Lucky and the Crushed Clown

by Emmy Grace

  “Your brother?”

  “Yeah.”

  Liam’s brow clamps down so far over his eyes, I’m surprised he can see to drive. It looks like someone took to his face with a trash compactor. “No one will ever believe that. I can’t be your brother.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one thing, we look nothing alike.”

  “Different fathers,” I offer.

  “Secondly, I know nothing about your childhood and upbringing.”

  “I can fill you in. It’s not like it was that exciting.”

  He ignores me. “Thirdly, we don’t have the rapport of siblings. You can’t fake something like that.”

  “You’re mean to me every day. That screams big brother if I’ve ever heard it.”

  “It does not scream big brother,” he grouses.

  “Then what does it scream, Mr. Know It All?”

  “It screams that I’m just that way. There is nothing familial between us. Trust me.”

  “Then what’s your solution? How are we supposed to go in there and be convincing?”

  “We go like we’re, you know, involved.”

  “Involved? What do you mean?”

  “Like involved.”

  “Emphasizing a word isn’t the same as defining it, you know.”

  “We go as lovers,” he finally barks.

  If I were drinking sweet tea, I’d have just spit it all over myself. And all over Liam’s windshield. “Lovers? And you think that would be easier?”

  “You don’t?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Why not?”

  “For the same reasons I said we’d be convincing as brother and sister. You’re mean to me.”

  “I’m not mean to you.”

  “You absolutely are mean to me.”

  “Look, I’ve been undercover before. I know how to play my part. And believe me, this will be simpler.”

  I roll my eyes. “Fine. Whatever. We go in as lovers then.” I slide a pouty look his way. “Lovers having a spat probably.”

  “See? It’s the perfect cover.”

  “You’re impossible,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest and watching the landscape fly by on our way to the circus.

  I hear that sniggering/snorting sound, but I don’t look his way. It seems my discomfort provides continual amusement to Liam, the grouch.

  By the time he pulls into the empty front lot outside the big top, his mood is lighter and mine is darker.

  Liam leaps out of the truck faster than usual, much faster than I can gather my things, open my door, and try to lower myself down. Jumping from this height in these boots is a recipe for broken bones for sure. And that’s the last thing I need right now.

  Before I can even reach for the handle, Liam is pulling open the door and reaching in to get me. He lowers me to the ground and then stands with his hands around my waist, staring down at me. There’s a tiny half smile curving his lips.

  I frown when I try to back up and he won’t let me. “What are you doing?” There’s a chill to the question because my belly is doing flips right now, and it’s making me irritable.

  “I’m playing the part,” he mumbles in his deep voice, his lips spreading into a soft smile.

  “Huh?” is all I can think to say.

  He reaches up and brushes the backs of his fingers down my cheek and I practically melt. Good Lord, what is happening to me?

  With his eyes glowing down into mine, he bends close to whisper in my ear, “I’m trying to be convincing.”

  I feel his lips graze my skin, and goose bumps break out and run down my arms like they’re competing for the trophy in a three-legged race.

  “So, this is part of your act?”

  His scruffy cheek rubs mine as he nods. “How do you like it so far?”

  So far?

  There’s more?

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

  What have I done?

  “I-I guess it’ll do.” I try to sound natural, neutral, unaffected.

  I fail miserably.

  His laugh is low and husky. “That’s what I thought.”

  “We should go,” I say, trying to step away from him. Still, he holds on, though, and very effectively prevents me from doing so.

  “Chicken.”

  There are times when it’s purely prudent to admit defeat as a means of precluding further injury.

  This is one of those times.

  I don’t have to confess this part to Liam, but he wins.

  He freakin’ wins.

  I put my hands flat on his chest and push. I feel like I can’t breathe.

  Literally.

  Thankfully, he lets me have a few inches space between us. I look him square in the eye when I nod my head and give him a hearty, “Bock bock.”

  As I push the rest of the way out of his faux embrace and turn to walk away, I hear his laugh following behind me.

  Curse and rot you and your hotness, Liam Dunning.

  Curse and rot you!

  8

  The big top is just as open as it was last night. I guess there’s not really a good way to secure an enormous tent.

  The main ring still boasts yellow police tape, but the sprawling body of a dead clown is curiously absent. I guess the M.E. finally came and took him away.

  Liam and I walk through to the back entrance and out into what, in daylight, looks like a Renaissance fair. There is slow morning activity. Some people are sitting in front of the fire, sipping coffee, trying to wake up. Some are bringing out animals or equipment to practice their craft. And some are just standing around in clumps here and there, chatting. Maybe even remembering their lost brother, Rodney the jealous bully clown.

  We stop to look around for Allanda. She’s nowhere in sight at the moment. I even look over at the cages where we found her night before last, but she’s not there either. She might’ve been, though. The snake’s cage is empty again.

  I shudder. “Blaaaah.”

  “What’s wrong?” Liam asks from over my shoulder.

  “I don’t see Allanda. I was just thinking that I hope she’s not with Maximus.”

  “What is it with you and snakes?”

  “They hiss. And I don’t like things that hiss.”

  “You have a cat. You realize that sound they make is called a hiss, right?”

  “She growls more than she hisses.”

  “Uh-huh,” he mutters doubtfully.

  I turn around to face him. “It’s true. If she hissed a lot, I probably wouldn’t still have her.”

  “Admit it. It’s just because Maximus is a reptile.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “You’re a reptile bigot.”

  “I am not. I really—”

  “You have e-reptile dysfunction.”

  “No, I—” I stop midsentence. “I have what?”

  Liam doesn’t repeat what he said. He just stares down at me, his eyes light with laughter.

  “Did you…did you just make a real, legit joke?”

  No comment.

  “And a really clever one, too.” My eyebrows rise and I nod. “I’m impressed. Being my fake boyfriend must agree with you.”

  “Maybe you just don’t know me as well as you think you do. I’m not always serious. There are sides of me you’ve never seen.”

  “Apparently so. I guess you reserve them for people who don’t drive you crazy.”

  “You do drive me crazy,” he concurs. “But I’m getting used to it.”

  “I suppose it’s inevitable the longer we’re around each other, because I’m getting used to your grumpiness.”

  “I’m not grumpy.”

  Even as he says it, his brows are drawn down into a semi-frightening frown.

  “No,” I say with as much sarcasm as I can dump into one single word. “Not at all.”

  “You’re here!” comes a voice from behind me.

  I turn to find Allanda jogging toward us. She looks fresh and young and pretty, and extre
mely bouncy in her running shorts and tank top. It’s fall in South Carolina, and it’s early enough that I can see my breath just a little. It’s far too cold for such a skimpy outfit. But I’d say the high beams that are pointing right at me from under her top are a big part of the reason she’s wearing it.

  I shoot a quick glance over at Liam who has come to stand at my left. His eyes are respectfully trained on her face, bless him. Maybe it’s him playing the part of my lover, or maybe it’s just him being a decent guy. Whatever the reason, I appreciate it.

  Allanda comes to a buxom halt in front of us. She reaches out for Liam’s wrist, and then for mine, and starts pulling us toward one of the bigger tents in the town-like semi-circle.

  “Boudreau is the ringleader and also the manager of our family. I’ve already talked to him about you, so he’s expecting you.”

  “What did you tell him about us?”

  “Just that you’ve been looking to get on with your knife throwing act. I told him you know some of my family, which is true.”

  “Okay, good.”

  Allanda swipes through the tent flap, and Liam and I follow. Inside, it’s dark and moody and cluttered, and it smells like cigar smoke and fried food. In my mind, that combination will forever be associated with the guy I see sitting behind the makeshift desk against the back wall.

  Boudreau, a real live circus ringleader.

  “Boudreau, they’re here,” Allanda says, gesturing to us.

  The guy that looks up is slightly terrifying. His head is shaved slick as a whistle, and his face sports a thick handlebar moustache and a gruesome burn scar on one cheek. His eyes are twin black pebbles under bushy brows, and his neck is ribbed with rope-like veins. They look like they could burst at any minute, and all I can think about is that if this guy strokes out, I don’t know enough CPR to save him.

  Random thoughts brought to you courtesy of Lucky Boucher’s insane brain.

  “Come in,” he barks, his voice booming enough to carry to every corner of a circus tent without any amplification. And I mean the big tent, not this one.

  Okay, that could be an exaggeration, but that’s what it sounds like. My ears are ringing just from his greeting.

  Boudreau lays down the stack of money he was counting, which is impressively robust I might add, and stands to his feet. He takes a chewed-up cigar out of his mouth, and when he does, I see that he’s missing his pinky finger on the right side. I don’t even want to know how that happened. It might make me lose my nerve.

  Boudreau is maybe six feet tall, not nearly as tall as Liam, but he reminds me of a tree trunk—wide and stout. He’s wearing a striped vest, and his bicep bulges beneath the armhole as he extends his hand.

  “Welcome. I hear you’re looking for a place to perform.”

  Liam steps in front of me and takes the man’s hand. He pumps it, hard, and the two men size each other up. I hope no one tries to whip out any other appendages to measure one another’s manliness. I’d likely never recover from the trauma of seeing any more of Boudreau than this right here.

  “We are,” Liam says. He doesn’t have to shout for his voice to be impactful. It’s just that way. It’s his nature.

  He steps back and lays his hand on my lower back. It’s a possessive gesture, something a guy would do to his girlfriend in the presence of other men. It’s that or pee on her leg, and no girl really wants to be marked like that.

  “I’m Uri. This is my girlfriend, Lucky. She’s the real talent.”

  Liam smiles down at me, pride beaming from his face. I actually fumble for a second. It’s like a ray of pure sunshine breaking through the clouds.

  Good grief, he’s good! Even I have to remind myself that he’s just pretending. I can’t imagine having that turned on me for real.

  I look to Boudreau, which is strangely more comfortable than looking at Liam when he’s like this. It makes no sense, of course. That’s like saying that it’s better to stare at a cow patty than a pretty sunrise.

  Weird.

  But true.

  I smile at the ringleader. “I’ve been throwing knives half my life, sir. Since I was a little girl and decided I wanted to be part of a circus.”

  “Have you been with another act?”

  “No, my…my mother died and it sort of derailed me for a while.” It isn’t hard at all for me to stammer over that. I rarely talk about my mother, and for good reason.

  Boudreau nods, his eyes scanning me from head to toe and back again. “I like the outfit. The face paint’s not the best.”

  Don’t tell Regina that, or you’re liable to lose a limb.

  I think that, but my smile never wavers.

  “It’s not permanent. I just…I had some trouble washing it off.”

  I feel Liam’s reaction as his fingers twitch against my back. I elbow him in the ribs.

  Boudreau observes this. “You two have good chemistry. I can tell. You throw and he spins?”

  Again, I feel Liam’s reaction. His palm flattens on me, as if his body is saying, what?

  “I don’t have a wheel. We have some other ways of—”

  “Got one you can use. Our old thrower left it when he took off, spineless sap that he was.”

  I pity the fool that would cross this man. Seriously. I bet he haunts people in their dreams.

  “Oh. That’s very kind of you, but we—”

  “Use the wheel. People like the spinning.” He nods as if that’s the end of discussion. I hold my breath, wondering if Liam is going to argue, but he doesn’t. He just stands tall and stiff and stoic beside me.

  “Does that mean we got the job?”

  “Audition today. We’ll see.”

  “Could we do it tomorrow night? We’ll need to practice with this wheel. It’s been a while…”

  “Today,” Boudreau grunts as he sits down to resume counting his money. I look to Allanda and then up at Liam.

  Allanda tips her head toward the exit. I guess that means we’re done.

  I’m very glad to leave the tent. Outside, I gulp in fresh air. I feel a little Shawshank-y, like I did after I got trapped in a rank bathroom at the airfield a while back.

  “Wheel?” Liam says the moment we’re out of earshot.

  “I didn’t think he’d actually have one we could use,” I explain.

  “A wheel?” Liam repeats.

  I grin up at him. “Come on, big guy. Surely a manly man like you won’t be intimidated by a little ol’ wheel, right?”

  Liam’s back to his glowering, which I find comforting. It’s like a visit from a long-lost friend.

  Nice, attentive Liam throws me off.

  Blustering Liam, I can handle.

  Allanda starts off toward one of the larger trailers. “Come on. I’ll take you to get the wheel. It’s in the equipment trailer.” She glances back at Liam, her exotic eyes sweeping him from top to bottom. “I can’t help you get it out, but it looks like you’re strong enough to get it out all by yourself.”

  I think she wants to lick his muscles.

  And I think I want to grab her tongue with pliers and yank it out of her mouth.

  Everyone we pass stops to stare at us as we go. I nod and smile, and even speak to some. No one does anything more than gape.

  “Friendly bunch,” I tell Allanda when we enter the equipment trailer.

  “I told you they’re suspicious of outsiders.”

  “But we aren’t. We’re one of you now.”

  “It’ll take them some time, but they’ll come around.” She weaves in and out of platforms and accouterments until we are at the back of the space, staring up at a giant wheel with pegs on it.

  “They’d better be making an exception, because I’m not staying here very long,” Liam grumbles.

  Allanda must see that as an opening to further her seduction. Because I’m convinced that’s what she’s doing—trying to seduce Liam.

  “You mean you don’t like pretending to be her boyfriend?”

  My mouth dro
ps open. Seriously?

  She’s got some nerve. I’ll give her that.

  “He likes it just fine,” I say before Liam can answer. “In fact, this was his idea.”

  I nod in satisfaction. Take that, circus girl.

  I scowl into her pretty, made-up face. Pettily, I conclude that she’s wearing too much eye shadow and eyeliner. And her lashes are too long and thick. They look fake. Like she’s doing an ad for bad mascara.

  I shall dub thee Trampy Fay Baker, I think waspishly.

  Liam clears his throat and I drag my gaze up to him. He sort of nods, as if to ask what the heck I’m doing, antagonizing the one person who can help us here.

  And it’s a valid question. What am I doing, letting this woman get under my skin?

  Man, she’s really bringing out the witch in me. And I don’t like that one bit. This isn’t me. I’m not the jealous, petty type.

  I blame Liam Dunning.

  He brings out the worst in me.

  I’m duly contrite. “Sorry, Allanda. This whole face paint thing has me on edge.”

  Weak.

  Weak, weak, weak.

  It makes me sound completely imbalanced that I’d let something so stupid bother me, but I’d rather she think me to be a flake than to take offense at my needling and refuse to help us.

  Of course, that would only hurt her, too. After all, she asked for our help.

  “It’s okay. It takes some time to adjust to sharing, too,” she replies casually.

  “‘Sharing’?”

  She nods. “Sharing men.”

  I nearly choke on my own spit. “Sharing men? What do you mean?”

  “It’s sort of a closed system here, if you know what I mean. There aren’t that many of us, so people tend to date around in the family. And since we all have to live and work together, it doesn’t pay to hold a grudge. So…”

  “So, you share your men?”

  She nods. “And the men share their women.”

  I feel sick. Not that either Liam or I had any intention of hanging around here very long, but just the thought of it…

  As if reading my mind, Liam snakes out a hand and jerks me up against his side. “You can spread the word that there won’t be any sharing with us.”

  “Are you sure? You might realize you like it.”

  “Oh, I’m sure.” Liam’s tone brooks no argument, which relieves me.