Madball

by Fredric Brown

  It was so nice that Mr. Magus would talk to him and not care whether he understood or not. Other people weren't like that. If Jesse said something to him and he didn't understand, Jesse got awful mad. Most other people got impatient. Only Mr. Magus didn't mind at all.

  It came to him that maybe, this late, Jesse was back in their quarters and getting mad because he wasn't there, so Sammy walked to the G-top and listened outside it until he heard Jesse's voice and knew Jesse was still playing cards.

  He was still standing there in the shadow of the G-top, still with his ear near the canvas, when he saw Miss Trixie. She was walking fast, away from him. He wondered where she was going and stepped out of the shadow so he could follow her with his eyes. She went toward the trailer, Mr. Evans's trailer. She rapped on the door. A light went on inside and the door opened. Miss Trixie went in and the door closed behind her.

  Just a few days ago Sammy would have thought she was going there just to talk to Mr. Evans and maybe have a drink with him. But Sammy had learned a lot since then. He knew about women now and what some of them did, and he knew Miss Trixie was one of the ones who did it.

  He wondered if they'd let him watch. That would be better than looking at the pictures again. That would give him pictures in his mind and Mr. Magus had just told him those were the best kind and that if he had pictures in his mind he wouldn't want to look at pictures on paper.

  But then he remembered that Mr. Evans was mad at him and had hit him. And might hit him again if he even went there to ask if he could watch.

  The shades on the windows of the trailer were being pulled down now but one of them, the one just to the left of the door, didn't go quite all the way down; there was still a crack of light between it and the bottom of the window. Maybe he could see through there and watch and Mr. Evans wouldn't even know he was watching.

  Sammy tiptoed over.

  He hoped he wouldn't have to stand there too long because the night had turned chilly and he was shivering.

  The bottom of the trailer window was at the level of his chest; he had to bend down a bit to put his eyes to the crack. At first he couldn't see anything except the edge of the bunk and the wall past the bunk. Then Miss Trixie walked into view. She still had all her clothes on except for the coat she'd been wearing on her way to the trailer. At his angle of vision he could see only from her knees to her breasts. Then she sat down on the bunk, facing his way, and he could see her face too.

  Then Mr. Evans came into view. He had an old bathrobe on. Sammy remembered the trailer had been dark until Miss Trixie had knocked; Mr. Evans must have been in bed and put the bathrobe on when he got up to turn on the light and let her in. But why had Mr. Evans put on clothes instead of Miss Trixie taking hers off? Maybe Miss Trixie had come just to talk after all. Then Sammy saw that Mr. Evans had a drink in each hand, two drinks altogether, and he handed one to Miss Trixie and sat down beside her. Maybe they were just going to have a drink first and then do some of the things like in those pictures in Mr. Evans's books.

  Sammy shivered again and wondered if he had time to go back and get his jacket. But he might miss something if he did. And what Mr. Evans did next showed Sammy that there would be something to miss all right. He sat farther back on the bunk than Miss Trixie was sitting, leaned back against the wall. He held his drink in his left hand and his right hand reached behind Miss Trixie and Sammy could tell that it was unbuttoning buttons at the back of her dress. Then his hand pulled her back to lean against him and slid inside the front of her dress.

  Suddenly Sammy sneezed.

  The sneeze was not only a loud one but it was so unexpected that it made his head jerk forward; his forehead hit the pane of the window with a resounding thump, so painfully as almost to blind him for a second.

  He turned and ran for the concealing shadow of the G-top, but he'd taken only a few steps when he heard the door jerk open behind him and he knew Mr. Evans was seeing him run, recognizing him even from behind at so short a distance, in the moonlight.

  But no footsteps came running after him and he paused and waited in the shadow of the canvas. He stood there panting, wondering what he should do, or if he should do anything at all. Mr. Evans hadn't run after him, hadn't even called out at him, so maybe it was all right. Maybe Mr. Evans hadn't minded and it would be all right for him to go back and watch as long as he didn't sneeze and bump the window again.

  But while he was wondering the door of the trailer opened again and Mr. Evans came out. He'd put on a shirt and trousers and he started walking, but not toward Sammy. After a few steps Sammy could see that he was heading around for the other side of the G-top, where the entrance was.

  He was going to tell Jesse on Sammy. And that meant that what Sammy had done, looking in the window, had been something awful bad.

  Sammy whirled and ran, as far as the edge of the lot. But he stopped there. Where could he run to?

  That was the edge of the world, his world. He crossed it only to run an errand for someone and then just to some grocery store or drug store that was in sight of the lot or that someone had told him how to find only a block or two away. And then he always watched carefully just how he was going and concentrated so he could find his way back.

  But at night? If he once got out of sight of the carnival he'd probably never be able to find it again and it would move on to another town and he'd be back like he was before Jesse found him, with nothing to eat, and finally the cops would pick him up and put him back in a place with bars on the windows and a high wall around the yard and this time they wouldn't let him get away. They'd have learned, and this time wouldn't leave a door open for him.

  No, he couldn't run away. There was nowhere to run to.

  He'd just have to go back and take whatever beating Jesse was going to give him. And it would be a bad one. He knew now, although he still didn't know why, looking in that window must have been a really bad thing to do. Otherwise Mr. Evans might have done something about it himself but he wouldn't have gone to Jesse about it.

  A step at a time he made himself go back toward the midway. He gave Mr. Evans's trailer a wide berth and headed straight for the sleeping top. He stood outside it, trembling, wondering if Jesse was inside, waiting for him. He thought of sleeping somewhere else tonight, in one of the trucks or under one of the bally platforms in the freak show top where he and Jesse usually slept when Jesse had rented the sleeping top to someone for all night.

  But that would make Jesse madder, if he didn't show up to take his beating. Tomorrow Jesse would have two things to beat him for and it would be better to take one beating tonight and have it over with than to have two beatings tomorrow.

  He took a deep breath and went in. Jesse wasn't there. It was pitch dark inside but he could tell right away that Jesse wasn't there yet because he could have heard Jesse breathing even if Jesse hadn't spoken.

  He groped until he found the little carbide lantern and some matches and got it lighted. By its light he sat and waited. He didn't dare undress and get into bed because if he was naked Jesse's blows would hurt worse.

  He put his jacket on so he wouldn't sneeze any more and then sat on top of the bedding, waiting.

  Finally Jesse came.

  He crawled through the flap and stood up just inside, his head bent to clear the canvas, looking down at Sammy. He was sober but his eyes were cold and hard.

  "Get out," he said.

  Sammy pulled back. He whimpered. Jesse couldn't really be sending him away for good.

  Jesse said, "I'm through with you."

  "But Jesse - please. What did I do?"

  "Don't matter what you done. I wasn't gonna feed you all winter anyhow and it might's well be now as end of season. Before you get in trouble that gets me in too. Finding bodies, dirty pictures, Peeping Tom stuff. No more halfwit angelinos for me. Get out."

  Jesse didn't want him any more. He stared up at Jesse's face, too stupefied to move.

  Jesse said, "Goddam it, get out right now or I
'll beat hell out of you."

  Jesse stepped aside a little, just far enough that Sammy could get out past him. He took off his belt, the heavy one he always wore and that he sometimes beat Sammy with, and held it in his hand ready to swing. Buckle end down.

  Sammy looked at the buckle and whimpered again. Then he crawled out through the tent flap past Jesse.

  Out into the night, the lonely night bright with moonlight and dark with dread.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  SATURDAY MORNING. Dr. Magus woke early, knowing he had a big day ahead of him.

  He'd better operate the mitt camp, for one thing, lest people start wondering why he was working so little. And besides that he had certain preparations to make. None of them difficult but all of them important.

  Last night while Sammy had kept watch for him outside the unborn show he'd given the jar that contained the two-headed calf fetus as careful an examination as he could with the flashlight. It was a wide-mouthed five-gallon jar. Pretty heavy, but he could manage to get it from the unborn show to the mitt camp and back again. Forty-two thousand dollars lighter on the way back. But he'd want an empty cardboard carton to carry it in; a five-gallon jar looks too much like a five-gallon jar, even wrapped in canvas, for him to risk being seen carrying it. And it would be easier to carry if he roped the carton shut so he could carry it by the rope. Item one, a cardboard carton the right size to hold the jar. Item two, rope.

  Item three, rubber cement. His study of the fetus through the glass of the jar had convinced him that it was a hollow rubber fake. It would have to be, anyway, to be the hiding place for the money. Flack and Irby would never have thought of gutting and stuffing a real fetus; it would be a horribly messy thing to do. They'd never have been able to do it undetectably, either. And a real fetus would be in formaldehyde, which is horrible stuff; even if they'd protected themselves with gas masks the odor would have advertised what they were doing all over the lot. Irby, as talker for Burt, must have known in advance and for sure that the fetus was hollow rubber and in water. And they'd have sealed the slit they made, not only to keep the money dry but because water getting in would lower the level of water in the jar and show evidence of tampering. He'd need rubber cement to reseal it for the same reason.

  Razor blades he already had, plenty of them.

  So much for shopping. He'd go into town this morning and take care of it.

  So much for means. Opportunity was going to be a tougher nut to crack. Barney King spread his bedroll in the unborn show top and slept there. And he not only had to take that jar away but take it back afterwards. He might be able to do the whole operation in half an hour but he couldn't count on it. He wanted to make sure Barney would be safely away from his sleeping quarters for at least a couple of hours.

  Furthermore, he very much wanted those two hours to be tonight. Tomorrow night there'd be no chance; tomorrow night was Sunday night and tear-down; packing and moving would start even before the carnival had closed. And what if that jar got broken in transit! Of course it had been moved from lot to lot all season without breaking - six of those times since it had become the repository of the loot from the bank - but he'd worry like hell about it just the same. And the suspense of waiting at least two more nights would be unendurable.

  It had to be tonight He'd have to figure out something that would take Barney King off the lot tonight after the show closed. A song and dance for that shouldn't be too difficult, with a little money - not enough to arouse suspicion - for bait.

  He figured it out on his way into town on the bus. Groundwork consisted only in making a few telephone calls for information and then sending himself a telegram at the lot, specifying that it was to be delivered and not telephoned there.

  When he got back he stashed his purchases at the mitt camp and wandered to the office wagon to see if there was any mail for him.

  "Nope, Doc, no mail," Smitty told him, "but there's a telegram. Here it is."

  Dr. Magus tore open the envelope and pretended to read it, then swore.

  "Bad news, Doc?"

  "Not bad news, no. But my brother's coming to see me, wants my help on a deal, and he wants me to meet him at some airport with a car at one o'clock tonight. And I'll be busy then - a big deal of my own on the fire."

  "Get somebody to meet him for you."

  "I believe I can do that. Thanks, Smitty."

  Dr. Magus wandered to the unborn show and called Barney's name from outside the canvas, then ducked under it when Barney called back for him to come in.

  Barney was putting on his talking clothes. "How's every little thing, Doc?" he asked.

  "Not too bad. Barney, does your jalopy still run?"

  "Yep."

  "Wonder if you could use it to do me a favor."

  Barney looked at his wrist watch. "Burt said we'd open at two today and it's half past one now. If it's a short trip-"

  "It isn't. It's rather a long one. But it's tonight after closing, not now. And it's quite a favor if you can do it for me, too big a favor to ask for free. There's a sawbuck in it, besides your gas."

  "A sawbuck I could use. What's the deal?"

  "I just got a telegram, Barney. My brother's coming to see me on business. And he's flying into the Springer airport late tonight - guess either Bloomfield hasn't got an airport or he couldn't make connections for it." Dr. Magus sat down on the corner of a table lined with glass jars and took the telegram from his pocket and looked at it as though to refresh himself on the details. "Here is the hell of it. He might be on either of two planes and won't know which till he takes off. There's one in at one-forty and - will you be able to make it? How late's Burt likely to want to run the show tonight?"

  "Not much after midnight, if any. How's the distance? How far is Springer from here?"

  "Forty miles, but it's on the same main highway. You can make it, can't you?"

  "Sure, easy. I can leave here by half past twelve and make it easy. What's this about another plane, though?"

  "If he isn't on that one-forty plane you'll have to wait fifty minutes for the other one. It's in at half past two. I fear the round trip plus the wait between the planes - if he isn't on the first one, of course - will take you about three hours."

  "That's all right, Doc. No plans tonight anyway And I can sure use ten bucks after what the poker game did to me last night. Yeah, half past twelve will be okay for us to take off. Where'll we meet."

  Dr. Magus shook his head. "I can't go, Barney. I've got a deal on. Business. A séance."

  "A séance? You mean ghost stuff? I didn't know you went in for that, Doc."

  "I don't ordinarily. But when a mark I was giving a good reading to a few days ago asked me about a séance I didn't tell her that. I just told her the fee was fifty bucks and she surprised the hell out of me by taking me up on it."

  "I'll be damned. But after midnight?"

  Dr. Magus nodded. "This is the anniversary of her husband's death, or will be at two o'clock tonight. She wants a séance in the room he died in, right at that hour. She's going to pick me up in her car at one o'clock."

  Barney King shivered a little. "That fifty bucks I wouldn't want to earn. Dunno if I believe in ghosts or not but I sure as hell wouldn't want to try to raise one at that time of night in the room he died in."

  Dr. Magus chuckled. "I can handle any ghosts I raise myself. But just in case this one gets me, I'll pay you now, Barney. Here's the ten and - let's see, what will cover gas and oil for forty miles each way?"

  "Couple bucks ought to cover it."

  "Let's make it three."

  "Thanks. Say, how do I know this guy, your brother?"

  "Looks like me; you can't miss him. He's about an inch taller, six years younger, no goatee. But there's enough resemblance that you can't possibly miss it. And you can level with him as to why I can't meet him. He'll understand. Half a C is half a C and this one is tonight or never."

  "Shall I take him to the mitt camp?"

  "If he wants t
o wait for me there. Leave it up to him, Barney. If he'd rather stay at a hotel drop him off at one and tell him I'll see him first thing in the morning."

  "Okay, Doc. About whether he should wait for you or not - is there any chance you might be gone all night? Might this dame be looking for a stand-in for her husband?"

  "I don't know. But she isn't bad; I might oblige her if she has that in mind, but it'll still cost her fifty bucks for the séance." He grinned. "In which, now that I think of it, I am reasonably certain that her husband will tell her to enjoy herself and not to be faithful to a memory," Dr. Magus started out and then turned back. "Should tell you one thing, Barney. My brother is pretty unpredictable. I wouldn't put it past him not to show up on either of those planes. If he isn't on the second one, don't let it worry you. Just come back and turn in."

  "Sure. Hey, what's your brother's name?"

  "His name is Legion. Harry J. Legion."

  The afternoon was bright and warm, the evening balmy. And the double murder that had broken in the Friday papers was still fresh enough to draw the morbidly curious, who seemed to be most of the population of Bloomfield.

  Dr. Magus read palms until his eyes blurred and his voice became hoarse. Money rolled in.

  But time never dragged more slowly.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  SAMMY WAS HUNGRY. It was late now and the carnival was closing, and all he'd eaten all day was one hamburger sandwich around noon, almost twelve hours ago. He was awfully hungry again now.

  But no one had asked him to run any errands since noon, when Maybelle had sent him to bring her a hamburger; she'd given him half a dollar and had said, "Keep the change, Sammy, or get yourself a hamburger too." And it had been a good idea because by then he was hungry already; he wanted a hamburger more than he wanted cotton candy. Cotton candy didn't help at all when you were hungry. Sammy knew enough to know that. Cotton candy tasted wonderful but it was mostly just air; it didn't fill your stomach like solid food did.