A Fear of Clowns (The Greasepaint Chronicals)

by P. S. Power

  When he woke up, he was still duct taped, with his hands behind his back, feet and legs secured with what seemed like the whole roll of the silver stuff. There was no wiggle room, and it was pretty clear that he wasn't calling out for help, since his mouth was covered too. For a long time he just sat, trying to think about what had happened.

  Mills was the killer. That was sad. Jason had really hoped it would turn out to be Richmond, so the man could be taken out of action. He was a small and petty man, but probably not bright enough to pull off a complicated plot. Why the guilty deputy had bothered to leave him alive, Jay didn't know at all. Why?

  That was the key, he was willing to bet. It was the question that was always left, when you looked too hard at history. Mysteries too. In real life you could sometimes work out what happened, putting the pieces together, and making it all roughly fit, if you pushed hard enough and guessed at the missing bits based on the shape that was left. It almost never explained why things really happened. You had guesses, but most of the time people were wrong when they tried.

  The famous thing was the old saw about how everything that was done by the Neanderthals had religious significance. It might, but that idea was based on a different world view, and ignored the practical day to day life of a culture that no longer existed. In that case, why was no more than a guess. With things in the modern day, it was only a little better. Most killers, no matter what they thought they were doing, were just mentally ill or angry. Mills... From the sound of it, the man had been at his game of death for nearly a decade. That would mean he was barely a child when he started. In his late teens or so. Provided he was sloppy enough that he'd left a trail for the FBI to track. The Killer Clown. If they knew that, then he'd been seen, at some point.

  That get up was probably a misunderstanding of the serial killer John Wayne Gacey, who'd been called that. He hadn't killed as a clown however, that was just part of the charity work he'd done, entertaining sick kids. Popularly too. They'd all loved him, and he was considered a pillar of his community. Until it came out that he liked to kill young teen boys in his spare time. It was one of the things that had vilified the profession in the mind of the public, even if they didn't know it. That played in though, now. Anyone killing like Mills, dressed in a creepy mask, had to be influenced that way. As a Sheriff's Deputy he'd be aware of the case, no doubt, since it was famous.

  None of that really explained why, however. If there were enough clues to figure that out, Jay had missed them. Not that it mattered. He needed to get to a phone and call the FBI. Struggling didn't work though, since he couldn't even roll, being attached to something behind him. Craning enough, he understood that it was a table leg. His hands, behind his back, were taped to it. He tried to bend his legs, but they were connected together too tightly for that. Jay also made an effort to chew at his lips, but it didn't get him free, not even enough to do more than moan softly, since the tape had been wrapped all the way around his head, in several strips.

  In short, he wasn't going anywhere, until someone came to look for him. That took a long time. The light through the window faded into night, and he really wasn't certain what day it was. Finally, just as thirst was about to drive him mad, the door made a sound. With his luck it would be Mills again, he thought, turning his head to see Greg and one of his security men coming in.

  "What the hell?" The man jogged to him and started working the tape from his mouth, which was a good thing.

  "Get me a phone. We need to call the FBI. Now!" It probably seemed unreasonable, given that the security man probably thought he'd just been robbed or caught in a kinky sex thing, but the other guy, who was big and muscular, pulled a cell phone, and then held it out, as if he was going to take it with his hands still taped up.

  "There are two cards, on my dresser, unless he took them." Jay didn't try to explain who he meant yet, as Michelson finally worked on his hands. It took a while, but by the time he could move he did have the cell stuffed into his hand and with only some stiffness had the phone put to his ear.

  "Special Agent Daniels, What can I do for you?"

  "Daniels," he croaked the name, then went on. "This is Jason Hadley. The killer is Mills. Deputy Mills. He ambushed me in my room here, at the casino. He said something about having something else to do?"

  "Hadley? Crap. There goes that theory. We figured that you were responsible for Morse going missing. Your ex too, Lynn Davies? It's been most of a day, what happened on your end?"

  Lynn? That didn't make sense. Carl either really. Why would Mills, a psycho murderer, go after them? He spoke, going through it all as completely as he could. He was still dressed as his MC character, but no doubt looked like something the cat dragged in. No one mentioned it.

  His brain still felt slow and clumsy. Why? What could those two have to do with anything? Maggie sort of made sense, because it allowed Jay to be framed for it, to shunt suspicion. Only the chance happening of him getting a job in a place where everything was watched, all the time, had saved him from being locked up, no doubt. There hadn't been any proof, but Carl had been pushing for it. So had Richmond. It might well have happened, even if he had an alibi, if it hadn't been as good as it was. Solid to a level that almost no one got, in real life.

  Just as Greg helped him free up his legs, he finished going over the whole thing. It had taken about five minutes, even if it wasn't a long story, but the man on the phone didn't double back.

  "I think we have part of it. The log, the one from the tracking device on your car? It shows that you drove it to Winthrop's on the day of the murder. To the dump site too. Except that you couldn't have. It was so obvious, given that, that we looked at it for tampering and found that Carl Morse had done it. His code was used at least. Then he was gone. Vanished, along with his longtime mistress. Except of course, that you had that alibi, and the log showed that it had been changed before the body was found. It sort of points a finger there, but if you're claiming that Carl Mills told you that the murder was part of a greater plan..." He tapered off and stopped talking. He'd been thinking out loud, but it wasn't like Jay was on staff. He didn't rate most of that information, normally. It had only been the shock if being contacted out of the blue that had gotten Daniels to speak.

  Jason looked at the clock, able to see it, after standing with a bit of help from the security men. It took both of them, since his legs didn't work right yet. Drugs could do that to you. It was just after nine.

  "What day is it?"

  Greg shrugged, his jacket pulling over his large shoulders. "Sunday. When you didn't show up for the show, one of the girls called us up and asked us to sober you up and toss you in the shower. Maine? Said you had a drinking problem?" He sniffed, but the worst of the residue from whatever Mills had given him had faded. As if he'd gotten drunk, and duct taped himself like that?

  "Not this time. Thanks for coming anyway, just in case it ever happens. Yeah, I need to get to work." He had a job to do and was late, which didn't make him look good at all. The voice on the phone made an annoyed sound.

  "No, what you need to do is wait there for us. If this isn't about Morse and his sweetie running off together after killing someone to frame you, then we need all the information we can get. Don't go anywhere, we'll come to you. It will be... Call it two hours? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

  He shook his head and then wished he hadn't, feeling ready to lose the contents of his soul. It prevented him from answering for a minute.

  "I don't think so. I'll be by the main stage. I don't know if I can help any more than that. I also don't know that I can't. Things are hazy. Rohypnol? That's what he said he was giving me. If I was going to die from it, I would have by now." That was just the truth. He needed water though, which he got first thing after the man hung up on him. Hopefully hurrying to do something useful. Coming to him.

  If Lynn was missing, was Alex? He didn't know. Jay also didn't have an easy way to find out. He had an address for her, being his old one, but not a
number and hadn't sent anything to her for over a year. The last thing had been a post card, before he left the streets. It was a cheap thing, but he'd pretended to be happy and just off finding himself. Doing the math, he realized that she'd only be fifteen. That was too young to be abandoned like she had been.

  He meant by him, but it worked for her mother too. The girl probably figured that everyone was running from her, after all that. If she hadn't been taken. God, he hoped not. Mills killed women. It wasn't as if he had any reason to save her, in particular. Or excuse her from his plans.

  Lynn though, that just didn't fit. Maybe she'd been picked up when Carl had, by mistake? That didn't sound likely. It was more sensible that the two really had just run away.

  "Hey, uh, Greg... Could you find a phone number for me? I have an address. It's sort of important."

  "I can try." The man mentioned a reverse directory, but modern cell phones could make that sort of thing not as effective anymore.

  Still it was worth a chance. Alex would need someone, in trouble herself, or not.

  Chapter ten

  It took longer to find his daughter than it should have. Mainly because he'd told Greg to look for her as Alex Davies. It was actually under Alexis Hadley, to his surprise. He really would have figured that her mother would have insisted that she change it. That, or Carl would have. The jerk seemed like the type of douche bag to drop a kid on another person like that, then swoop in later and insist that she take his name, simply to prove that he was a real man.

  Jason worried about her as he reapplied his makeup in the back dressing room, the smaller one, and then stumbled toward the front, where Gloria glared at him. He looked horrible and smelled, but she just shook her head and whispered at him.

  "Where the hell have you been? This place has nearly fallen apart. We haven't even been introducing anyone, just sending acts out one after the other. You have a twenty minute set coming up next. Can you go on?" It wasn't a light question, and she clearly thought he was drunk.

  He nodded anyway.

  "It's a real story. I'll tell you later, when the FBI gets here. If they come behind the curtain, keep them off stage?" He had to run then, and almost fell for real when he tried to fake stumble.

  "Oooohhhh, I feeeel Siiick." He held his hand in front of his mouth, actually fighting a real response. It was the lights that did it, but the unexpected arrival of a brown jacketed and shoeless clown got people's attention. His discomfort, which everyone would assume was feigned, got laughter.

  It took a while for his brain to catch up, but he realized that someone had stolen his shoes. His new ones. Mills most likely, since they were probably about the same size. It was kind of a mean thing to do, but could you really call a serial killer on that sort of issue? It seemed almost too trivial to care about. He vamped and pretended to feel like he was going to pass out so loudly that no one believed it. That was good, since it was all an act. The part where he was in control of himself. He'd had some experience, over the years, pretending to be normal, when he was, in fact, hammered to the gills.

  Finally, his real life experience was paying off.

  He saw Felicity in the wings, so introduced her, and moved slowly enough that the music started just as she came on stage, already singing. He'd gotten the timing a little off, he thought, but she made it work pretty well. She was good. As long as she wasn't stealing from them, of course. That was another thing that he didn't know the why of. He had in his head the idea that he'd be standing there someday, in front of Mr. Moretti, holding that piece of paper that the woman had signed, waving it as he plaintively cried out that she'd promised. In his head he was dressed as a happy party clown at the time, too. It would make it all the more poignant.

  Not creepy like Carl Mills. The name bugged him for a bit. Probably because it was too close to Carl Morse. Carl M. Were all men with that name going to be a pain in his rump for the rest of his life? He hoped not. Life was far too short to be running around secretly afraid of anyone with the name Carl. Not that he wasn't on his way to it. Or, hate at least, if not fear. That part was strange, but true. Jason didn't fear either of those men. True, both could take him in a fight, or kill him, but for different reasons he just couldn't bring himself to respect them. Mills for killing Maggie, who had been sweet, if a little dim. Morse because the man wasn't worthy of anything as grand as that. He was something so low as a person that there was no name for him.

  So Jay didn't bother with fear. Not for himself. Just for Alex. Alexis now, apparently. That was another whole part of her life that he'd missed.

  The whole name problem was explained to him by Michelson when he waved him over, the instant he got off stage, still reeling and half blind from the lights suddenly being gone. A cell phone was pressed into his hand, already ringing. For a second he nearly hung up, wanting to get himself set first, not knowing if anyone would pick up. Praying to a god he didn't believe in that she would.

  Someone did, and a youthful, but unfamiliar voice answered, it was a girl at least.

  "Hello?" She sounded sweet, and not like she'd just been whimpering in pain, which might be a good sign.

  "Alex?"

  "Um, yes. Who's this?" She sounded pleasant about it, and nearly chipper, not rude or angry. It was as if she didn't know her mother was gone, or that anything had happened to be concerned over.

  "It's Jason. Uh, Jason Hadley? Your dad?" He wanted to take it back the second the words came out, knowing that she couldn't think of him that way, after two years or more of Lynn denigrating him to her, but something surprising happened.

  "Daddy? I wasn't expecting a call from you! Are you all right? I'd heard that... Things had been a bit rough for you? Carl the asshole said that you'd become a bum, and then a clown. I couldn't tell if those were job descriptions or just him calling names. Considering the source I figured on that second one." The words were direct, but again, more pleasant than he had a right to assume would be happening.

  "That's actually pretty accurate. Job wise. Right now I'm backstage, I have a set to do in a bit. Just introducing another act. Um... There might be some problems? Your mother, is she around?" He knew the answer, but sort of hoped that she was anyway. True, part of him wouldn't mind if she were being killed by a psychopath that much, but Alex needed her.

  He thought so at least.

  "Not for a while. The FBI came by earlier, looking for her. She and Carl have gone missing. It isn't the first time that they've just taken off though, so I'm not all that worried. Is it something bad?" There was almost no concern in her voice about it. That was a bit strange. Unless she'd changed a lot, she was a good girl, really. Not callus or hard. Not angry enough to think that people missing was a good thing.

  "Possibly." He was willing to leave it at that, but didn't know if she was in danger, where she was. "It seems like one of Carl's deputies is a serial killer and might have taken them? I know that's a shock, but he sort of suggested he had a plan to do something before he drugged me, and left me duct taped in my room here." It was the wrong thing to say, since she was just a kid. Jay waited for the panic to set in, but got a considering sound instead.

  "All right. So, don't trust any Sheriff's Deputies. Got it. Which one is it? Richmond? He seems like the type. The perv always grabs my ass every time Carl brings him around. He claims he's playing, but if he does it again he's going to be sans equipment, you know?" She went a bit hard then. Tougher than he remembered her being. Also grown up sounding, using French in common speech like that. Jason felt a surge of anger at the jerk for touching her, but had to set that aside for the moment. There were other things to consider.

  "No, Carl Mills. I know, I sort of expected Richmond too, but it's definitely Mills. He admitted it. The FBI are coming here to question me. Are you all right where you are? Do you have a friend you can stay with, or something?" That he didn't know that kind of thing... Well, bad fathers didn't, so he had an excuse.

  "Nope. Or, I do, but not until tomorrow. I'll
be fine here. Like I said, mom has done this before. It's good talking to you though! I sort of thought, you know, that you didn't like me anymore. I understand that. What mom did. Her and Carl. I'd hate me too, if I were you."

  "Honey, I never hated you. Not even for a moment. I... had some problems. Drinking mainly. I shouldn't have let that happen, but things were a bit much for a while. It's taken some time to climb back up. That isn't a very good excuse, but you know, random parenting attempt number one; stay off the sauce, if you can help it. Also, as a freebie, don't be a jerk and abandon the important people. See, now you won't have to learn those things the hard way. I'm practically valuable to you already."

  It wasn't enough, but she chuckled a bit, not seeming half as worried as she should be. That was youth, most likely. Maybe it was just that she'd been forced to grow up and adapt, becoming her own person at too young of an age. Either way it was probably a poor plan, since she needed to be a little scared at the moment. Enough to hide and not be caught by Mills at least. Or Richmond, if he was around.

  Then, as the parent, it was his job to protect her, wasn't it?

  "I don't know if I can come tonight. I'll try, it might be late. I don't have a phone. Here, I'll give you Carlos and Wendy's number. If you need to reach me, call them. They're friends of mine. If they come for any reason... Well... Carlos is the dwarf, and Wendy has dyed red hair. They make a distinctive couple. He's a magician, so ask questions about that. You know, to keep some other dwarf from kidnapping you."

  She punched the number into her phone, or claimed to, and didn't seem to want to get off the line. It had just been so long since he'd talked to her. Finally he had to go, in order to introduce Rhonda and the gang. It was hard to hang up, but he thought that Alex understood. Alexis. She wasn't a little girl anymore, was she?

  Greg, who'd been standing back, handed him a slip of paper with the number for the girl written on it, and took his cell back. The man was efficient, but didn't actually leave, even while he was on stage. In fact he stayed with Jason himself, until the FBI got there. They weren't inclined to let him keep working, thinking that a County Sheriff being taken by a serial killing Deputy might be more important. They were right, so he went with them to the security office. They got a room that looked like a nicer version of what the police used for interrogations. Michelson didn't volunteer to leave either.