The survivors of the first wave of assaults made a final, desperate stand at The House of John. In the Venetian dialect, it was called Ca’d’Zan and located on Sarasota’s seafront. It was the fabulous mansion of John Ringling, one of the five brothers who successfully operated the “Greatest Show on Earth” for many years. Built like a fortress, its forty-one rooms offered some protection against the onslaught. The Haters’ siege lasted almost two days as they methodically cleared each room, killing all occupants including the noncombatant women and children. Apparently the Haters’ strategy had now shifted to murdering the progeny of clowns as well.
There wasn’t a ground swell of sympathy or outrage after the massacre that left nearly 180 clowns and their family members dead. Many more were wounded and later dispatched. The cleansing operation of Sarasota was a huge success, at least in the eyes of the Haters and their fellow travelers.
There were some perfunctory news articles condemning the atrocity, but little more. It was if clowns were now considered subhuman beings and somehow deserving of the death penalty for simply practicing a profession they loved. It was a tragedy that would only get worse before it got better. The really bad times were about to begin. The federal government half-heartily stepped in to declare the POC domestic terrorists, but it had little real effect on the organization’s single-minded drive to put an end to clowns forever. American sentiment overwhelmingly wanted the clown population to be eradicated and the POC was its instrument to make that happen.
***
The news of the Sarasota Massacre immediately reached the outpost of Klowntown. Its people were appalled as to what happened and had great difficulty believing such a thing was possible in the United States of America, the land of the free and brave. It was unthinkable, but it was true and that put everyone on edge, believing the stronghold of Klowntown might be next on the Haters hit list. That was a reasonable assumption and concern since the community remained the last bastion of clown freedom against the ceaseless onslaught of the Haters wrath.
Chuck called an emergency session of the council since everyone was asking about the implications of the massacre for each of them and the very existence of Klowntown. It was to be a raucous, emotional meeting because people were frightened and rightfully so. There was to be no sugarcoating of the implications at tonight’s meeting. The community’s very survival was now at stake and people wanted to know what to do to protect themselves and their families against an expected attack by the Haters. Chuck was on the spot to make things right or at least tamp down the fears. That was the best he could do under the circumstances since there was no silver bullet, no quick fix to improve their lot and make things better.
There was no agenda for the meeting, just a free for all with questions and answers. Crusty grabbed the microphone and asked the first question.
“So Chuck, what are we going to do in light of the massacre? Turn tail and run? I vote to hold our ground and defend Klowntown, as best we can. It may turn out to be our Alamo, but at least we can put up a good fight to defend our honor and our families against what will likely be another slaughter of innocents. I’m tired of running and I think others are too. So what’s it going to be? Stay or get the hell out of Dodge while we still have the chance?”
Crusty, for a change, had pretty much summed up the questions. They were the same things others in the audience wanted answers to. What do we do now? What are our options?
Chuck answered the questions as best he could: knowing there were no good answers.
“Crusty, for once, I think you’ve pretty well laid out the issues by your questions. Congratulations, I didn’t believe you could do that without challenging the council’s authority with your contentious, stupid bickering about our policies.” Chuck had had enough of Crusty’s divisive crap. Surprisingly, Crusty stayed silent for once.
“The short answer is I don’t know since there are many possibilities we need to discuss tonight. Here’s an easy answer to one of your questions. Any clown and his or her family may leave Klowntown whenever they wish. There’s no obligation to stay. That’s always been the council’s position. We believe in democratic principles and anyone who desires to leave can do so without regrets or recriminations with our blessing. We wish them well.”
“Canada might be a good bet,” Chuck continued. “The Phobia appears to be much less virulent there. If Canada can tolerate the French Canadiens, it can certainly put up with a few more clowns,” he joked. However his politically incorrect slight didn’t get any laughs. He now wished he hadn’t said it, but quickly transitioned to his next statement.
“Seriously, Canada seems to be a good option for those wishing to leave our community. The Canadian government has offered refugee status to anyone who can prove he or she is a clown, much like the Vietnam era draft dodgers who were granted sanctuary. So for those considering Canada, gather up all of your clown documentation before you leave. You will need it to establish your bona fides for entry.”
“Also, we need an ex-filtration plan to safely leave Baraboo without being caught by the headhunters. Baggy Britches, can you draw one up for us?” Baggy nodded in the affirmative. “Ok, good,” Chuck relied in turn.
“Your other questions are more problematic. What to do if we stay and defend our values and our people. That seems to be a straightforward proposition as well. We’d likely have to take up arms to protect ourselves. I can’t imagine any of us simply passively accepting what the Haters have in mind for us. It’s almost a ‘damned if you do and damned if you don’t’ sort of conundrum. I believe the odds of surviving an all-out attack are low given the manpower and momentum generated by the Haters. We would be the underdogs in any fight and it would likely be a fight to the death because we very well know our fate if we surrender.”
There were murmurs of assent and sounds of crying from the large audience.
“What about stockpiling supplies?” someone asked. “For those of us who plan to stay put, it seems to me we should start doing that now.”
“Yes, I think that’s a smart, prudent move given our circumstances,” Chuck replied. “We’ll draw up a notional list of things you will likely need to survive an attack and get it to you as soon as possible. Baggy, can you put that on your to-do list as well?”
Baggy waived his hand in acknowledgement. He then got up and announced that Chief Hensley had agreed to deputize another twenty clowns and loan the Klowntown cops a dozen Remington 870 pump shotguns with a box of shells for each. That brought cheers from the audience. Klowntown and its residents were not going down without a fight!
“Are there any other questions or issues?” Chuck asked. There were none and the meeting was adjourned.
***
In response to Sarasota, the Justice Department’s Civil Rights Division formed a taskforce to counter the persecution of the clowns. It was headed by Aubrey Morrison, a retired FBI agent who’d first cut his teeth on the African-American civil rights violations of the late 1960’s and early 1970’s. Now in his early seventies, his goal was to disrupt and neutralize the Haters as a formidable organization that advocated violence and murdered clowns at will. He fully understood that not all local law enforcement officers could be trusted to assist his efforts since many were infected with the phobia and likely disinterested in helping at best or sabotaging his efforts at worst. He needed to be careful in selecting his confidants and informants. Even his former FBI colleagues couldn’t be counted on for the same reason. It was too late for Sarasota, but Aubrey vowed to himself the same wouldn’t happen to Baraboo.
***
It was dusk when Amy and Willie spotted two bogies through their binoculars approaching the outer perimeter of Klowntown. They were pulling a short watcher-shift and their job was to alert the Command Center in Baggy’s house of any unusual activity. Hunter probes of the outskirts of the community were becoming more frequent. The hunters were looking for weak spots in the defenses of the community which could
later be exploited during an attack. Willie called the Center’s base station on the rudimentary Walkie-Talkie network and reported the event. Since the system wasn’t encrypted, they used circus slang to talk around subjects, but still get their message across. The method of communication was far from foolproof and secure, but it was the best they could do since they didn’t speak any Navajo. So they would report “a deuce of candy butchers with itchy feet was in the house.” That roughly translated into two intruders were moving towards the perimeter. But it was enough to make their point clear enough.
The Center would likely send a team of armed clown constables or perhaps notify the sheriff’s office and request assistance. Clown cops were trained, sworn law enforcement officers who augmented the Baraboo police force. That gave Klowntown a certain degree of autonomy in policing its own.
***
Clown families left the community in dribs and drabs so as not to call attention to the migration of people leaving the safety of Baraboo. They were secreted in delivery trucks and semi vehicles under the watchful eyes of friendly sheriff’s deputies who would loosely trail them until they left Sauk County where their jurisdiction ended. So far, the hunters hadn’t stopped and searched the vehicles. But the clowns believed it was only a matter of time before the headhunters would get wise to the ploy and start stopping and searching. That would likely happen only after the vehicles passed the county line. Baraboo served as the railhead for the Canadian Underground Railroad that quickly established routes into Canada. Sympathetic station masters along the way housed and fed the clowns until they reached their ultimate destination north of the border.
***
Crusty easily drove past the hunters’ surveillance vehicles parked on the side of the main road leading to Interstate 45 and out of Baraboo. He waived to them and they waived back in return. Crusty had a date tonight with Mike Adams, his boss and paymaster. Crusty had betrayed his calling and his few friends and many neighbors in Klowntown. He’d turned to the dark side of the conflict and was the mole who fed Adams with useful information about his community’s operations, personalities and, most especially, its defense plans against an anticipated attack by the Haters.
Adams had moved his headquarters to a small town just north of Madison, Wisconsin. That’s where Crusty was headed to report to Adams and collect his $10,000 in hard earned, blood money. It was all so easy Crusty thought. The rubes didn’t have a clue what he’d been up to and he wanted to maintain the status quo awhile longer until he earned enough to retire somewhere, anywhere except Klowntown. Jeez, what a name! Must his life always revolve around clowning? He thought not and couldn’t wait to leave it behind and start anew. Although this time, it was to be with enough money to carry him through old age and then some. That was his goal and he was getting close to achieving it. Crusty didn’t care in the least that he was being paid with thirty pieces of silver.
Mike Adams greeted Crusty like a long lost brother. But nothing could be further from the truth since he detested clowns, even one who turned his coat for the Haters. They briefly embraced and then got down to business, but not before Crusty ordered a Spritzer Highball from room service. Chit chat between the two conspirators was kept to a minimum because Adams couldn’t wait to show him the door. He would kill Crusty when he was no longer useful to the cause. No clown would survive his wrath, including Crusty. But for now Adams had to play nicey-nicey with his guest and number one informant inside Klowntown.
“So what’s new Crusty?” Adams politely asked while gritting his teeth.
“Actually there are a couple of things. First, the clowns are stockpiling food, water, guns, ammunition and other supplies waiting for a siege, an attack on Klowntown. They are also drawing up a defense plan for the community since many people will stay rather than flee. They understand they will likely lose any battle with the Haters, but they also know what will happen if they surrender. So expect your force to suffer some casualties.”
Adams wasn’t surprised. In fact, if he decided to take down the clowns head-on, he understood the dynamics and realities of war. But he’d not made that decision yet. He worried the local law enforcement authorities might put up a fight on behalf of the clowns. That would greatly complicate things, mainly from a public relations perspective. In Sarasota, similar authorities stood by and watched the slaughter. Truthfully, some of them cheered on his headhunters as they went about their work. That type of support wasn’t likely to happen in Baraboo and the fallout from murdering police could be devastating to his organization, perhaps fatal if he weren’t careful. Adams had already heard some rumblings from the left wing of the movement that things were moving too far and fast with the extermination program. They warned that another massacre like Sarasota could set them back in terms of public opinion, if not direct intervention by a federalized national guard. Adams knew the Feds were fickle, even though many were card carrying members of Hate. Many more quietly sympathized with the cause. But he had a mission to accomplish regardless of the weak-kneed members of his organization. Yet he fully understood the need for caution to avoid any negative blowback on him or his militia.
“What else do you have for me Crusty?” Adams inquired of the clown who was on his third Spritzer Highball.
“I think you’ll find this one interesting,” Crusty spoke while slurring his words. “Some of the clowns are escaping town by hiding in cars and trucks driven by sympathizers. They then hook-up with an underground railroad which takes them to points in Canada. It’s a pretty clever plan. If you want, I think I can get a schedule of the departures if the money’s right. I’ve heard rumors to the effect there will be a mass departure of clown families, over a hundred people via an 18 wheeler convoy in the next few weeks. Look for Kroger and Meijer food haulers and you’ll find your clowns.”
“Yeah, I’m very interested in that sort of information, so get back to me with the details soonest. I need to put together the logistics of an operations plan, so the sooner you can get the specifics, the sooner I can act. Thanks Crusty, I owe you one for that information.” The one in Adams mind was a single bullet to the back of Crusty’s head.
Adams had anticipated this type of escape might happen, but he didn’t believe the clowns would try to escape en masse. Perhaps one or two at a time might leave that way, but not in the numbers cited by Crusty. He’d focused most of his attention on an all-out assault on Klowntown. Maybe he could now kill two birds or clowns with one stone. He liked his idea to finish off the bulk of remaining clowns in the United States in one fell swoop or massive assault as the case might be. He had political aspirations and planned to use the assault as a springboard for high public office. He was convinced that other right-minded citizens would support his candidacy and bring him victory.
Adams handed over a thick envelope of hundred dollar bills and told Crusty to leave, but report back immediately if he learned of any new, significant information, especially when the convoy is scheduled to leave Baraboo. He needed to get busy to ready his audacious plan.
***
Aubrey believed he’d selected someone well suited for the role. Ralph Connors was an accomplished African American actor in his Little Theatre group in Madison. Moreover, he was a lieutenant on the Wisconsin State Patrol and a trusted agent. Aubrey recruited him for what would likely be the performance of his life.
Jerry Willis almost made it back to his motel on the outskirts of Madison before his car was stopped by an alert, highway patrolman who noticed his car’s right taillight wasn’t working. Willis was a top lieutenant of Mike Adams and responsible for the logistical operations of the headhunters. Willis was surprised and confused about the stop and would become even more surprised and confused at what was about to happen. He was handcuffed and blindfolded and then placed into the backseat of an unmarked, police car. His protests were ignored by his captors and he arrived at his destination in complete silence. Jerry Willis hadn’t been kidnapped; he was now in protective custody. It
was an extrajudicial action, but the matter wouldn’t be reported by anyone; most certainly not by Jerry Willis when they finished with him.
The room was bare except for a single overhead light and the wooden chair he was cuffed to for his safety. Willis gasped when his blindfold was removed and he saw a six foot six inch clown standing in front of him. The clown had creepy, ghoulish features and scared the hell out of Willis. So much so, he began to shake and wet his pants. That was only the beginning of his humiliation though.
“Mr. Willis,” the clown began. “Welcome to Klowntown. I know you’ve been curious about our little community for some time now. Well, here you are and I hope you enjoy your short visit with us.” The meeting wasn’t being held in Klowntown, but Willis didn’t know better.
As he spoke those words, Connors pushed the button on his switchblade knife and held its tip on Willis’s chin. His eyes widened and he pulled back his head from the knife’s sharp blade. Connors then proceeded to cut the buttons on the front of Jerry’s shirt to the point it fell open and exposed his hairy chest.
“What do you want?” he screamed in terror. “Why are you doing this?”
“We want to have a friendly chat with you and nothing more,” Connors replied. “Yes, just a friendly chat about the children you’ve molested over the years.”
“It seems you have a penchant, if that’s the right word, for prepubescent girls.”
Willis immediately slumped in his chair. That act, along with an extensive investigation of Willis’s background, confirmed he was a repeat pedophile who had been investigated several times by police, but released for lack of evidence.
“Jerry, do you know what they do to pedophiles in prison? Do you know what Hate would do to you if it learned of your dirty, little secret?”
Willis’s chin fell to his chest and he started crying. “What do you want?” he again asked through his sobs.
Macabre Memories Page 10