

  “All the more reason, I should think."

  Tojo shook his head. “Now I'm doing what I want, and I'm doing it well. I pull my weight, I'm accepted as a useful member of the carnival, and I did it on my own terms. If I changed my shape now, it would make all the abuse and ridicule meaningless."

  “I don't quite see it that way,” said Mr. Ahasuerus.

  “Then let me put it as simply as possible: I know that I'm happy right now, the way I am. I don't know for a fact that I'd be happy if I was like everybody else."

  “But that's ridiculous."

  “Maybe so,” said Tojo with a shrug. “But I haven't been happy long enough to take the chance. Let me enjoy myself for a few months or a few years. Then maybe we'll talk about it."

  “If that is your desire,” said the blue man.

  “It is. And don't start feeling sorry for me,” said the hunchback seriously.

  “No one else does—including me."

  The blue man watched him get up and shuffle out the airlock in search of Gloria, and reflected upon how much he still had to learn about this odd race into whose company, for better or worse, Fate had thrust him.

  * * * *

  “All right,” said Monk. “I'm gonna keep his muzzle on until he gets used to you. Step through the door now."

  He was standing in the center of his training cage, a structure of canvas flooring and titanium bars perhaps fifty feet in diameter. Gloria, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, stood at the barred door, staring apprehensively at Bruno the Bear, who despite his muzzle was not a particularly reassuring sight.

  “You sure he won't hurt me?"

  “He's just a big playful puppy,” said Monk, ducking a swipe of Bruno's paw that would have decapitated him had it landed.

  “I didn't like the looks of that,” said Gloria hesitantly.

  Monk slammed the handle of his whip into the bear's belly. “Don't worry about it,” he said, watching Bruno out of the corner of his eye. “If push comes to shove, he'd much rather kill me than you."

  “Okay,” she said, stepping gingerly into the cage. “But I'm staying by the door."

  “Gloria, get out in the middle,” said Monk. “For what it's worth, if he wants to get out of here, that door sure as hell ain't going to stop him."

  Gloria took another step, then stopped as Bruno emitted a low, rumbling growl.

  “I'm scared!” said Gloria.

  “I won't let him hurt you,” said Monk patiently. “Just walk out into the center of the cage."

  “I can't."

  “The hell you can't."

  “Damn it, Jupiter—I'm about two seconds away from wetting my pants!"

  “Come on, Gloria—you've seen me wrestle with him when he's not wearing a muzzle. Let's get this show on the road."

  She took another tentative step, froze as Bruno growled again, and then stepped back to the door.

  “There's nothing to be afraid of as long as I'm here with him!” snapped Monk.

  “Maybe not for you."

  “What the hell's the difference?"

  “Look, Jupiter. I'm scared. I'm sorry, but I'm scared to death. Maybe you'd be scared if you had to strip in front of six hundred screaming women. It just affects people differently, that's all."

  “Well, if you won't work with him, you won't work with him,” said Monk.

  He whacked Bruno on the shoulder with the flat of his hand. “Get over there!"

  The bear snarled and lumbered to the far side of the cage.

  “Now stay put!” snapped Monk. He backed away a couple of steps, then walked over to Gloria.

  “I suppose if you can work with the cats, I can still use you."

  “I'll try,” she said tightly.

  “Okay. Back off while I get Smokey the Bear out of here."

  He unsnapped Bruno's chain and collar from where they were hanging on the door, walked over, ducked another swipe of the bear's forepaw, attached the collar, and hooked the chain on.

  “All fours!” he shouted, and the bear, which had been standing erect, lowered his front feet to the canvas. Monk led him out the door while Gloria backed off to give him plenty of room, took him to a nearby holding cage, and locked him in it.

  Then he rolled the cage containing his two leopards—one spotted and one black—up to the door of the training cage, hit a catch, and released them into the larger cage.

  They frisked around like kittens for a few minutes. Then Monk walked into the cage carrying a pair of stools, set them down at opposite sides, walked out, and returned once more with a large hoop.

  He cracked his whip twice, and the leopards each jumped onto a stool.

  “Okay,” he said to Gloria, who was standing just outside the door again.

  “This is an easy one, but it looks pretty good to an audience. Stand about six feet away from this guy here,” he said, positioning himself near the black leopard, “hold the hoop out like so, and holler: ‘Jump!’”

  As he said the word the black cat hurled himself through the hoop, hit the floor running, and circled the cage, winding up atop his stool again.

  “Nothing to it,” said Monk with a smile. “Of course, we'll set fire to the hoop for the performance."

  “Won't that burn him?” asked Gloria.

  “He goes through it too fast to feel the heat,” explained Monk. “And of course it won't be burning at the point where you hold it. We let each cat do it once. Then we move the stools about twelve feet apart, and then they'll jump together and wind up on each other's stool. You'll have to hold stock-still for that one, though. There's not a hell of a lot of room when they're both passing through it, and if you move, one of ‘em's going to get burned.” He walked to the door. “Ready to take a shot at it?"

  Gloria took a deep breath and nodded.

  “Try not to look so red in the face, a nice pretty girl like you,” smiled Monk. He led her into the cage and handed her the hoop.

  “Don't I get a whip or a gun or anything?"

  “Do you know how to handle a whip?” he asked.

  “No,” she admitted. “But I'd feel a lot safer with a pistol in my pocket."

  “I've already killed a quarter of this act with a pistol,” said Monk grimly. “That's enough shooting for the time being.” He walked over to the bars and leaned against them. “Anytime you're ready."

  Gloria walked slowly, carefully, to the center of the cage, then hesitantly approached the black leopard.

  “Is this close enough?” she asked at last.

  “Another couple of feet,” said Monk.

  “You're sure?” she said. “You looked like you were this far."

  “Two more steps,” Monk answered firmly.

  Gloria took two very small steps.

  “All right?” she asked, never taking her eyes off the leopard.

  “Fine. Now hold up the hoop and holler ‘Jump!’ at him."

  Gloria held the hoop out very stiffly. The leopard curled his lips back and growled.

  “Just clearing his throat,” said Monk easily.

  “You're sure?"

  “I'm sure. Just don't look so hesitant or you'll make him nervous."

  “Him?” repeated Gloria. “What about me?"

  “Just tell him to jump."

  Gloria looked at the leopard again, held the hoop out rigidly, and said, “Jump!"

  The black leopard leaped from his
stool with a roar, and Gloria dropped the hoop as he was passing through it and ran toward the door. The cat got tangled in the hoop and fell to the canvas. He was up again in an instant, growling furiously. Suddenly he saw a flash of movement as Gloria reached the door and instinctively hurled himself after her.

  Monk bellowed a curse and dove for the leopard, grabbing his tail just as his head was passing through the open door. The cat turned, hissing, and lashed out with a forepaw. Monk took the blow on his shoulder, cursed again, and struck the cat in the face. The leopard, startled, backed off, hissing and snarling, and now its companion leaped down from its stool and began slinking toward Monk. The trainer got to his knees, clutching his shoulder.

  “Shut the fucking door!” he bellowed.

  “You're bleeding!” cried Gloria, closing the door behind her.

  “That's a lot less than you're going to be if I get my hands on you!"

  “I'm sorry! I just panicked when I saw him jumping at me!"

  The door began cracking open.

  “Latch the goddamned thing!” hollered Monk.

  Gloria fumbled with the catch for a minute before it fell into place.

  “I'm sorry, Jupiter,” she began.

  “Shut up!” snapped Monk, swinging a blow at the leopards to remind them to keep their distance. “That's the first time I've been nailed in five goddamned years!"

  “I didn't mean to run,” said Gloria, staring in horrified fascination as the blood began seeping through Monk's shirt.

  “Just get the hell out of my sight, and send someone over here with some antiseptic and a roll of gauze—and don't you ever come near my animals again!"

  She ran to the ship for medical help as Monk glowered at the black leopard.

  * * * *

  “What the hell is left?” said Flint, popping open can of beer and peering glumly out through a porthole.

  “Maybe we ought to let the Dancer shoot her clothes off,” offered Tojo.

  “How did you know about that?"

  “She mentioned it to me,” said the hunchback. “Even if the audience doesn't know what stripping is, it might be a novel trick."

  “And if she flinches like she did with the cat, have you got a graveyard picked out?” asked Flint. He took a long swallow. “You know, Stogie decided not to work up a routine with the Dancer, and he's a lot more interested in dying than she is.” He paused, staring at his beer can. “Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone."