by Lubar, David
“Just call me Malcolm,” the Bozo said. His voice was nowhere near the rasping snarl he used in the tank. To tell the truth, he sounded like a college professor. All that was missing was one of those tweed jackets they wear. He stepped inside and held out his hand toward me, acting like we’d never met before.
At least he didn’t say anything about my problem with the cops. That was a break. Whenever I’d gotten in trouble, Mom had overreacted. She was kind of spooked about cops because of the couple times way back when they’d showed up at the house looking for Dad. Still, no matter what this freak could tell her about me, I wanted to spit in his hand. But Mom would really flip if I did that. Nice boys don’t go spitting on professors. So I gritted my teeth and shook hands with him.
Mom glanced over at the clock. “I’d better run,” she said. She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Be good. I’ll see you after work.”
“Bye.”
“So long, Mrs. Turner,” Malcolm said.
She smiled at him. “Call me Annie.”
I watched her dash out. Malcolm was still there, standing by the table.
“Professor?” I asked. “Of what? Dunkology? Insultosophy?”
“Very clever.” He smiled at me like we were old friends. “Amusing as it may seem, it’s the truth. I’ll be teaching theater arts at Baldwin Community College in the fall. Right now I’m working at my summer job.”
“I know. I saw you.” I searched his face carefully and spotted a small dab of clown makeup at the edge of his jaw under his right ear.
“And I saw you. With your large blond friend.”
“Jason,” I said. I was about to tell him more when I caught myself. He wasn’t going to sucker me into a friendly conversation. I didn’t have any plans to become buddies with this clown. Not after the way he’d tried to screw me with the cops. “Look, I’ve got to get going. Okay?”
“Something wrong?” he asked. “Have I offended you?”
I didn’t answer. It was none of his business. I could tell he was trying to get on my good side. That wasn’t going to happen. I figured he was like an adult version of Anthony—all slick and charming when he wanted something.
“Oh, I get it,” he said. “Yesterday. With the sunglasses and that rather angry gentleman from the shop. Is that what you’re sulking about?” He pushed out his lower lip like a pouting child.
“No.” I was going to turn away from him, but the words tumbled from my mouth. “Yeah. You’re right, I’m angry.” Now that I’d let it out, I couldn’t stop. “You should have said something. You know I didn’t steal anything. But you just sat there. You didn’t help me. That really stinks.” I felt my face grow hot, flamed by the memories.
“You were doing fine on your own. You didn’t need any help from me. They let you go, right?”
I glared at him.
“Right?” he asked again.
“You still could have helped me.”
He shook his head. “No way. It was too good a scene to break up.”
Now I was completely lost. “You really suck. You know that, Professor? And it wasn’t any kind of scene, whatever that means.”
“Sure it was. Everything’s a scene. As the Bard once said, ‘All the world’s a stage.’” He turned his head to the side for a moment, then snapped it back in my direction. His eyes flashed with fear. “I didn’t take anything.” He spread out his arms and looked around in terror. Then he pointed a shaking finger in the direction of an empty chair. “You saw it, didn’t you? I was here the whole time.”
Oh, man. That was me, when I was grabbed by the cops. My words. My motions. I felt like I’d been cloned. It made me sick. I remember once, in the mall, I’d glanced across the corridor and my eyes had locked on a person who looked just like me. It had taken me a moment to realize I was staring at a mirror, but in the instant before everything fell back into place, I’d been filled with the weirdest sense that there was something wrong with reality. This was just as bad. Maybe worse. “Stop that!” I yelled. “You think it’s some kind of joke?”
“You think it’s some kind of joke?” he shouted back, his face reflecting my anger like a mirror made of flesh.
I wanted to smash that face. I wanted to slam my fist into his mouth and shut it forever. The crazy thought shot through my mind that if I hit him, I’d hurt myself—like he was some sort of life-size voodoo doll. “What kind of freak are you?” I asked.
The angry kid melted away. “The saddest kind,” he said, sounding like a normal man again.
“You’re crazy.”
“Crazy?” His eyes flashed with madness. “They all said I was crazy, but I’ll have the last laugh.”
I took a step away from him, afraid he was about to totally lose control.
“Pretty good, huh?” he asked. Just like that, the crazy face faded. The professor face was back. “Crazy is easy. Try it. Come on. My gut tells me you can do it. Dig into your experiences and show me crazy.”
“I’m not showing you anything.”
He shook his head. “Yeah, crazy is too easy. Anyone can do that. You want a challenge? Try something subtle, like curiosity mixed with revulsion. Or slightly jealous with a tinge of hate. Now, those take some skill. Or a community college professor. Talk about a challenging role.”
“How about screaming insults from inside a cage?” I asked. “Does that take skill?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Depends on what gifts you’re born with. Sadly, my fellow Bozo, Waldo, to take a rather obvious example, has very little skill. He tries his best. I’m sure you’ve seen him at work. That’s beside the point. Mock the job if you will—you’re not fooling me. I saw you last night. You liked the show. You liked it a whole lot. The eyes don’t lie.” He glanced at the clock. “Well, I’ll leave you to whatever you were doing.” He opened the door.
“Yeah, get out of here,” I muttered. I couldn’t believe it. What a stuck-up lunatic. He was like some kind of vampire, except instead of sucking blood, he sucked up people’s emotions for his own use. That was really sick.
Right then Jason showed up, his volleyball tucked under his right arm. He and Malcolm exchanged glances and nodded the way strangers do when they suspect they have something in common. Then Malcolm left, but when he reached the sidewalk, he spun back and said, “Hey, does either of you have a van?”
I didn’t answer. I wouldn’t even turn sixteen until the end of August. I was just about the youngest kid in my class. And all we had was Mom’s third-hand Civic. Even if I had a truck and a license, I wouldn’t do this creep any favors.
“My dad needs the van for work, but my folks let me use the Blazer,” Jason said. “Except I just have my permit. I can’t drive unless there’s someone along with a license. At least, I’m not supposed to.” He winked at me.
Jason and I had taken a couple midnight spins around the block. That stopped one night when his dad caught us pulling up to the curb. I’d expected Jason to get grounded for life, but his dad just held his hand out for the keys and said, “It might be a good idea for you to wait until that’s legal.”
“Perfect,” Malcolm said. “I have a license. Listen, I need to get my things. They’re just up the Parkway at that U-Store place off the next exit. I’ll pay you to help. Ten dollars each? How’s that sound?”
“You’ve got a deal,” Jason said before I could turn down the offer. “I don’t live far from here. We can walk over and get the Blazer whenever you want.”
“Meet you here around two?” Malcolm asked.
Jason nodded, and Malcolm walked off.
The mention of money reminded me of something. “What about the rent?” I called after him.
His answer drifted over his shoulder. “I’ll have it tomorrow.”
10
“ALL RIGHT,” JASON SAID AS I CLOSED THE DOOR. “TEN EASY bucks each. I like this guy.”
“You haven’t even met the real him,” I said.
“What are you talking about? He was right here.”
<
br /> “Never mind.” I didn’t feel like going into it.
Jason switched topics. “Beach?” he asked, tossing the volleyball up like he was getting ready to serve. He swatted at it, and I flinched, imagining the destructive path the ball would take through the room. But he swung wide and let the ball drop into his open hand. “Well?”
“Sure. For a bit.”
We went down to the closest nets, right off the boardwalk by Ninth Street. There were games at two of the three courts. A group of vacationers was playing a clumsy but enthusiastic battle with six people on one side and seven on the other. No passing, no setups, no teamwork—just whapping the ball back and forth. It was more like gang tennis than anything else. The serious players, mostly college-age, were running two-man teams in a round robin. Jason fit right in. He was an awesome player. He hooked up with one of the college guys he knew, Franco, and they took on every challenger.
I plunked down off to the side of the courts, where I watched the action and thought about using Malcolm’s head for a volleyball.
Eventually, a voice broke into my fantasies. “Getting a nice workout?”
I looked over my shoulder. It was Ellie, in her lifeguard suit, with her whistle around her neck. “I’m pacing myself,” I said. “You on a break?”
She nodded and squatted down next to me. “Figured you guys might be here. How’s he playing?”
“Better than ever,” I said.
We watched for a while, making occasional comments about Jason’s performance on the court. Ellie was one of those friends I could hang out with in comfortable silence—we didn’t need to talk. It was just nice having her around.
After about fifteen minutes, she glanced at her watch and stood up. “Got to go. Guess you’ll have to take over.”
“I think I can handle it.”
“Try not to strain anything.” She headed back to her lifeguard chair.
When I got tired of sitting I caught Jason’s attention and said, “I’m going to hit the boardwalk.”
Jason nodded, paused to catch his breath, then said, “Sure. See you around two.”
“Great.” I left the beach and strolled toward Doc’s arcade.
A different Bozo was working the tank. I watched him for a minute. He wasn’t as bad as the other one, but he wasn’t all that good, either. A few people got annoyed enough at his insults to a pay for a chance to dunk him, but most folks just walked right past. I knew I could do better.
“Where’d you get that haircut, kid?” the Bozo called.
I ignored him and went over to the barker.
“Two bucks,” the barker said, holding out three balls in one hand. He didn’t even bother to look at me.
“That’s a really ugly haircut,” the Bozo said. “What’d you use, a lawn mower?”
I took a deep breath. Sometimes it was so hard to ask people for things, especially strangers. And especially things I really wanted. But this was just two words. A lot shorter than Would you like to go to a movie?
“You hiring?” I asked. I wanted to say more. I wanted to tell him how bad most of his Bozos were. And how good I’d be.
He looked at me now and grinned, revealing clues of past meals clinging to his teeth. I noticed more food smears on the front of his shirt. Even out in the fresh air, I caught a strong whiff of clothing badly in need of a tub of soapy water. “Yeah, I got an opening.” He pulled a piece of beef jerky from his shirt pocket and tore off a bite.
“Really?” It came out as a shout.
“Really.” He stared at me for a moment as he chewed the jerky. “You a hard worker?”
“The best. You can ask anyone. Doc at the arcade will tell you. Or Salvatore at the pizzeria. Ask anyone. Dependable, too.”
“It’s a tough job. Most guys I hire don’t last.”
“I’ll last,” I promised. “You have my word.”
“We’ll see.” He wiped his right hand on his jeans, then held it out. “My name’s Bob. You can call me Boss.”
“Chad,” I said, shaking his hand. His grip felt greasy.
“Be here tonight at seven,” he told me.
“Great. I’ll see you then.” I headed off, my heart pounding like someone was trying to kick it out of my chest. Seven. I wondered whether he was going to give me Malcolm’s spot. That would show him. Maybe Malcolm had messed up. This was so excellent! I couldn’t wait to tell Jason.
No. I wouldn’t tell him. I grinned as I realized how I’d play it. I’d ask him to meet me in front of Wild Willy’s tonight. When he got near the tank, I’d let him have it. I’d nail him with all kinds of personal stuff. He’d freak. It would be so cool. He’d go crazy trying to figure out how some clown knew all about him. It would be like the Psychic Bozo Network. Man, maybe I could surprise Mike and Corey, too.
When I was about ten feet away from the tank, I thought of something. “Hey,” I called back, shouting to get Bob’s attention, “what should I wear?”
He shrugged. “Something you don’t mind getting wet.”
Duh. I guess that made sense. No problem there. Anyone who lived near the ocean had plenty of stuff that could get wet. I had a blue long-sleeved T-shirt. And thin nylon pants. There’d be clown makeup in that room next to the tank. Otherwise, the guy would’ve told me to buy some. They probably hired new Bozos all the time, so they’d have to keep supplies on hand.
I walked along, picking out people and practicing in my head the things I’d shout when I was in the tank. I knew I was going to do a great job tonight.
Job? Oh, man. I swore out loud as I realized what I’d done. If I asked Mom for permission, she’d say no. If I didn’t ask, I’d be sneaking behind her back. But I didn’t have to tell her today. I could wait a couple days. Get real good at it, then have her come see me. If I was absolutely wonderful, she’d have to say it was okay. She was always trying to get me to do stuff in school like go out for the play or learn an instrument. This wasn’t any different.
I swung by the Cat-a-Pult on the way to Doc’s. Gwen wasn’t there. Maybe she was working at a different booth. Or maybe she’d be coming later in the summer. I hoped she’d come soon.
“Hey, my favorite gofer. Where you been?” Doc asked when I reached the arcade.
“Around. Need anything?”
“Desperately.” He pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket and peeled off a faded ten. “Get me a double sausage sandwich from Strombo’s, and a large coffee. Black.”
I took the money. “Be right back.”
“Tell him not to give you the stuff that’s been sitting out since yesterday,” Doc yelled after me.
“No problem.”
I got Doc his sandwich.
“Whatcha have left, one year of school?” Doc asked when I gave him the bag.
“Two,” I told him.
He glared across the room and shouted at a couple kids who were shaking one of the iron-claw machines, then looked back at me. “And after that? Got plans?”
I shrugged. “Maybe California.”
“That’s not a plan. That’s a state.”
“Yeah. I know. But it’s a state where the boardwalk arcades are open all year round.”
Doc grunted. I couldn’t tell whether that meant he agreed with my comment or thought it was totally absurd.
“Down the road, you ever need a full-time job, come see me.”
“Thanks.”
“I hired your dad at least twice,” Doc said.
From what I remembered, my dad had worked for just about everybody around here. But never very long at any one place.
“Got a confession,” Doc said. “I think I fired him at least twice, too.”
“I figured.” This wasn’t a subject I felt like exploring. But there was something else I wanted to ask Doc. “Hey, that guy you told about the apartment. Malcolm. Is he a friend of yours? He seems kind of crazy.”
“I met him last fall when I went fishing in Texas. He was working the southern carnival route. He’s weird, but he’
s not dangerous.” Doc turned away to shout at a kid who was kicking the change machine.
“Where’s he from? Is he really a teacher? Has he been a Bozo for long?”
“What do I look like? The History Channel? Stop asking so many questions.” Doc scanned the arcade, then walked over to the old Street Fighter game, his belt jangling with a cluster of keys that must have weighed fifteen pounds. He opened the front panel of the machine and clicked a switch until I had a bunch of credits. “Here. Waste some more of your life. My treat.”
“Thanks.” I realized Doc was finished chatting. I played until I used all the credits. By then it was time to head back.
Gwen still wasn’t at the Cat-a-Pult. Not that I was obsessed or anything.
The air was heating up, getting pretty warm for this time of year. It felt even warmer because there was almost no breeze. The last thing I wanted to do right now was move boxes. I really didn’t feel like helping Malcolm, but I couldn’t let Jason down. Besides, I had this funny feeling that if I didn’t go along, Jason and Malcolm would be best friends by the next time I saw them.
Maybe they already were.
I found them sitting together on the upstairs porch when I got home. Jason leaned on the railing above me. “Hey, Chad, did you know Malcolm is going to teach at Baldwin this fall?”
“I heard. Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
They came down and we walked over to Jason’s house. He got the keys from inside, then unlocked the Blazer. Malcolm climbed in the back. I rode up front with Jason. I think the person with the license was supposed to be in front, but it didn’t matter. Jason was a good driver. He swore he was driving in New York when he was ten. The way he handled himself in traffic, I believed him.
“You win them all?” I asked as we headed down the road.
He nodded and told me the high points of his games. Behind us, Malcolm didn’t say anything, which was fine with me.
“So what’d you do after you left?” Jason asked.