by Steve Lee
He turned to the front page to find which town the Alhambra honored by its presence.
Sloane smiled when he read the name.
Hades…
* * *
The clown's sharp eyes were narrow slits as he watched the approaching dust cloud become a troop of cavalry. Seven riders, an officer and six men… they could take care of them easy if necessary but it wasn't the kind of trail he liked to leave behind him.
The clown raised his derby and a cheer when the bluecoats reined in alongside.
"Hello there, boys! Out chasin' redskins?"
"Not today," said the hard-faced captain in command, touching his hat. He slapped dust from his jacket but his eyes were busy elsewhere, taking in the grotesquely grinning clown, the big Oriental driving the second of the brightly painted wagons. Their appearance confirmed his first impression: a traveling show… harmless.
A red-haired woman poked her head out of the second wagon. A good-looking woman. A couple of troopers whistled their appreciation.
"Cut that out!" the captain snapped, turning on them. "Some of you men got less manners than a goat."
He tipped his hat to the good-looking woman. She smiled back at him, the kind of smile he would remember on the long trail ahead.
"Where you people coming from?" the captain asked the clown.
"We been to the carnival in Las Cruces. Did a show there." The captain nodded.
"Been on this road all day?"
"Since sunup, captain."
"See anything suspicious… big party of riders maybe?" The clown's face was thoughtful beneath the greasepaint. He shook his head slowly. "No, can't say we did."
His voice took on an anxious note. "Hasn't been any trouble has there?"
"Sure looks that way," said the captain. "Whole state's in a boil over some missing gold."
"Gold, eh? Well, we'll look out for it."
The captain pointed to the rutted trail ahead. "This'll take you into Hades. That where you're headed?"
"That's right," said the clown. "Got a promise of a show there."
Satisfied, the captain touched his hat again. "Good luck," he said and, taking a last look at the redhead, waved his men on.
"Company ForwarrrdHo…"
The clown watched the bluecoats canter into the sun. They had a hot day ahead of them. Hot and dusty and useless.
"Yeah, we'll look after it," he said.
6
Sloane rode into Hades in the early afternoon. It was an easy town to miss if you didn't stick to the trail. First there was sunbaked sand. Then Main Street. Then the desert closed round you again.
Whoever gave the town its name, he decided, didn't have much sense of humor. If he had he would have called it Sweetwater or Paradise or some other irony to bring a smile to a weary traveler's lips. But he was probably a cold humorless sonovabitch so he called it Hades.
The obvious choice.
The town welcomed visitors with a lot of gilt and color to dazzle the eye. But like an old whore's painted face, it didn't fool anybody. It was a pleasure town, thought Sloane, and its pleasures looked desperate. There were four saloons, two cathouses, and a theater with a good-time show. That was it. If none of these appealed, you might be accommodated in the sprawling graveyard on the edge of town. There were more dead than living in Hades. Which was appropriate. To the miners in the east and the cowboys hiding in from the west and the railroad workers struggling between, it was civilization.
The name of the hotel was Hotel. Sloane carried his rifle case and gear inside and checked in. A big sweating man with a voice as deep as his chest showed him to his room.
It was a room because it had four corners. There was also a bed. The previous occupant must have been a messy eater, Sloane thought, or else he'd kept dogs. He'd also left behind some friends of his. Some of them hopped and some of them crawled.
"It's a dollar fifty a day or ten a week," said the big man, wiping the back of his neck with a rag. "Take it or leave it — you won't find no other in town."
"It'll do," said Sloane, swinging his gear onto the bed. The sheets had the look of dirty snow.
The sweating man hung about.
"You wantin' company?" he asked, doing things with his face that might have been a grin.
Sloane looked at him.
"You want…" the big man nudged, "I can fix you up with some entertainment."
"No, thanks," said Sloane, closing the door on him. "I'm planning on makin' my own."
* * *
Kathie Prescott was bored as only a nineteen-year-old girl can be in a small town where there's nothing to do but screw and no one worth screwing. She sat in the box office of her father's theater, propping her head on her hand and waiting for some excitement to enter her life.
She perked up when she saw the stranger approaching. Her pretty face came alive and she quickly dabbed her long blonde hair into place.
He was older than she but young enough, and he looked like he knew a thing or two. The unshaven face beneath the snap-brimmed hat was strong with an expression of sullen confidence. The eyes looking at her were denim blue, cold and clear as ice.
"A new face… and not bad looking," she said. "Going to be in town long?" She smiled at him in a way that said she was interested.
"Maybe," said Sloane.
"When d'you get in?"
Sloane looked more closely at the girl sitting in the box office. There was a dash of Irish in her voice and a double dash in her green eyes.
"Do you sell tickets or just ask questions?"
She managed to look hurt and delighted at the same time.
"Depends on what you want a ticket for," she said.
"How about the show?"
She leaned closer. "Which show is that?" she innocently asked.
"Very cute," said Sloane without smiling.
There was a poster beside the box office. The names Jack Knife and Scarlett Blade were written big. Sloane rapped the poster with his knuckles.
"This show," he said.
Kathie looked like she'd just been handed a platterful of gold.
"Oh, that show," she said. "Two tickets?"
"One."
"You did just get into town, didn't you."
He took the ticket she offered him and flipped her a dollar in exchange.
"I hope you enjoy the show, Mister…?"
The question remained unanswered. Sloane turned toward the theater entrance.
"My name's Kathie Prescott," she called out after him. "My old man runs the theater."
"Is that a fact?" said Sloane and entered the auditorium.
The air inside was rough with smoke and men's laughter. Sloane shouldered aside drunks and found himself a seat. The theater was dark and red and velvety. All around him men were having their fun — hooting, yelling, and stomping. Some passed round whiskey, others passed round girls. They wanted a good time and they meant to have one.
The show opened with a juggler. Someone fired a shot in the air. The juggler dropped his plates and caught a lot of abuse. The flesh show was better appreciated — six girls sharing the same worn smile kicked back and forth across the stage. They shook their legs at the audience and other things besides.
The orchestra feebly struggled against the whistling and hollering and suggestions that rocked the theater. When the girls had kicked their way into the wings and the enthusiasm had died to an uproar, Lemuel Prescott entered the stage, tipping his hat and wearing a grin broad as his brogue. His red hair matched his nose.
"Thank you, gentlemen, thank you!"
His fluttering hands appealed for calm. "And now, after that delightful spectacle comes entertainment with a keen edge of excitement — entertainment that hits the mark every time. Introducing those nabobs of the knife, the wizards of the scalpel — the sensational Blades?
The last words were flung at the audience as Prescott left the stage. He flourished and the curtain opened on a line of fierce-looking Indians, menacing the audienc
e with arrows and tomahawks.
Jack and Scarlett ran onto the stage, tossing knives in quick succession. The wooden Indians bit the dust. The audience roared its approval. Most of the approval was aimed at Scarlett. Her long legs were sheathed in fishnet stockings. That was about all she wore.
Sloane recognized them immediately. He remembered even the black gloves Jack wore on his hands. Jack's style of dress hadn't changed but he had. He had grown thinner, more skeletal. His cheeks were sunken; his eyes burned in his dark face like twin candles in a halloween skull.
As for Scarlett, she had grown a bigger bosom. She looked harder and meaner. But there was only one Scarlett. You couldn't mistake her blood-red hair.
Brother and sister went quickly through their routine, scoring hits on bursting balloons and pictures of the Yankee president.
A pair of stagehands pushed a contraption onstage. It was a wooden wheel, big as a man, mounted on a platform. A lever grew out of the platform. Painted on the face of the wheel were the red and blue circles of a target.
Facing the audience, Scarlett flattened herself against the wheel, limbs spread. Straps secured her to the wheel.
Jack stepped up and pulled on the lever. Slowly at first, then faster, the wheel began to turn, Scarlett turning with it. Soon she and the wheel were a blur of color.
Holding a fan of knives, Jack backed away from the spinning wheel. He raised a knife, aimed… a drum rolled… cymbals clashed and he threw the knife.
It thudded into the wheel, releasing a collective rush of breath from the audience.
Six times Jack threw knives at the spinning wheel. The audience watched, wide-eyed, breathless. Even Sloane found himself anxious. It had taken a lot of time to catch up with Scarlett. He didn't want her to die that easy.
After the sixth throw, Jack ran to the wheel and returned he lever to its original position. The wheel slowed. The audience waited to see if they were going to get an extra shock for their money. They were out of luck.
Scarlett danced down from the wheel and linked hands with Jack. They took their bows. The audience leapt to its feet, clapping and cheering. The applause was thunderous.
Scarlett blew kisses to her public.
Sloane left.
* * *
Pepe and Sebastian clapped their hands with delight. Eyes bright as new dollar pieces, the two young Mexicans watched the clown fooling on the trampoline.
The clown fell and bounced, toppled and bounded right back again with many wild, eye-rolling faces and shrill exclamations of surprise. He leaped and somersaulted, flipped backwards and forwards until the two boys were giddy and their sides ached from laughing.
The trampoline was set up to one side of the two-story adobe ranch house. Above the bouncing clown, two black-costumed acrobats swung to and fro, practicing catches on a trapeze.
To conclude his performance, the clown leapt off the trampoline and landed expertly on his butt. Feigning pain, he began to boo-hoo loudly.
Sebastian shrieked with delight. But Pepe's face clouded, the laughter draining away. The smaller boy burst into tears.
At the sound of the boy's tears, the clown quit acting. He rose to his feet and walked over to the boys, squatting down beside Pepe.
"See, I'm not hurt," he said. The tone of his voice was gentle, reassuring.
From the breast pocket of his checkered jacket, he drew a red handkerchief with big white spots. He handed it to Pepe.
"Here, boy, dry them eyes."
The boy pressed the handkerchief to his eyes. The uncontrolled tears wound down into broken sobs that shook his body.
"You see, Pepe, a clown is kind of like life. He does somethin' that makes you happy and then, when he's got you laughin' and a'clappin' without a care in the world, he does somethin' that makes you wanna cry. Well, when that happens, you gotta go right on laughin' 'cause really it's all part of the fun."
The clown put his hand under Pepe's chin and tilted the sobbing boy's head towards him.
"Understand?"
Pepe tearfully nodded. "Yes, Senor Carmello."
The clown could see a buggy heading toward the ranch. Inside it he recognized Jack and Scarlett.
"Good," he said, turning to the red-eyed boy beside him. "You give me a big smile now."
Sniffing back a sob, Pepe pulled a face that just made it as a smile. Carmello ruffled his hair. They stood as the buggy pulled alongside.
"Good mornin', Scarlett, Jack."
"What's the idea of sending for us?" Jack demanded. "Didn't you say we was never to come out here?"
"Something's come up," said Carmello. "Come on in and I'll tell you 'bout it."
He let them towards the ranch house.
* * *
Sloane followed the trail the buggy had taken down to the gate. In the distance he could see a cluster of buildings grouped round a white ranch house.
There was a sign above the gate. It read
Welcome to The Big Top Ranch
Fish and Khan were waiting inside a room splashed bright with circus posters. Polishing the stock of his carbine, Fish watched the big Mongolian lumber from one end of the room to the other like a trapped bear.
"Why we have to wait?" he grumbled for the fiftieth time.
"You talk too much," said Fish.
Khan growled at him.
Carmello entered the room, followed by Jack and Scarlett and Kurt, the leader of the team of acrobats.
"Hey, baby!"
Fish pulled Scarlett close. They kissed, long and deep.
"Did you miss me?" she asked.
Fish grinned, shaking his Winchester at her. "You know me, baby, I never miss nothin'!"
Carmello sat down before a mirror and pulled off his false nose. He began to remove the rest of his makeup.
"Well, why are we all here?" Jack asked, walking up behind him.
The clown's voice was matter of fact. "Bull's dead," he said. "So is Luke."
Suddenly, everyone was interested in the conversation.
"How?" asked Jack.
"Bull got a goodnight kiss from a rattle-snake. Luke took the short cut off a mountain."
Carmello opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of newspaper cuttings. He handed them to Jack. Jack read the clippings in silence. Fish's laughter broke the silence.
"Well, that's great!" he said. "We don't have to worry no more 'bout them shootin' their mouths off."
"No," Carmello agreed, dabbing off greasepaint. "Now we can worry about who it was killed 'em."
"Killed 'em?"
Jack waved the newspaper cuttings. "These were accidents," he said.
"Two accidents in a month seems careless even for this country," said Kurt. The crop-haired German's voice was precise, guttural.
Carmello rose from his chair and faced them. Without his makeup, his face was bland, the features smooth. But the eyes were the same… intense. The eyes of a man used to seeing further than those around him.
He said, "I think someone's comin' after us, pickin' us off, one by one."
"Comin' after us," Khan repeated heavily. His polished brow wrinkled. "I don't like that… that ain't nice!"
"You talk too much," said Fish.
"Who?" he asked, turning to Carmello.
"Maybe someone didn't like the show?" Scarlett suggested.
"There's plenty that got cause," Carmello allowed. He took the clippings from Jack's hand and held them up. "These talk of a stranger seen near where they found Bull… a stranger in a white suit." He looked at them, gazing round from face to face. "Look out for him!" he warned.
7
Kathie brightened up when Sloane's face appeared at the window of the box office.
"So you came back. You must like the show… or is it something else you like?" She sounded hopeful.
"Maybe I wanna be there when one of those knives hits the wrong target," said Sloane.
Kathie showed pearly teeth in a smile. "That's what brings them all in," she said. "Won't happen though,
not unless Jack wants it to. Is that the only reason you're here?"
"You still sell tickets? Or are you just sitting there waiting for someone to talk to?"
"Two?"
"One."
"Saving yourself for someone special?" she asked, scooping up Sloane's money.
"How about a lady with a knife?"
"Well," she said, pouting, "I like a man who gets to the point."
She looked so displeased, Sloane took pity on her. "Maybe you can help me after all," he said.
"What did you have in mind?" Kathie asked, switching from disappointed hunter to wary prey.
"You know a ranch called the Big Top a few miles outside town?"
"Sure."
"Know anything 'bout it?" Sloane's voice betrayed no urgency.
"Just that it's run by circus folk. I guess that's why it's called the Big Top."
"Who runs the outfit?"
"Name's Carmello. Dad says he used to be a clown, a good one." She looked suspiciously at Sloane. "How come you're so interested anyway? Thinking of running away to join the circus?"
"I might just do that," said Sloane, picking up his ticket and turning away.
Kathie watched him enter the auditorium. She didn't think she'd ever seen a man looking so pleased with himself.
* * *
When she'd sold the last ticket, Kathie put out the big 'House Full' sign and went backstage. Boisterous music and wild cheers from the audience told her the dancing girls were on. Kathie went to Scarlett's dressing room, knocked and took up the shouted invitation to enter.
Scarlett was standing in the middle of the room holding her breath and looking uncomfortable while Jenny Ling, the wardrobe mistress, pulled tight the laces at the back of her costume.
"Five minutes to go, Scarlett," said Kathie.
"Thanks, honey, I'll be there." She winced as Jenny tugged harder on the laces round her waist. "If I'm still breathin' that is!"
"You shouldn't eat so much," said Jenny. "You should eat more rice like me than you wouldn't have this trouble."
