Shadows of Tockland

by Jeffrey Aaron Miller

  And, to David, all felt right again. This was it, this was the thing Annabelle had talked about, the thing they all craved, the thing they needed so badly that they endured angry rubes and sick people and endless turmoil to get it. It was a moment that could have gone on forever, the warm softness of her hand in his, the sound of applause, the spotlight shining down like divine approval. A perfect moment.

  And later he would wonder if, indeed, it might not have gone on forever, the bright light and the adulation of the rubes and the warmth of her hand, if not for the ever-night and the end of all things. For then the guns awoke in the night, and the perfect moment was over.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ever-Night

  Three shots—boom, boom, boom—from somewhere outside. Before David even realized what he was hearing, the people of Fayette reacted. The citizens ceased clapping and dropped back into their seats. The guards unslung their rifles and moved to the front doors. Councilman Peavey remained standing and rapped his knuckles on the tabletop.

  “Keep calm, people,” he said, though that seemed to be exactly what they were doing. “No need to panic. You know your places.”

  From somewhere outside there came another series of gunshots, half a dozen in rapid succession. The guards lined up in front of the doors in two rows, rifles at the ready. The citizens of Fayette remained in their seats, hands pressed to tabletops, eyes downcast. Mrs. Clenold found a stool for herself, dragged it behind the bar and sat down.

  Councilman Peavey walked over to the rows of soldiers and leaned in to speak to them. The first part of what he said was lost in another round of gunfire.

  “…fore and aft,” he said. “The rest of you report to your respective officers and see what needs to be done. Go on.” He saluted, and the guards marched through the front doors into the night.

  Through all of this, the Klown Kroo remained onstage, side by side, hands clasped. Annabelle’s fingers clamped down on David’s hand to the point of discomfort. It was the grip of someone who is afraid she might fall.

  “Gentle sir,” Telly said, then decided he had spoken too softly, cleared his throat and said it again. “Gentle sir! If you don’t mind, we will retire for the evening.”

  Councilman Peavey rounded on them and strode toward the stage. Deems got up, smoothed out her robe and joined him.

  “Yes, finding a place to retire for the night would be most wise,” he said. His cheeks and bulbous nose had a reddish cast to them, and up close, his skin was pitted and rough. He clasped his hands together in front of him and fixed Telly with what was no doubt meant to be a friendly smile, but he could not hide the concern—the abject fear—in his eyes. “I thank you all for a most…interesting evening.”

  “It was all very unusual,” Councilwoman Deems said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Please don’t leave the building unless and until we come back to get you,” Peavey said, and the friendly smile receded back into his jowls. “We will have guards posted in front and back of the club…for your own safety of course.”

  Before Telly could reply, he turned and walked away. Deems offered them one last curt nod and went after him.

  “Citizens, I want you all to stand up,” Peavey said as he crossed the room. “Calmly, quietly. No outbursts please. And go directly home. Shut your doors and remain there until you hear the all-clear...or the city alarm, in which case you know what to do.”

  As if this sort of thing had been practiced many times, the people rose as one and marched to the doors. Only Mrs. Clenold paused, glanced back questioningly at Telly.

  “We’ll work out the money tomorrow,” Telly said, waving her on. “Best do as you’re told.”

  She nodded and walked out with the others. In short order, the nightclub was empty, and the Klown Kroo stood alone upon the stage, staring into the spotlight, listening to gunfire. Only when the last person had left, did Annabelle finally slip her hand out of David’s and step down from the stage.

  “What’s going on out there?” Karl asked. “Who do you figure they’re killing?”

  “I don’t want to know anything about it,” Annabelle said. “I just want to get this makeup off my face and go to sleep, so we can get up as early as possible tomorrow and leave.”

  Telly walked over to the bar, hopped up onto a stool and reached around behind it. After a moment of fishing around, he produced a small wooden box. He took the box over to a table—the very table where Officer Mayes had been sitting—and sat down, opening the lid. The box was crammed full of coins and crumpled bills, which Telly dumped onto the table.

  “Give me a minute, and I’ll get you guys your cut of the evening’s proceeds,” he said, and began sorting the money into piles.

  Another round of gunfire. Cakey had been standing still through all of this, but he started now, lurched offstage, dashed across the room and hopped up on a table. He twirled, arms spread wide, an exaggerated smile on his face. Then he cupped one hand behind his ear.

  “Do you hear that, my good people? Do you hear that?” he said. “We’re talking about money and sleeping and all of these precious simple things, and outside I hear the music of the ever-night.”

  “Oh, God, here we go,” Annabelle said, rocking her head back on her shoulders. “I’m heading upstairs. Good night.” And with that, she left the room, heading for the back hallway. Just before she left the room, she was heard to mutter, “I wish those stupid rubes had left at least one bottle of beer. I could use a drink.”

  “It’s profit. It’s all profit,” Telly reminded her. “Be glad they sold.” But she was already gone.

  Gooty stepped through the curtain and joined David onstage. He gave David a look of concern, brow lowered, mouth turned down.

  “Sounds like a war out there,” he said.

  David shrugged. The perfect moment was gone, and the poison in his belly had returned once again.

  “I have to see it,” Cakey said. “I have to see this ever-night for myself. Who’s coming with me?” He hopped down off the table.

  “Nobody’s going with you,” Telly said. “You heard the Councilman. He’s posting guards outside the building. We’re supposed to stay here.”

  “Ah,” Cakey said, waggling a finger at Telly. “Guards posted in front and back, he said. Front and back! But there are ways out of this building on three sides. I’ll wager our melty-faced friend doesn’t know that. I’ll bet one of the doors remains unguarded.”

  “You’re not going out there,” Telly said. “You’ll get shot.”

  “We have to see it,” Cakey said. “What terrible hordes have descended upon this fair walled city and its peaceful gun-rubes? We have to see it. I’m going out there. Never you fear, my tiny friend, I’ll slink through the shadows. They’ll never know I was in their midst.”

  “No, I forbid it,” Telly said.

  “Jefe, let him go,” Gooty said bitterly. “What does it matter?”

  Cakey danced a little jig and rubbed his hands together. “That’s the spirit, Gooty. Who’s going with me?”

  “Nobody’s going with you,” Telly said. He had separated out six piles of cash. He scooped up one, the largest of the piles, and crammed it in his shirt pocket. “If you want to risk your neck, do it alone.”

  “I’ll go,” Karl said, speaking over Telly. “I want to know who they’re shooting at.”

  Cakey walked over to Karl, gave him a sad smile, patted both of his shoulders and shook his head. “Karl, buddy, you’re just too gigantic. I need shadow-skulkers. Little guys like Telly.” He gestured at Telly. Telly shook his head. “Or my old friend, Gooty. He’s not a largish man.” He gestured at Gooty.

  “Are you seriously asking me to come with you to watch a gunfight?” Gooty said. “Why don’t you bring me the gun, and I’ll shoot you instead.” He turned and stalked offstage, flinging the curtain out of his way.

  “It always goes back to Josefina, doesn’t it?” Cakey muttered under his breath, and for one moment, he l
ost the throaty snarl, and a hint of his normal voice—softer, breathier—came through. “I’m never gonna live it down.”

  “I’m not gigantic,” Karl said. “Let me go with you. I can keep out of sight, and you might need me if there’s trouble.”

  “Nope, my dear giant, not you.” Cakey pointed at David. “What do you say, kid? Want to skulk through the shadows with me? At least we’ll figure out who they’re shooting at. Might be important to know. What do you say?”

  “I…I…” As if in warning, there came another burst of gunfire, and something that might have been a high and horrible scream.

  “Come on, kid. Let’s go check it out.” Cakey came toward him.

  “You don’t have to go with him,” Telly said.

  Some small part of him was curious to know what was going on outside, but in the end, the only real reason David agreed to go was because he didn’t have the force of will to resist Cakey. Cakey took him by the arm and led him offstage.

  “If you guys don’t come back alive,” Telly said. “You don’t get paid.”

  “Fair enough,” Cakey replied.

  “I want to go,” Karl said.

  “Too gargantuan for skulking. Stay here.”

  Cakey led David around the bar and toward the kitchen door.

  “Your money might be here when you get back,” Telly said. “Might. But don’t you wake me up asking for it. I plan to be sound asleep in a few minutes.”

  “There’s always money to be made, my boss” Cakey said. “But there’s not always an ever-night to watch unfold.”

  Telly rolled his eyes at this.

  Cakey kicked open the kitchen door and nudged David through. The kitchen was dark and had a vague earthy smell that David could not identify. A long metal counter, bookended by a sink and stove, lined the back wall. There was a door on the left, but Cakey, releasing his hold on David, went to the right instead.

  “I’m sure the front doors are guarded,” Cakey said. As he walked along the right wall, he tapped it repeatedly with his knuckles. “That leaves the big metal door in the back hallway and the door behind the storage room here. It’s a gamble either way, but I’m going with the storage room. What say you, Disturby Dave?”

  “Whatever you think,” David said.

  Cakey kicked the wall and laughed. “Apartment is on the other side of this wall. If we’re lucky, Belle just laid down to sleep.”

  As if in response, there came a violent thud against the wall, as if someone had thrown something at it.

  “There’s my girl,” Cakey said with another laugh. “That’s her way of saying good night.”

  David bit his tongue. For the second time since meeting him, he wanted to take a swing at Cakey. Pounding on the wall to keep Annabelle from sleeping—how was that funny? David didn’t like it. No, he didn’t like it at all.

  Cakey didn’t seem to notice. He walked to the far door and shouldered it open. The room beyond was pitch black.

  “Time for skulking,” he said. He started to pass through the door, then paused and waited for David to catch up to him. “You know, kiddo, I was off my game back in West Fork. The shoulder wound was too fresh. Pain got to me.” He reached back and touched his wounded shoulder. “Still hurts like hell, but I’m in the right frame of mind now. Absorb the pain, act as if it isn’t there. That’s what you gotta do.” As if to prove it, he smacked the wound, grimaced, then turned the grimace into a forced smile. “See, there you go. That’s how you do it. Point is, whatever we run into out there, I’ll be ready for it, so don’t worry that I’m too hurt to protect myself.”

  “I’m not worried,” David said.

  “If it comes to a fight, I can handle it,” Cakey said, taking a few practice swings. “How ‘bout you?”

  “I don’t want to get into a fight with any of these people.” David said. “They’ve all got guns. I just want to see what’s going on and hurry back here before we get hurt.”

  Cakey sighed and lowered his fists. “Have it your way, Disturby. If you’re good enough at skulking, we should be just fine. Come on.”

  He reached into the next room and flicked on the light. A bare bulb flickered to life, revealing a dusty storage room full of battered cardboard boxes on shelves stacked to the ceiling. A heavy door with a crash bar stood against the far wall. Cakey made his way over to the door, kicking stray debris—empty bottles, wrappers and crumpled cans—out of his way.

  Cakey leaned against the crash bar and eased the door open. At that moment, David almost turned back. It had already been such a long evening, and he felt so mentally exhausted, he really only wanted to head up to the apartment and sleep. And, truthfully, he wanted to be close to Annabelle, to lie in the dark in the same room, hear her soft breathing. This thought brought a flush to his cheeks, and he quickly—and awkwardly—covered his face with his hands. But Cakey was paying no attention to him.

  “I think we’re in the clear,” Cakey whispered, peeking outside.

  A gust of wind swirled into the room and kicked up the scattered trash. David hunkered down, tense and ready to run, fully expecting guards to charge around the corner, guns drawn. Cakey shoved the door the rest of the way open and braced it against the wall. Outside, David saw only a shadowy alleyway littered with trash. A feral cat darted out of a box, hissed at them and took off running.

  “Yep, all clear back here,” Cakey said, looking left and right. “Just a creepy alley going down the hill to the parking lot. Come on.”

  He stepped outside, and David, one hand pressed to his belly, followed. The night air felt chilly against the greasepaint on his face, and a faint, smoky smell was carried on the breeze. As soon as David stepped outside, Cakey pushed the door shut behind him. Just before it clicked into place, he stooped down, picked up a broken bottle and stuck it in between the door and jamb.

  “So we can sneak back in later, “ he explained. “Door locks on this side.”

  The alleyway was narrow, seven or eight feet at most, and, because the nightclub was built into the side of a hill, it sloped downward for twenty or thirty yards before leveling out. At the bottom of the hill was the parking lot David had seen from the back hallway, the large metal dumpster lying on its side, and beyond the parking lot, a hint of moonlight on rooftops stretching into the distance. David didn’t have a good sense of direction in this city, and when he heard another round of gunshots, he couldn’t tell which way it was coming from. It seemed to descend on them from directly overheard, as if the sky itself were exploding.

  “This way, kid,” Cakey said, beckoning him down the alleyway. “Remember, we’re skulking here. Keep low and in the shadows, and try not to make a lot of noise.”

  David slouched down as he followed Cakey, trying to avoid all the trash, glass and paper that crunched underfoot. The alley was dark, as was most of the city, streetlights few and far between. They heard the whine of a car engine on a nearby street followed by another burst of guns.

  “We’re just gonna look, right?” David asked. “We’re just gonna look and see what’s happening, and that’s it?”

  “Absolutely,” Cakey said, and David saw a flash of teeth as Cakey grinned at him.

  They were approaching the bottom of the hill, drawing near to the back corner of the nightclub—the little apartment, where Belle was hopefully sound asleep, was directly above them—when they heard the sound of boots on asphalt. Cakey drew up short, but David didn’t have time to react. He walked right into Cakey. Two guards rounded the corner, rifles at the ready. David recognized one of them right away, a younger man with a close-cropped beard and a swollen lip. A trickle of blood had dried under his mouth.

  They both saw Cakey at the same time and, startled, brought their guns up.

  “Halt, halt!” one of them said in a panicky voice.

  “Hands up,” said the one with the fat lip.

  Cakey raised his hands over his head—it must have made his stitched wound hurt, but he didn’t show it. He kicked David in the
side of the leg, and David raised his own hands. Shot right here, not sixty feet from the back door, and all because he’d followed a lunatic with a tattooed face into a gunfight. David felt angry at himself. He should have listened to Telly and gone to bed. He would’ve been up in the apartment, safe and sound, with Annabelle nearby. Instead, he was going to be killed in a dark alleyway, and who would ever know what had become of him? David had to will his hands to remain in the air and not wrap themselves around Cakey’s neck.

  “Gentlemen, it’s only us clowns,” Cakey said. “Apologies if we startled you.” He leaned forward to read the nameplates above the breast pockets of their uniforms. “Officer Cooper, Officer Findley, did you boys enjoy the show this evening?”

  Officer Findley, the one with the fat lip, nodded at Cooper, and they both relaxed their grip on their rifles.

  “It was…unusual,” Cooper said.

  “I was following along alright until the kid popped me in the mouth,” Findley said, gesturing at David.

  “I didn’t mean to hit you,” David muttered. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. Sorry.”

  Findley ignored the apology and pointed with his rifle back up the hill. “You two aren’t supposed to be outside. It isn’t safe. You’ll have to go back.”

  “Councilman Peavey’s orders,” Cooper added.

  “Certainly,” Cakey said. “We’ll turn right around. I’m kinda tired anyway. So…you boys coming tomorrow for the encore?”

  Cooper and Findley traded a look, and Findley shrugged.

  “No idea,” Findley said. “Not sure what an encore is. Come on.” He pointed with the rifle again. “Let’s go.”

  David started to turn to head back up the hill, relieved. Officer Findley took a step toward Cakey, who, though he still had his hands thrust above his head, had not moved. As soon as the guard got within reach, Cakey lunged at him, his hands coming down in a blur, and seized the barrel of the rifle, forcing it downward. It fired, the sound deafening in the narrow alleyway, and the bullet pinged off the asphalt with a burst of sparks. Cooper, startled by the sound and caught off guard by Cakey’s sudden attack, was slow to react. By the time he realized what was going on, Cakey had pulled Findley’s rifle out of his hands and tossed it aside. Then he threw himself at Findley, caught him in the chest with his forearm and shoved him backward into Cooper.