Gonko took Rufshod aside before the pep talk, got the lowdown, and was pleased to hear JJ was into the swing of things. He upped the bounty to two bags, and Ruf split the loot with the new guy. Heart-warming stuff.
Down to business. ‘Listen up. Shut your fuck flaps!’ he barked at the clowns. Doopy was cleaning out Goshy’s ear with a cotton bud while Goshy made chirping sounds, but they seemed to be listening. ‘Tonight,’ said Gonko, ‘is an important show. Don’t forget, we’re still on notice. Like I said yesterday, pretend like you give a shit and put on a good one. Never know, ol’ Kurt might just decide to make an example of us if we blow it again. I don’t like getting sneered at by the acrofucks either. DOOPY PAY ATTENTION!’
‘Sorry Gonko, I just, I —’
‘Now line up. JJ, you’re not ready for a spot onstage yet, since you been dodging rehearsal like you’re Goldilocks and I’m the big bad wolf.’ JJ looked shamefaced and cowered behind Winston’s shoulders. Gonko decided to keep pretending he was falling for the act, and softened his tone. ‘It’s okay. You’re new here. You’ll get the hang of things, sooner or later. It’s a big adjustment. We’ve all been there, new and confused, once upon a time.’ JJ cowered even further, as though he’d been reproached. ‘But, JJ, stick around and watch. You might learn something. All right?’
‘Yes sir,’ JJ stammered.
‘’Atta boy. All right, my pretties, into it. Go!’
Doopy coaxed his brother onto the mat and the clowns went through their routine. Gonko watched with an appraising eye; the act was shaping up okay. Goshy was copping bats to the head with the right look of surprise on his face — probably because he was surprised — and his skull made the right sounds when Rufshod whacked it with a hammer. Pop! Ruf, for his part, was easily dodging the hatchets Gonko threw, and Doopy’s pants-down routine came off without a hitch. Winston looked a little off-colour, a little tired. Maybe he was under some kind of strain. Gonko frowned; whatever it was, the powder should be able to fix it, and the old guy was getting more than his fair cut.
Not thrilled, but satisfied the act wouldn’t be a repeat of the other night’s disgrace, Gonko called out, ‘That’s a wrap.’ The clowns dispersed. Gonko turned to have a word with JJ about some of the finer points of the routine, but JJ had gone.
JJ hadn’t watched any of the rehearsal, having snuck off as soon as Gonko’s back was turned. He felt pretty sure that as long as his eyes were moist and his voice trembled he could do whatever he liked. For now he wanted another look into the crystal ball, which he’d decided was a godsend. No wonder the fortune-teller was so snooty — she must know everything about everyone, probably had a century’s worth of blackmail options stored away in her head. JJ wanted in on that action.
There also remained many unanswered questions about the show. He was curious for his own sake, and for Jamie’s, since he seemed a bit more stressed out about the whole deal. First, he wanted to see more of Kurt Pilo. Very much. He wanted to know what the big monster was capable of, when mad enough. Then there was the matter of the tricks. Where did they come from? They seemed to be regular people, the type who eat pies, watch football and breed. They turned up here in their hundreds. JJ made a brief sift through Jamie’s memories, searching for mention of the Pilo Family Circus. He found none. But a show like this would be noticed; how could so many people come here every few days, go home, and keep it a secret? It wasn’t like all visitors were … ha ha, get this … killed at the end of the night.
Was it?
Hm … no. No, he didn’t think so. Not killed, but … something happened when they were here. What did the circus gain by putting on the show? Surely not just the price of tickets.
In any event, he’d made his plan for the day: watching the carnival in action from start to finish in the crystal ball.
Back in his room for a change of clothes, he saw a fine new pair of pants laid out on his bed, much like those Gonko wore. He frowned and put them on, ignoring a quiet little suspicion that there was something odd about finding them there. Once dressed he strolled down the main street. A few tricks were arriving already, just a handful of families and old folks who roamed down the path in a slow march, eyes glazed.
What JJ needed was a secluded spot from which to peer behind the scenes. He squinted up at the roof of the clowns’ tent, standing tall over the surrounding attractions and gypsy homes. Up there would do nicely. He ran back to his room and grabbed the crystal ball, wrapping it in a pillow case. As he was about to dash outside a noise stopped him dead in his tracks. At first he thought it was a siren or alarm, one long note, rising and falling at an absurdly high pitch: ‘EEEEEEEEEEEEE-EEEEEEEEEEEEE-EEEEEEEEE!’
It was the eeriest thing he’d ever heard. As the sound trailed off it began again, a dog’s howl and a fire engine, coming from somewhere inside the tent. JJ held his hands over his ears — by Christ it was loud. On it went, mercilessly.
‘EEEEEEEEEEEEE-EEEEEEEEEEEEE-EEEEEEEEE!’
Terrified but curious, he headed towards the sound and saw Doopy burst out into the hallway. ‘Guys!’ he cried. ‘Guys, come look! Come look, guys! Oh, gosh, he’s so happy!’
‘JESUS!’ JJ screamed, unable to take it anymore. ‘What the hell is it?’
‘Come on, JJ,’ said Doopy, bounding over and tugging at his sleeve. ‘It’s Goshy. It’s Goshy and she said yes. JJ, she said yes! I just knew she would JJ, I just knew it!’
Goshy? She said yes? What was this nonsense? Doopy dragged him by the shirt to Goshy’s bedroom. What he saw sent a chill to his heart. Goshy stood in the middle of the room wearing a look not meant for a human face. His eyes were so wide they seemed about to burst; his lips were pulled back unnaturally far over the gums to reveal small sharp white animal’s teeth; skin was bunched around his forehead, cheeks, neck and ears like waves of dough, as though someone had tried to peel it off by massage. The ungodly eyes turned to JJ in what he could only guess was a look of rapture. Then came another wail.
Averting his eyes from that monstrosity, JJ saw what this was all about. On a small table there sat a fern in a black pot. It had thin yellow-green leaves that feathered out from the stems. On one of the thicker stems there was a gold diamond ring. Goshy’s fiancée. Doopy pawed the back of JJ’s shirt. ‘Ain’t it grand?’ he whispered. ‘Ain’t it just super?’
JJ couldn’t find the strength to disagree. His knees felt weak. Beside him Goshy wailed and wailed and wailed. JJ backed away slowly.
Once all was quiet, he went outside with the crystal ball hidden behind his back and looked for a way onto the tent’s roof. He tapped the wall with his knuckles and was surprised to find it hard like wood, or a carapace. But when he tried to climb he could find no foothold and get no grip. As he pondered the steep wall his hand absently strayed to his pocket. He was surprised to feel something hard and cold in there. He pulled it out — it was a steel pick, the kind used by rock climbers. Frowning, he shifted the crystal ball to his armpit and reached into his other pocket. There was another one.
He was quite sure these weren’t in his pants when he put them on. ‘How ’bout that,’ he said, and swung the picks into the wall with a loud thunk. Placing the crystal ball down the front of his enormous pants, he hauled himself up the side of the tent, and found the muscles in his arms not the least bit strained by the effort. Whatever this face paint did to a person’s head, it was rocket fuel for the body.
Once on the roof he indulged in his first bird’s-eye view of the showgrounds. The place looked bigger from up here than it seemed on ground level. There were crowds on the move below, all walking at that same dazed pace as they trickled into various tents and stalls. Off to the south was Sideshow Alley, the gypsy hive with its one long road of attractions and rides, with the shanty town behind it. JJ could just make out carnie rats swarming around down there doing last-minute work on their stalls and games.
Turning north he could see the gleam of sunlight reflecting off the roof of Kurt’s trailer. It looked in
nocent and inconspicuous out there on its own, by all appearances no more than a janitor’s hut full of mops and brooms. As he watched he saw the trailer door open and shut as someone exited. Hard to tell from this distance, but he had a feeling it was the fortune-teller, perhaps reporting last night’s raid to the boss. JJ then tried to look over the tall wooden fence behind Kurt’s trailer, and noticed something strange: he could see nothing but a misty white light. After a moment he had to look away from it — it hurt the eyes. ‘Ain’t that the damndest,’ he muttered. He could only guess the circus was in a deep valley somewhere, with lots of fog.
Ah well, Jamie could worry about that. Down to business — other people’s. He removed the ball from his crotch, took it out of the pillow case and sat cross-legged on the roof with his back against the vertical support pole. He did what Rufshod had done, tapping the glass, waving his hand over it, and soon an image appeared.
After a few minutes he had the hang of it. By moving his fingers over the glass, left, right, up, down, he could pan in any direction, even through rooftops and walls. The vision could be shifted from one end of the showgrounds to the other with one sweep of the hand. Shown in the ball now was the minute but crystal clear image of a bunch of tricks from overhead as they marched like zombies down the main dirt road. Some had cameras, but none took photos. He swept the image off towards Sideshow Alley, the direction they seemed to be coming from. Following the line of people he came to a place where the main path simply ended. There was a dead-end alleyway; no gate, no door. There was a booth where a fat old carnie, looking bored and sick of life, sat scratching his thigh. JJ frowned and zoomed in on the booth. Painted on it was the word TICKETS.
Well that explains sweet fuck all, he thought. He was about to pan back and look elsewhere when two tricks, a young couple, appeared out of nowhere and stood in a daze by the old carnie’s booth. One moment there had been a patch of trampled grass, the next, two people … No flashing lights or vortexes, at least none he could see. Just blink and you missed it, there they were. And as he blinked, there were two more people, granny types, one with a walking brace, standing a little to the right of the others.
He pushed the vision along a little further afield to the magician’s tent. He’d almost forgotten about that crazy sucker — I do your bunny treek — splat! He pressed his fingers down on the glass, panning through Mugabo’s roof. No tricks were yet assembled for the magic show, all the plastic seats were empty. Up on stage was the magician, looking ten feet tall in that turban, skin dark as midnight. Mugabo was clearly lost in some private grief, face buried in his hands. After a moment he moved his hands and JJ saw Mugabo wasn’t crying, but enraged. He was talking to himself — no, shouting, head wrenching around, veins in his neck straining, teeth gnashing. Mugabo tried to calm himself with steadying breaths, massaging the back of his neck, smoothing his long cream-coloured gown. He didn’t succeed — five seconds later he was screaming again. He kicked at a chair in the front row and JJ grunted with surprise as a small shower of sparks lit up when the magician’s foot connected with the plastic.
JJ rubbed his chin and pondered. This guy was indeed a formidable customer. Maybe that was just it — mighty powers, but he was stuck pulling bunnies from hats and reels of handkerchief from his sleeve. He wondered what would happen if Mugabo simply refused to perform. Who got the job of sorting him out?
That question was answered immediately as Gonko strolled into the magician’s tent. The clown leader smiled as he strode casually to the stage, hands in his pockets. Mugabo bared his teeth, body hunching over like a wildcat about to spring, fingers clawing at the air. He pointed an accusing finger at Gonko and yelled something, teeth bared. ‘Wanna be careful there, Gonks,’ JJ whispered. But Gonko didn’t seem in the least concerned. There was contempt, almost pity, in his gaze. With one lithe jump he was onstage. Mugabo backed towards the wall until Gonko had him cornered. Then the magician moved sideways, tripped on something, and Gonko towered over him, nodding his head with a sympathetic smile, hands still in his pockets. Mugabo crawled backwards away from him, propelling himself with his feet. Gonko took a hand from his pocket and pointed at the upside down top hat, and with a few choice words sent Mugabo into a spiralling rage. The magician was about to attack, JJ could see it in his face, but Gonko just kept at him, sneering. C’mon, I dare you …
A lot happened in the next few seconds. First, Mugabo snapped and took the bait. He was suddenly on his feet, hands raised overhead like guns ready to fire.
Just as quickly, Gonko leapt backwards and pulled his hands from his pockets. He seemed to be reaching for a weapon, but found only a handful of lint. He stared down at his hands with a look of dismay. JJ missed whatever happened next, for the crystal ball lit up with a blinding flash of white light. In the distance he could faintly hear a crack ringing through the air, like a car backfiring. Once the light in the ball had faded, JJ saw Gonko hightailing it out of the tent, running for his life. Behind him, Mugabo chased for a few paces, hands still raised, shouting something. JJ could faintly hear his voice screaming over the background noise. Mugabo gave up the chase, calmed himself and strutted back to the stage, triumphant.
JJ took his eyes from the ball for a moment, trying to work out what had just happened. He remembered that Gonko’s hands had been in his pockets the whole time, as though he’d expected to find something in them to defend himself. Exhibit B, the rock-climbing picks. He’d had nothing in his pockets when he put these pants on, he was certain of it. He then thought back to all the things he’d seen Gonko whipping out of his pockets: hatchets, blades, and so on.
About the time he connected those dots, he heard someone directly below him screaming at the very top of his lungs. It was Gonko.
‘If I find the motherfucker who took my pants — I DON’T CARE WHO YOU ARE: CLOWN, ACROBAT, BELOVED FRIEND OR RELATIVE, AN INANIMATE OBJECT … AN ASTRAL BODY … ME MYSELF … A ROCK OR A BOWL OF PICKLES … SOMETHING UTTERLY IMPOSSIBLE TO KILL, LISTEN UP: I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU. I’LL FIND A WAY, IF IT TAKES ME A HUNDRED YEARS … I’LL FIND … A … WAAAAAY!’
Each pause in speech was filled with smashing and banging — Gonko was, it seemed, killing a few things impossible to kill right now: tables and chairs and windows, and anything else within reach, anything at all.
Around then JJ crooked a thumb in his waistband and pulled it out until he could read a little white tag within: Gonko.
Minutes passed. Below, Gonko’s shouts had degenerated into incoherent screams issued through clenched teeth, punctuated with the occasional splintering of wood, crunching, smashing and banging. There was a thunderous rattle, which ever so slightly shook the very roof he sat on. Perhaps the card table had been hurled against the wall … Not a bad show of strength, that. JJ lay back waiting for peace and quiet. He fought back the urge to yell shut up. He grinned, thinking of how frightened Jamie would be when he looked back on this later.
He drew his finger across the ball, taking it away from Mugabo and towards some kind of commotion that had broken out on the main street below. A few tricks within earshot of Gonko stood, disoriented, like sleeping people disturbed by some noise outside. A few carnie rats gathered by the roadside, peering towards the clown tent, wondering what the commotion was. Bustling through, shoving them aside, was someone JJ hadn’t seen before. Still, he looked oddly familiar — in fact, there was a touch of Kurt Pilo about him, mainly in the eyes, brow and lips.
It clicked: George Pilo! Ahh, this is the other big boss type, Kurt’s brother.
The resemblance to Kurt ended at the face. George was tiny — he would barely clock four feet. For all that — maybe because of that — he was one angry customer. He headed for the clown tent, where Gonko was still making guttural howls and kicking things. As George rounded a bend in the road for the entrance, Gonko stormed outside, narrowly escaping his notice. George went inside and JJ could hear him cry shrilly, ‘Who’s upsetting the tricks? Is that Gonko?’ A muffled voice — it sounde
d like Winston’s — answered. George spat a rapid-fire burst of obscenity then marched off, his voice trailing away until it was lost in the bustle of the circus coming to life.
For three more hours JJ watched the exchanges between carnies and tricks, trying to figure it all out. The tricks laughed at the funnies, bought trinkets and souvenirs from the stalls, behaved themselves like sheep on Ritalin. The gypsies took their money but seemed uninterested in it — twice he saw them drop coins and notes on the ground without bothering to pick them up. He spent some time watching the acrobats rehearse and, despite recent events, he had to admit they had a slick routine. They bounded and flipped, walked fearlessly across the tightrope, flew through the air without looking for a moment like losing balance. He noted how easily one piece of sabotaged equipment would spell a death sentence.
He watched Mugabo’s magic show, too, and the magician performed the bunny trick with cheerful gusto, his gestures sweeping and flourishing — letting off some steam had done him the world of good. JJ also spied on his fellow clowns. He saw Goshy sitting in his room, staring at the plant and not moving a muscle. Doopy was cheating in a game of solitaire and checking over his shoulder to make sure no one caught him. Rufshod lay beside his bed, dead to the world after knocking himself out by slamming his head into the wall.
The one thing JJ had been delaying, pleasantly afraid of what might happen, was a look in on Kurt Pilo. Now he shifted the image across the showgrounds, towards that abandoned northern quarter. As usual, only a few carnie rats were out that way, all walking quickly with their eyes down. He zoomed in on the little trailer, through the roof, and from overhead he saw the owner and proprietor sitting at his desk. Kurt leaned forward with his shining bald head bent over a Bible. In his monstrous hand was a highlighter pen — it seemed he was colouring in his favourite passages. His trout lips were twisted upwards into the smile that seemed his stock expression. On the desk beside him was a large bowl of what JJ at first thought was popcorn. On closer inspection he saw the tiny white objects were teeth; big ones, small ones, pearly whites of all description. Kurt reached into the bowl and popped one of them into his mouth, sucking on it like a lolly. JJ winced as his jaw crunched down, then he swallowed.
The Pilo Family Circus Page 13