by Jack Tunney
“Let it be, Bob. It’s happened before.”
“And you’ve done nothing?”
“She always says it was just an accident, she was clumsy or such,” the black said. “Nothing we can do till she wants us to.”
“Or until he hurts her too bad,” Howard said. “Where I come from, we know how to handle his sort.”
“It’s not that easy,” Bernie spoke up. “You can’t risk your job, and you can’t save someone from drowning if they want to drown.”
The Texan considered his words for a long moment, then nodded. “I gotta tell ya, gents, this civilized world of ours leaves me wanting something else most of the time.”
Much of the rest of the meal was almost silent as the men were all afraid to voice their feelings about what they had seen. Eventually, they began to converse again with a forced jocularity, which spoke to how much they did not want to deal with Julie and her issues with Klaus.
“Attention, everyone!” A balding figure in a loud sports coat stepped up to the head of the tent and banged on a table with a tin cup. “Are you all getting a good meal?”
The group all yelled, “Yes!”
“That’s Lou Maxim,” Bernie whispered to Howard. “He’s the managing owner.”
“I know you’ve all had a hard day, and you have a lot of work ahead of you still, but I wanted to thank you all, and let you know I appreciate all you do to make our little family successful. We open in twelve days, so you’ll be working long shifts. We all will. But once we open, I’ll stand you all to a turkey dinner with all the fixings!”
A cheer went up around the tent.
“See, I told you these were good folks to work for,” Mike said with a grin. “Now you know why I want to travel with the show.”
“Same reason I joined up, way back when,” Big Carney said. “That and we can be having this talk at the same table.”
Mike nodded, a little embarrassed by the obvious fact there were no distinctions in the circus world as in the rest of society. At least not the same distinctions.
Howard acknowledged Big Carney’s words, but kept his eyes toward the exit where the trainer and the abused girl had left. Big Carney could see where he was focused.
“Gotta let it go, Boss Bob,” the African said.
“Some things just stay with me, Hoss,” the Texan said. “But I’ll walk it off and not scotch things for anyone.”
“We’ll head back in to lay more floor in about fifteen minutes,” the African said. “Boys’ll take themselves a smoke before we go in. Why don’t you cool off outside.”
“Thanks,” Howard said. He pushed away from the table and headed out of the tent to try and clear his head and cool his anger. Once outside, he hoped the cool night air would help him relax.
The lights of Manhattan all but glared out the twinkling stars, and the Texan was aware of the constant roar of traffic just out of eyeshot. Across the river the New Jersey blinked mysteriously and ships out on the river seemed to blink in sympathy.
“Ain’t no good,” he whispered to himself after a time, “I guess I wasn’t cut out to hold on to this job, I just gotta talk to that Klaus fella. And it’s gonna be a serious talk.”
ROUND 5
FACING UP TO IT
Bob moved outside the food tent not quite sure where to go to find the rodential Klaus and Julie, but with a deep simmering need to take some sort of action. He was not sure what, since simply beating the horse trainer with his fists as a solution to the problem would be lowering himself to the abuser’s level.
Still, he had to do something, even if it were only to talk to the girl and convince her to leave the brute.
Some knight in shining armor I am, he thought as he wandered between the tents in the converted parking lot. I’m just a ball of anger with no point to it – kind of like that varmint I’m after.
It was Howard’s curse for being a poetic, empathic soul despite his hardscrabble roots and country upbringing. The problem complicated when he rounded the corner of one tent and almost ran smack into Lou Maxim.
“Easy there, big guy,” the circus owner said. “You’ll hurt yourself running around out here. Lots of ropes and cables, you know?”
“Sorry, sir.”
“I saw you in the food tent,” Maxim said. “But I don’t remember you from Philly.”
“Uh, no, sir,” Howard said. “I just joined up today. Bob Howard.” He extended his hand and received a surprising solid grip from the owner in return.
“Is that a Texas accent I detect?”
“Guilty, sir.”
“We played Dallas and Houston last season and we’re gonna add San Antonio this coming season.” The balding boss smiled. “I hope you will like it with us enough to stay for the tour.”
Howard felt a warmth from the man, which explained so much about how the whole of the circus folk felt about each other. It was a family, and this big, jolly man was the father figure.
But there was more than jocularity in the man’s eyes, there was a wisdom and a sharpness. Maxim showed it when he asked, “You seem troubled, son?”
“I gotta say, sir,” Howard said, “I am, but I’m not sure just how to handle it. See, I know what has gotta be done. Someone needs to be taught a lesson, but I’m afraid if I do it, my actions will make me no better than the fella I plan on teachin’ the lesson.”
The circus owner pursed his lips. He produced a cigar, which he made a great show of clipping the end off and lighting. He took two puffs before he answered. “If you felt that strongly, son, I’d expect the best thing to do would be to tell the person to his face what he is missing. I suppose you will have to hope that does what you want.”
The Texan digested the advice for a moment while Maxim puffed away, then asked, “Do you know where Mister Klaus and Julie’s tent is, sir?”
“Ah,” Maxim said. “Now the light dawns. It’s that way, Mister Howard. You keep in mind we are a big family here. I started this show from literally a one horse operation, putting on riding exhibitions in towns so small if you blinked as you walked through you’d be out the other side. I’ve worked hard to keep this family alive and vital, but like all families we have our black sheep and our strange uncles. But they are still family. So, if an argument within the family happens, it should be for the good of the family.”
Maxim’s implication was clear to the Texan. It helped to further temper his western fury as he moved toward the indicated tent.
Once Howard reached the outside of the tent, he paused to catch his breath and try to cool his Gaelic temper.
I don’t have to resort to his tactics, the Texan thought. If I can bluff him into thinking I will. With his decision made, he started to open the flap to the tent, but a shrill voice from within stopped him.
“I don’t care what kind of guff you want to give me, Schmidt,” a strangely familiar voice said. “You got a marker and you gotta pay off.”
“I just need another week, Jack,” Klaus’s voice replied. “I had no idea that cowboy would spot your idiot man’s switch.”
“It don’t make no difference,” the other voice said. “You owe me, and that means you owe O’Bannon – and he’s one of the big boys.”
“But I…”
“But nothing,” the sharp voice snapped at Klaus. “Pay up by tomorrow night or it won’t be me who comes to collect. It will be the German himself or one of his boys, and they won’t be asking nice.”
Howard jumped back as the flap to the tent was opened, hiding in the shadows while a familiar figure exited. It was Green Fedora from the boxing match!
Klaus stepped out of the tent to watch the man leave and cursed. “Damn bookie!”
“Klaus,” Julie came out of the tent to stand by the trainer. “The tea is ready.” She held out a cup to Klaus, but he whirled and struck the cup out of her hand. The hot tea spilled on her and she yelped in pain.
That was too much for the Texan. Howard rocketed forward from the shadows and grabbed the train
er by the collar and flung the smaller man bodily against the side of the tent.
“You need to learn some manners, boy,” the Texan said. “Were I come from we don’t lay hands on women folk.”
The trainer leaned against the canvas, stunned by being manhandles and stared at the burly roustabout. “You keep away from me you pathetic minion,” Klaus said. “I will have you have up on charges for touching me.”
“And I will have you in a hospital if you ever touch that woman again,” Howard said. “And there ain’t no jail in this world that can keep me from keeping my promise to you.”
The blonde girl flew to Howard’s side and grabbed his arm. “Don’t hurt him.” She said. She was still dripping from the spilled tea.
“I don’t plan to, ma’am,” the Texan said. “But then, I don’t plan to see you hurt none, neither. I ain’t as patient as some of the folk around this circus. I’m not about to just let things stay the way they are.”
“But…”
“Sorry, ma’am,” the burly Texan said as he took her by the elbow and escorted her out into the evening air. “But we have to talk away from this varmint, if you don’t mind.” He turned back to stare daggers at the fallen Klaus.
“You don’t move your lily white butt out of this tent if you know what’s good for you,” the Texan said. “Not till we say so.”
The woman went willingly, if somewhat confusedly with Howard. He took her some distance away, looking back to be sure Klaus did not follow them.
“Ma’am,” Howard said when they stood out of earshot of the trainer. “I know it ain’t no one’s business but your own who you love or how, but that being said, it ain’t easy for folks to turn a blind eye, ‘specially folks like those here at the circus who care for you.”
The woman’s face was a canvas of conflicting emotions as she struggled to find words to express herself. Her eyes seemed on the verge of tears, but Howard could also see strength within them. When she finally spoke it was slowly and deliberately as if each word was painful. It was all the Texan could do not to embrace her in sympathy.
“I met Klaus when I was just a girl,” she said, “He was so strong willed and sure of himself. I was in a bad home. My father drank and often hit my mother.”
“You don’t have to tell me this, ma’am,” Howard said. “I’m not accusing you of doing anything wrong. I know from my mama the heart don’t make the smartest decisions sometimes. But you have to save yourself ma’am. It can’t get no better, no matter how much he says it will be different or he will change. His sort don’t. Not without a lot of outside help, which he ain’t seekin’.”
The burly Texan spoke tenderly as if to a small child, but with no condescension in his tone. “I said my piece to him, and now I’ll just say one last thing, ma’am, and then I’ll leave you two alone. Only you can change your life, but you ain’t in this alone. No one who has friends is, and you got lots of friends. I’d like you to consider me one of them.”
The two stood for a long moment, the girl looking up into his eyes, but with her vision focused inward she seemed to be looking at the panorama of her life rather than the hopeful Texan savior.
ROUND 6
ANOTHER MATCH
Howard went into the Garden, most of his fury spent by his conversation, but still full of nervous energy that he worked off. He put himself harder into the labor that evening, setting up bleachers, doing the work of two other men.
“You’re full of vinegar tonight, Bob,” Bernie said.
“Just turning lemons into lemonade,” the Texan said as he hefted a large beam.
He continued to work with the other men. However, his mind was still on his last sight of the blonde girl, her eyes focused on an inner landscape, reflecting on the path that had gotten her to where a rough neck from Texas was lecturing her on the meaning of life.
The Texas writer laughed to himself. The absurdity of the whole affair kept returning to him. I’m just a country bumpkin, he thought, what do I know about the whole wide world? I should keep my opinions to myself. Miss Julie is an adult, I should stay out of it.
He only half convinced himself, but distracted himself by throwing himself into doing a good job with the construction. It was exhilarating physical work, and he enjoyed the company of the simple, but honest, roustabouts.
When the men knocked off at midnight, they were all exhausted, but had a sense of having accomplished something. The reshaped interior of the Garden was coming into focus for the opening little more than a week away.
Howard took an hour after the other men had hit the hay to pull out his battered typewriter and turn out his quota of wordage for the day – something he never failed to do despite any circumstance, even exhaustion. He had been thinking a story for Dime Detective all day, so it flowed quickly from his fingers.
When he finally hit his cot, he was asleep in moments and slept the sleep of the righteous dead.
The next morning began with a hearty breakfast. It was as jocular as dinner had been, with the circus folk a boisterous and pleasant group.
“Is it always like this?” Howard asked.
“We open on next Thursday,” Big Carney answered, as the two men got into line for chow. “So everyone has lots of nerves and we have long hours. A little more than usual since we have to clean up the mess the renovations made. But it will even out after that.”
“Oh,” Howard remembered. “About next Friday. Is it possible for me to get out early enough to go to an Author’s Guild meeting? They hold them here once a month?”
“Sure,” the big African said. “By then it will just be maintenance on things. We’ll all have a lot more down time until we have to strike the show at the end of our run.”
The news he would be able to finally meet some other writers did much to buoy the Texans’ spirits as the day’s work began.
Things brightened even more when Julie came into the corral to work her horses. The blonde girl was her usual perky self, solicitous to everyone, but she cast a particularly broad smile toward the Texan that the other roustabouts did not fail to notice.
Klaus was nowhere to be seen for much of the morning. When he did put in an appearance, it was to make a quick check of the horse stalls. He studiously avoided eye contact with both Howard and his wife.
At lunch the Texan was amazed to see the blonde girl take a seat near him at the table.
“Enjoying your time here with the circus, Mister Howard?” she asked.
“Bob, please,” he said. “The people are real nice.” When he realized what he’d said he blushed.
She giggled when she saw his reaction, but her smile was gentle. “Yes, and sometimes the people who join the circus are nice as well.” She made it clear she was thanking him for his intervention without trying to embarrass him further.
The other roustabouts thought her friendly smile was in response to Howard’s public heroism of the day before. Both of them let the others continue to believe it.
“I think your conversation with Klaus had a real effect,” she said quietly to the Texan. “He was very docile today, even gentle. Caring. Like he used to be.”
“I hope it makes a difference, ma’am.”
“Please call me Julie. Friends should use first names.”
“Julie it is then.”
“Okay, cowboy,” Big Carney called from the head of the table. “Time to make the circus happen!”
“See you out there, Bob,” the blonde said, waving him off.
The afternoon went swiftly for the Texan, now able to immerse himself in the work with no guilt or concern for the girl. Instead, he felt a little excitement for the prospect of meeting other writers the next Friday evening.
It wasn’t until sometime after dinner, while everyone else was smoking and Howard was taking a walk outside the parking lot to stretch, that the Texan saw Klaus again.
The horse trainer was standing at the edge of the parking lot talking with Big Carney and the man in the green fedora Howard
recognized from the boxing match in the alley.
They were engaged in a heated conversation. Big Carney was shaking his head at first, but after some conversation by the other two, he finally nodded assent.
The Texan hid in the shadows until Klaus and Fedora headed off. When the black man came by, Howard let himself be seen.
“What was that about?” Howard asked. “They tryin’ to pressure you about the fight the other day?”
The tall Negro laughed. “No. They wanted to get another fight going. Said a lot of people want to see me in a fair fight against O’Bannon’s new fighter. A fella they call The German.”
“You gonna do it?”
“I figure, why not?” Big Carney said. “They’re talking Saturday night after the show closes. Just invited guests. Could be a big purse.”
“Do you figure they’ll be on the up and up?” Howard asked.
“After the last time word got out it wasn’t so, yeah,” the black man smiled. “I figure they have to be honest or nobody will ever bet on any match Tony or O’Bannon set up again.”
“Tony?”
“The guy with the green hat. He’s the leg man for Red O’Bannon, who runs the Irish mob here in the city.”
“What did Klaus have to do with it?” The Texan asked.
“He brokered it,” Big Carney said. “I guess he lost a lot on the match betting against me as well. And I gotta say, he seemed a bit cowed.” He raised an eyebrow and stared at the writer. “You didn’t do nothin’ to him last night, did you, boss?”
“Now, big hoss, would I do something like that?”
Both men laughed together.
“You sure you can trust these guys?”
“Only as far as it’s in their own interest to put on an honest fight.”
Howard nodded. He was familiar with the gambling culture from back home in Cross Plains. There the rough element had been a little more obvious, and not as well-heeled as Tony of the green fedora, but still the same type.
