Annabelle was picking at her corned beef hash. “I can’t make do. You got me three quarter inch dowel rods. They won’t work. Too thick. I need something with more give.”
“Then balance the damn plates on top of your head,” Telly said. He slammed his spoon down on the table and little flecks of bean juice went all over. A drop landed in David’s eye. “We have to make do! Do you guys get that? Figure something out. Karl? Any complaints on your end?”
Karl shook his head. “Nope.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t need any equipment,” Annabelle said. “He has no reason to complain.”
Telly stood up in his seat and turned to face her. At first, she wouldn’t look at him. But finally, she fixed her mouth in a crooked little frown and met his gaze defiantly.
“Are you gonna perform, Belle? Yes or no,” he said. “I can put on an hour of Karl and David, if I need to, so you tell me what’s gonna happen.”
She didn’t respond right away, and for a second it looked like she might cry. But then she blinked once, very slowly, raised one hand and flipped Telly off. “I’ll perform,” she said.
“Good,” Telly said and sat back down with a loud harrumph.
David was still rubbing the bean juice out of his eye when Telly reached over and patted him on the arm.
“Never mind all the whining,” he said. “You’ll do great, kid. It’s your big debut. Try to enjoy it.”
“Okay,” David said. And, in fact, he did feel a bit of excitement. The long practice had restored some of the old enthusiasm. The pleasant ache in his limbs, the constant dull pain of bruises all over, these were things that had always brought him a measure of happiness. It wasn’t entertaining a crowd that he longed for, nor the sound of applause, nor even the prospect of making money. No, it was the strain, the physical testing, the illuminating moment when he stuck a landing, the wonderful sense of vertigo that came when he set the world spinning around him. He had almost forgotten about those things in the madness of the last few days, but practice had brought it all back, and he felt better than he had in a long time, despite the awkward company.
“What if nobody comes?” Gooty asked. He had already finished eating and was leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, discolored tiles laced with cobwebs and marked with stains from old water leaks. “These do not appear to be a—how do you say?—fun-loving type of people.”
“They’ll come,” Telly said. “These poor souls are starved for entertainment.”
“Half of them are armed guards,” Gooty said. “If people show up, some of them will have their guns. Are we gonna be safe in a room full of loaded guns?”
“Of course. What do the guns matter? We make ‘em all laugh and have a good time, and they’ll forget all about shooting people.”
“It’s always gonna work out, isn’t it?” Annabelle said bitterly.
“You gotta be optimistic, Belle,” Telly said. “Hope for the best.”
Gooty pushed his chair back and rose. “Yeah, hope for the best,” he said. He strode across the room, heading for the hallway. “I’m gonna find a place to crash for the night. I’m tired. Buenas noches, clowns.”
“I’m turning in, as well,” Annabelle said, dropping her spoon and rising.
“Sounds like a good idea,” Karl added, getting up. “How’s that apartment upstairs? Beds? Couches?”
“Nope, not even carpet,” Annabelle. “Hardwood floor.”
Karl frowned. “Oh, well. I’ve slept on worse.” And he headed after Gooty.
“That’s right, folks,” Telly said, as Annabelle, Gooty and Karl disappeared down the stairs. “Rest up. Tomorrow’s a big day. Mark my word. I’ve got a feeling about it. Big day!”
Gooty cursed. The others said nothing. And then they were gone. Telly poked at his food a little longer.
“We all gotta be ready,” he said, finally. “Guess I’d better call it a night, as well.” He nodded at David and left the room.
Only David and Cakey remained, and David felt caught. He stared at his plate and pretended like he meant to keep eating, though he’d had all he could stand. He moved the last few beans around his plate with his spoon. Then he saw Cakey moving out of the corner of his eye and looked up in time to see that big chalk-white face only six inches away.
“Hey,” Cakey said in a low, breathy voice.
David leaned back and managed a polite smile. Cakey grabbed a chair and pulled it close.
“I should probably go to bed, too,” David said. He started to rise, but Cakey laid a hand on his shoulder.
“You’ll do fine tomorrow, Disturby,” he said, flipping the chair around and sitting on it backwards. “Just let a little of that fire come out while you’re onstage. That’s your secret strength, that fire inside of you.”
“Sure, okay,” David said. It wasn’t what Cakey really wanted to talk about, even David could see that. He picked up his spoon, fiddling with it, if only to have something to look at other than that big tattooed face, the comic blue eyebrow, the hideous smile-frown.
“I mean it. That fire inside, that’s your power.”
David nodded.
There was an awkward pause, then Cakey said, “You made things a little difficult for me today. You know that, right?”
“I didn’t do anything,” David said.
“You must have,” Cakey said. “Something set her on the warpath. She hasn’t laid into me like that in months. Mostly, she just cries and locks herself in her room, but she was her old hateful self today.”
“I swear I didn’t do anything.” He wracked his brain, trying to think of something he might have said, but, as best he could recall, it had all been her. That one strange moment where she’d leaned in toward him, that heavy moment where the gravity of her had pulled at him, he hadn’t invited it and hadn’t responded to it. Had he wanted to? He tried not to answer that question, even in his own thoughts. Dark eyes, narrow and twinkling with mischief, pouty lips turned up at the corners. No, he would not answer that question, even to himself.
“Well, maybe she set herself on the warpath,” Cakey said, after a moment. He ran his hands through his hair. When he did, he pulled the thick curls away from his forehead, and David saw the roots of his hair. Bright orange all the way to the scalp, but there was something not right about the arrangement. The roots were clustered together in neat rows with bare patches in between, like wheat planted in a farmer’s field. It gave David a queasy feeling, and he looked away.
“Did she talk about me when you two were up the apartment together?” Cakey asked.
“A little.”
“What did she say?”
David considered whether or not to tell the truth. He didn’t want to cause another fight between them.
“You can tell me,” Cakey said, reading the hesitation on his face. “Hey, there’s nothing she told you that she hasn’t already said to my face a thousand times.”
“She said you used to be normal.”
Cakey laughed at this, but the laughter sounded forced and crumbled at the end into a sigh. “Before this,” he replied, drumming the fingers of one hand against his cheek. “That’s what she means, but she hardly knows what normal is. Ask her where she comes from. Next time you have a special little talk with her, you ask her where she comes from, and what sort of upbringing she had. Then you ask yourself if she’s normal.”
“Okay,” David replied, intending no such thing.
“It’s all true, you know,” Cakey said. “The story I told this morning. They think I’m lying, but it’s all true.”
“Sure,” David said. “Whatever you want to say is fine with me. It doesn’t matter.”
Cakey laughed again, though it sounded a bit more genuine this time, and reached out to squeeze David’s arm. “I’m sure it doesn’t, Disturby Dave. I’m sure it doesn’t. But I wanted you to know. Born in Romania, gypsy grandmother, baptized in the cerulean waters of the mystical Suceava, it’s all true. Grandma’s the one who told me a
bout the ever-night. The others don’t believe my story because I didn’t used to talk about it. For a long time, I wanted to forget my childhood and put on the act of being regular people. I don’t do that anymore.”
“Yeah,” David said. “Okay. If you say so.”
“You think this was easy to get?” Cakey said, running a finger down the side of his face. “It’s not a regular tattoo. It’s a revolutionary skin-dying process, kid. Met a guy outside Nacogdoches who invented the technique. I spent every penny of savings to get it done, and there’s no undoing it. You think I’d make that kind of commitment if I didn’t know something? I know something, and that is destiny, destiny rooted down deep inside of me. You follow what I’m sayin’ here?”
“Sort of,” David said. “I mean, not really.”
“Alright, kid, alright,” Cakey said, rising from his chair. “You’re sick of listening to me talk. Fair enough.”
“No, it’s not that,” David said. “I just…I don’t like to be in the middle of something. Everyone is fighting, and I don’t want to be in the middle of it.” It was as honest as David dared to be, but an equally significant factor was that he didn’t want to talk about crazy things, not Cakey’s crazy things, not anybody’s.
Cakey set his chair back against the table. “You are in the middle of it. That’s the choice you made when you signed up with the Kroo.”
“I didn’t realize that at the time, I guess.”
Cakey reached out and gave him a playful slap on the back of the head. “Poor kid. He just wanted to get away from the mean old step-daddy, and here he’s fallen in with a pack of wild nutters. Didn’t I warn you you’d regret getting in that truck?”
“I don’t regret it,” David said. “Not really. I wouldn’t go back.”
“Good,” Cakey said and headed for the hallway. “Very good.” He paused, half in shadow, and glanced back over his shoulder. “Because, mark my words, the ever-night is coming, and when it does, you’ll be glad you’ve got some wild nutters at your side.”
David didn’t know what to say to this, so he stared back dumbly. Cakey smiled, a smile that did not touch his eyes, and eased into the shadows.
Chapter Fourteen
Gun-Rubes
Cakey cursed as, for the third time that afternoon, the knife slipped out of his grasp and impaled itself in the stage.
“The feel is all wrong,” he said, stooping to retrieve the knife. “And it doesn’t help that I’ve got a gimp arm.”
Telly was not in the room, so his complaint fell on deaf ears. Annabelle had cleared a space for herself in the back corner and was practicing her plate spinning act. She had two long dowel rods, one in either hand, with plates on top. Judging by the pile of broken ceramic on the floor around her feet, she was not having any more luck than Cakey. Showtime was in three hours. The only one having any degree of success was Karl, who was in front of the bar, practicing pratfalls. Every few seconds, there was be a loud thud, as he flipped or spun and flung himself to the floor. David sat at a table, watching him, and he couldn’t help but feel there was something sad and a bit gruesome about a man with a bruised and battered face tossing himself onto a hard floor over and over.
As for David, he had his routine worked out, though he couldn’t imagine anyone being particularly entertained by it. Karl was probably right. It wasn’t enough to make a whole act. But, ready or not, tonight was his debut, and he felt a mix of abject terror and numb disbelief. Maybe no one would come. He wouldn’t mind that. Telly would be disappointed, but maybe he’d be quicker to get them out of Fayette.
Another plate fell, hit the edge of a chair and shattered. Annabelle cursed, kicked the chair in anger and grabbed the other plate, setting it on the table. Then she tossed both dowel rods to the floor and stormed off across the room.
“This is going to be a disaster,” she said, shoving a table out of her way. “An absolute disaster!”
She brushed past David and headed to the hallway.
“That’s the spirit,” Cakey said, when she was safely out of the room.
As if to punctuate Cakey’s comment, Karl flung himself to the floor, landed hard enough to rattle glasses on the shelf behind the bar and somersaulted onto his back.
At that moment, the front doors flew open, and Telly strode in, out of breath. He was standing in shadow, despite the hazy afternoon light, and as he stepped farther into the room, it became clear why. A woman entered the room behind him, an impressive heap of a woman with wiry gray hair, a broad, shiny face and a wary gaze. She bore a sizable wooden crate in her arms, and bottles clinked as she followed Telly to the bar. Cakey and Karl stopped practicing, clearly waiting for an introduction, but Telly and the woman made it all the way to the bar before either of them spoke.
“Gentlemen,” Telly said. “Let me introduce you to a certain Missus Clenold.”
She offered them an unkind smile and set the wooden crate on the bar, then began unloading bottles from the crate, lining them up on in neat rows.
“She’ll be selling a little extra booze tonight,” Telly said.
“We’ve already got that keg of brown ale,” Karl said.
“Yeah, but there’s not enough of it,” Telly said. “Not if we get the numbers of people I think we’ll get. We want plenty of booze for our precious audience.”
“Drunk rubes,” Karl said, pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of his chinos and dabbing the sweat off his forehead. “Is that a good idea?”
“It’s just beer,” Telly said. “They won’t be that drunk, and they’ll be paying for it. Missus Clenold here is giving us a cut.”
“Ten percent of sales,” she said in a voice that sounded like it was bubbling up from a throat full of phlegm.
Karl stepped up to the bar and picked up one of the bottles, holding it up to the light. “You make this beer yourself?”
“Yes,” the woman said. She dumped the empty crate behind the bar. “Very delicious. Very popular around these parts. People will pay for it.”
“Have you tasted it, Telly?” Karl said, setting the bottle down.
“Sure, sure,” Telly replied, waving off the comment. “Like the lady said, people will pay for it. What do you care how it tastes?” Telly turned and pointed at David. “You ready for tonight, kid?”
“I think so,” David replied, and his stomach gurgled in protest.
“Good,” Telly said. “Cakey?”
Cakey was standing onstage, holding the knives by their blades between his fingers. He lowered his arms and let the knives slip out of his grasp and hit the stage. He stared blankly at Telly for a long time, and finally Telly swept his hands at him.
“Entertainment,” Cakey said. “That is what they shall get, these gun-rubes. Yes, knives, blood, danger, screams and every variety of thrill for the gun-rubes.”
Mrs. Clenold had been carefully arranging the three dozen or so bottles, but she glanced over at Cakey with an eyebrow raised.
“Gun-rubes?” Telly said. “No, not a good idea. Don’t use that term. Nothing that might offend these people, okay?”
Cakey said nothing in response.
“Okay?” Telly said again, shaking a finger at him. “No gun-rube comments.”
“Ask that woman,” Cakey said, pointing at Mrs. Clenold. “Ask her why her people have so many guns.”
“No, I won’t,” Telly replied. “None of that matters. Let it go. We’ve got a show to think about.”
Mrs. Clenold stepped behind the bar, took a second to arrange the bottles again, then turned to Cakey and offered him a tight smile. “Fayette is a safe place,” she said. “You won’t get attacked by the sick while you’re here. You all be thankful for those guns.”
“Oh, most thankful, dear lady,” Cakey said. “Pardon me for inquiring, but where does one get so many guns?”
“Does it matter?” Telly said, laughing uncomfortably. “We’re here to put on a good show. What these people do is none of our concern. Why don’t you get back to prac
ticing, Cakey? Ma’am, ignore his questions.”
But Mrs. Clenold seemed not to hear Telly at all. She leaned against the bar. Pale, doughy arms poking out of the sleeves of her ill-fitting denim dress. “It is good to make friends,” she said. “And here in Fayette, we’ve made friends. Are you a friend?” She nodded in Cakey’s direction.
“But of course,” Telly said, trying to answer for Cakey.
But Cakey would not be answered for. “A clown is friend to all people,” Cakey said. “Even gun-rubes.”
“Even gun-rubes,” the women repeated, mocking Cakey’s raspy voice. “That’s good. Well, let me tell you something, clown, I’m gonna help make you a bunch of money tonight. Now, if that isn’t friendship, I don’t know what is.”
“Friendship, indeed,” Cakey said. He brushed his gloved hands together, bowed to the woman, and stepped down from the stage.
David watched this exchange with a growing sense of alarm. Was Cakey trying to provoke the woman? There was a disturbing glint in his eyes.
Cakey crossed the room, shook the woman’s hand and excused himself, leaving them all in awkward silence.
“He’s not quite right up here,” Telly said, finally, tapping his forehead. “But he’ll entertain the people, and that’s what matters.”
“Makes no difference to me,” the woman said. “Bad show or good, people will want to drink.”
“That’s the idea,” Telly said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta get ready for this evening.” He tipped his hat to the woman and headed back to the kitchen.
Karl was still examining one of the bottles, but he seemed on the verge of leaving, as well. David did not want to be the last one left in the room, sitting there in uncomfortable silence while this pasty-faced lady stared him down. He rose and quietly left, heading down the steps to the back hallway. He retreated toward the apartment, but when he got close, he could hear Annabelle and Cakey through the door.
“It’s not always about you,” Annabelle said.
Cakey’s response was muffled. David sighed and backed away from the apartment door and took a seat in the hallway beneath the window. The late afternoon sun through the dusty glass cast a ghost image on the wall, and David watched its slow ascent as the sun set. And there he remained until Telly came looking for them.
Shadows of Tockland Page 17
