Carnival of Death

by Carnival of Death (v5. 0) (mobi)

  Which it was, of course, though not so much that it was entirely impossible to win. Just almost impossible.

  The mark was several inches taller than Ken, and he leaned over him, yelling in his face. A woman stood a few feet away, looking frightened. Matt figured she was with the mark.

  “Ain’t no way that ring fits over those blocks! I’m taking a prize for my wife and leaving now, and don’t you try to stop me.”

  Matt didn’t think a sap cap would do any good against the guy, so he reached back for the tent stake. It was gone.

  What the hell?

  Well, at least he still had the sap cap, even if it was a bit bloodstained. He pulled it from his pocket and put it on.

  “What’s the problem, Ken?” he asked, walking up to the two men.

  Ken looked happy to see Matt. “Seems this gentleman has a complaint about the game. Says he’s going to take a prize, even if he didn’t win it.”

  “Damn right I am,” the mark said.

  Matt looked at him. He had black, unruly hair that stuck out from beneath a Saints cap, little piggy eyes sunk deep in their sockets, and a thin blade of a mouth. No signs of corruption, no odor of the grave, just a normal ugly guy, except for the anger that distorted his features.

  “My game’s on the square,” Jerry Talley said from inside the ringtoss booth. “I explained the game and showed him how it was done.”

  Matt knew that Jerry demonstrated to everybody who came by how the wooden ring fit over the varnished wooden blocks. Usually the marks didn’t notice that the ring he demonstrated with wasn’t necessarily exactly like the ones he handed over when the money changed hands. The ones he gave them would still fit, but it wasn’t easy to make them do it.

  “Look-a here,” Jerry said, dropping the ring he held over a block. “Works just fine. What we got here is a sore loser.”

  The mark backed away from Ken and Matt. “I’m sore, all right. You’re not gonna fuck with me like this.”

  Some of the crowd stopped to watch what was going on, and the mark grinned at them. Matt thought he might trash the ringtoss booth. Matt couldn’t let that happen under any circumstances, much less with people watching. And the parents wouldn’t like it if their kids heard too much cussing.

  The man’s wife was getting embarrassed. “Don’t talk like that, Buford, honey,” she said. She was small with blond hair cut short and close to her head. She wore tight jeans and a man’s white shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows. “Let’s us go home before it starts to rain.”

  “Don’t tell me how to talk,” Buford the mark said. “And rain or not, I’m not letting anybody cheat me.”

  “Look, Jerry,” Matt said, “why don’t you give this man a teddy bear if that will make him feel better. We don’t want him to go home unhappy.”

  It wasn’t carnival policy to give an unhappy customer anything, but in this case even Jerry could see the wisdom of it. He took hold of one of the big teddy bears dangling from a string and gave it a pull. The bear came loose and dropped down. Jerry gave it a wistful look and handed it across the counter to the mark.

  Buford took the bear. “You think you can buy me off with a fucking bear?”

  “Nobody’s trying to buy you off,” Matt told him, keeping his voice level. “You have what you wanted. Give the bear to your wife and go on home.”

  “Fuck you,” Buford said. “Fuck her too, and fuck this bear.”

  He took hold of the bear’s head and tore it from its body. Holding the head in his hand, he dropped the body of the bear and stomped it a couple of times.

  “Mama,” a little boy said, “that man killed the bear!”

  Buford laughed and spit on the bear carcass. Then he tossed the head to his wife.

  “Hold that while I take care of business,” he said. He smiled at Ken and Matt, showing off a gold tooth.

  Something was in the air that evening besides rain, Matt thought. First the attempted rape and now this goober going nuts on them. It was time to put a stop to things.

  “I’ll take the high road,” Matt said to Ken. “One, two, three.”

  As soon as Matt reached three, Ken threw himself at Buford’s legs. The man tried to jump backward, but he didn’t react fast enough. Ken hit him below the shins, taking his feet out from under him. As Buford tumbled forward, he put out his arms to break his fall. Matt grabbed the left arm and twisted it up behind the man’s back as he hit the ground. Matt landed on top of him and shoved the arm up as high as he could. Buford groaned.

  Ken was already on his feet, shooing the crowd away. “You all go on home now. This little squabble is over.”

  Matt wrenched the man’s arm one more time and looked at the boy who’d been upset by the bear’s decapitation. “We’ll see to it that the bear gets a decent burial and that his head’s taken good care of.”

  That got a few chuckles, and most of the people drifted away. As they did, Matt got to his feet, bringing Buford with him by keeping a grip on his arm and pulling him along. Buford tensed a bit as if he might fight back, so Matt cranked his arm a notch higher.

  “Jesus Christ,” Buford said. “You’ll break my arm.”

  “Yes, Buford, I will,” Matt said, “unless you apologize to my friend in the booth and then go home.”

  “Apologize?”

  “That’s right.” Matt cranked the arm again.

  “Fuck! All right, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about the bear too.”

  He sounded about as sincere as a whore saying I love you, but it would have to do. Matt let him go.

  “Let’s get out of here, Marcy,” Buford said. He walked away without waiting for her response.

  The woman looked at Matt. “Buford’s never done anything like that before,” she said and handed Matt the bear’s head before following the mark. Matt pitched the head to Jerry, who contemplated it as if it were Yorick’s skull.

  “You might want to be a little easier on the customers,” Matt said. “Let ’em win now and then.”

  Jerry tossed the bear’s head aside. “Hell, he could’ve won. He had the easy rings.”

  “It’s been a funny night,” Ken said as rain began to spatter down on them. “Not ha-ha funny either.”

  Matt knew what he meant. The crowd was much smaller now, and everybody was leaving the carnival. Thunder rolled across the sky like bowling balls.

  “Could be a bad storm,” Ken said.

  Matt was about to comment when he heard yelling. He turned and saw eight or ten men running toward them through the crowd, their arms flailing, their mouths stretched, and their eyes wide with panic.

  “The snakes!” someone screamed. “They’re killing her!”

  “Snakes. Why’d it have to be snakes?” Ken asked nobody in particular.

  Matt was already running toward the sideshow tents.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Burmese rock python isn’t exactly a cuddly beast, but it’s popular with snake fanciers who want a pet that’s both easy to care for and often shocking to casual visitors, as big snakes sometimes are. It’s also attractive in its own way, with brown and black patterns on its skin. Even people who don’t like the snakes at all are known to buy footwear and other leather goods made from the skin of a python.

  While Burmese rock pythons are not native to the United States, they’re quite adaptable serpents, as anyone familiar with the Florida Everglades knows. The snakes have become a nuisance there because some Floridians who bought them for pets became uncomfortable with them when they started to grow, as pythons tend to do. Their uncomfortable owners released them into the steamy Florida swampland, where they thrived. They grew to monstrous proportions and reproduced with unseemly abandon. As a result, they’ve become a danger to wildlife of all kinds, including alligators, formerly the rulers of the swamps and now just snake fodder. The pythons have even inspired bad made-for-television movies starring nearly forgotten pop stars.

  Aside from these admittedly unpleasant drawbacks, Burmese rock pythons
are nevertheless favorites of carnival sideshow snake handlers, most of whom dote on their serpent companions and treat them as valued thespic partners. After all, while not exactly affectionate, the pythons generally behave well onstage, and they return human affection as best they can in their reptilian way, which is to say they hardly ever kill their owners as long as they’re treated with kindness and respect.

  Which was how Serena of the Serpents (real name, Louise Parker) had always treated Clem and Clementine (their real names), the two Burmese rock pythons that performed with her. It wasn’t much of a performance, to tell the truth. Mostly Serena moved lazily in time to some snaky music played over a crackly speaker system, striking an occasional semi-erotic pose while Clem and Clementine slithered around her scantily clad body.

  Serena had been doing the act for six years, and Clem and Clementine had been with her the entire time. They often seemed as bored by the act as Serena was, wanting nothing more than to be able to quit slithering and get back to their cages, where they’d occasionally get a tasty snack of a nice juicy rat—or two rats, actually, one for each of them, since Clem and Clementine didn’t really grasp the concept of sharing.

  They could grasp the rats, though, crushing them before ingesting and digesting them. The snakes didn’t need to eat often, as long as the rats were of generous size, and certainly they’d never entertained the idea of crushing Serena and ingesting her, as far as anyone knew.

  Until tonight. The thunder and lightning outside didn’t bother the snakes, but Serena knew the carnival would be shutting down soon and she was about to end the act. Her audience consisted of exactly ten people, all of them men who were there more for Serena’s scantily clad body than for the snakes, if the truth be known, although not one of them gave any evidence of wishing the act to go on any longer.

  So the tall, unnaturally blond Serena gave one last little bump, preliminary to a final halfhearted grind. As she did, the snakes reacted as if galvanized, constricting with amazing suddenness. Clem was at that time wrapped partially around Serena’s bare white midriff, while Clementine was entwined around her left leg. The sudden reaction of the snakes caught Serena off guard, and she fell to the stage.

  The fall didn’t disturb the snakes in the least. Clem continued to crush her midsection, while Clementine unwound herself from the leg, coiled so that her mouth was near Serena’s head, and opened her mouth alarmingly wide.

  Serena screamed and the audience leapt to its feet, not to cheer and certainly not to make any attempt to rescue her. At first they watched in horror, and then all of them turned at almost the same instant, which happened to be the instant Clementine opened her mouth. The audience ran from the tent in panic. At the sight of them in full flight, other people panicked too, even if they weren’t sure why, but Matt managed to make his way through them without getting knocked down and trampled.

  He knew where the trouble was because Clem and Clementine were the only snakes in the carnival. Serena hadn’t had any trouble with them since Matt had arrived, but so many unsettling things had been happening that Matt figured anything was possible.

  Rain washed over the garish paintings outside Serena’s tent, and the snakes in the pictures almost seemed to move under the sliding water.

  When Matt entered the tent, he was stunned to see that the pythons had turned on Serena, attacking her savagely. One of them was even trying to get the top of her head in its mouth.

  “God a’mighty,” Ken said.

  Matt didn’t think God entered into it.

  Thunder crashed overhead and rain pounded the canvas tent roof.

  “What’re we gonna do?” Ken asked. He had to speak up to be heard over the sound of the pouring rain.

  “See if you can pull them off,” Matt told him. “I’ll be right back.”

  Ken didn’t move, but Matt couldn’t afford to stick around any longer. He left the tent and made a run for the trailer that he shared with Ken. He was soaked when he reached the trailer. He flung open the door, went dripping to his bed, and dragged the duffel bag from beneath it. He unzipped the bag and took hold of the handle of the ax.

  The smooth wood felt natural in his grip. It almost tingled, as if the handle and his hand had been formed for each other in some cosmic scheme.

  Matt didn’t stop to contemplate the cosmic scheme of things. He went back out with the ax and sloshed toward Serena’s tent.

  Ken was still inside, not having moved, and no one else had come to help.

  “Where are the other guys?” Matt asked.

  “Damn if I know,” Ken said. He sounded dazed. “Crowd control?”

  Matt rushed to the stage. Serena’s mouth gaped open in a soundless scream. Matt didn’t know if she was alive or dead.

  He also didn’t know which snake to attack first, the one crushing Serena’s midsection or the one trying to inhale her head. He decided on the crusher.

  The snake seemed as thick as some of the trees that Matt had once chopped down with his ax, and its skin seemed to glisten in the dimly lit tent. Matt aimed for the space in back of the head. It was near Serena’s body, but not so near that Matt thought he might miss and hurt her.

  The ax came down and sliced through the snake cleanly, easily, dividing the head from the body. Blood sprayed. The head hit the floor with a dull thunk. The coils around Serena’s body didn’t loosen, however. If anything, they seemed to constrict a bit more.

  Matt was about to drop the ax and try to release Serena when someone appeared beside him. He thought at first it was Ken, but a second glance told him that it wasn’t.

  It was Madame Zora. She was as wet from the rain as Matt, though she didn’t have blood on her as he did.

  “Get the other one,” she said. “I’ll see what I can do here.”

  Matt didn’t question her sudden appearance. He moved behind Serena, one foot slipping in the blood of the first snake. The second one was going to be more of a problem, considering that it now had a good bit of Serena’s head in its mouth.

  It didn’t really matter, though. Separate the head from the body and the serpent died. Matt raised the ax and struck.

  This time the reaction was different. The head remained attached to Serena’s head, but the body flopped and thudded wildly about the stage, spraying blood everywhere—on Matt, on the stage, on the sides of the tent. It jerked and floundered off the stage and landed on the dirt in front of the stage. The flow of blood stopped, and it lay there twitching.

  Matt ignored it and dropped the ax. He knelt down and got one hand on the top of the snake’s distended mouth and another on the bottom. He exerted all his strength as he tried to pry apart the powerful jaws.

  As he struggled with the snake’s head, he watched Madame Zora try to get the other snake uncoiled. She was having more luck than Matt was, and the coils had definitely loosened.

  Matt’s knees slipped on the bloody stage. He skidded backward, but he kept his grip on the snake’s jaws and continued to keep the pressure on them. He felt them relax somewhat and strained with all he had. Something in the jaws cracked, and the snake’s head came away so swiftly that Matt fell forward. As he did so he threw the head away from him. It landed on a chair in the first row, bounced, and hit the dirt.

  Madame Zora finished uncoiling the other snake and started to give Serena CPR. Matt got back to his knees and watched. It didn’t take long. Serena coughed and started to breathe. Madame Zora helped her sit up, and just as she did, Cap’n Bob and the other two security men, Fred and Lonnie, came into the tent. Rainwater dripped from their drenched clothes. They stopped beside Ken, who still stood exactly where he’d stopped when he’d come in earlier.

  “Holy shit,” Fred said.

  “You can say that again,” Lonnie told him.

  “Holy shit,” Fred said.

  Rain drummed on the tent and wind whipped the sides. The men had to yell over the tumult.

  “Cut out the goddamned comedy,” Cap’n Bob said. His wet uniform stuck to hi
m now in a way that was hardly flattering. “What the hell happened here?” he asked.

  “Snakes,” Ken said. “Why’d it have to be snakes?”

  Cap’n Bob ignored him. “Tell me what happened, Axton.”

  Matt stood up and wiped his bloody hands on his soaked pants. “I don’t know. Ken and I came in and the snakes were trying to kill Serena.”

  “What about you, Madame Zora?”

  Madame Zora sat by Serena, her arm around her shoulders. “I heard the shouting and came to see if I could help.”

  “Serena?”

  Serena’s voice was strained. Matt could hardly hear her above the sounds of the wind and the rain. “Clem and Clementine went crazy. That’s all I know. Now they’re dead.” She started to cry.

  “You can get some new snakes,” the cap’n said. “I’ll even pay for them.”

  “It won’t be the same,” Serena said between sobs.

  Matt picked up his ax and got off the stage. He sat in a chair and slumped forward. Something was happening here, and not just in this tent. The attempted rape, the berserk man at the ringtoss booth, the tent stake that had appeared and disappeared, and now this. Could it be Mr. Dark at work? Matt didn’t see how. The signs weren’t there. Mr. Dark always had a goal, and Matt couldn’t see what it could be in this case.

  “Did anybody call the cops?” Cap’n Bob asked.

  “None of us did,” Lonnie said. “I don’t know about the rubes.”

  “They were too busy running,” Fred said. “Every one of them was hoping somebody else would make the call because all they wanted to do was get off the grounds before those snakes got after them.” He took a look at the remains of Clem and Clementine. “Not that there’s any danger of that.”

  “So no cops,” Cap’n Bob said.

  Fred shook his head. “I don’t think so. People will just be happy they got in their cars or to their homes before the rain.”

  The cap’n seemed satisfied. “Good. Let’s get this mess cleaned up.”

  Matt thought he’d done his share already, so he got up to go back to the trailer to do his own cleaning up. Nobody tried to stop him.