Earl went into his father’s bedroom and looked in the sock drawer of the wardrobe. He pushed the socks aside and found the pistol. He’d first found it a couple of years ago when he was snooping around for condoms, not that he’d have any use for one, considering his record with the opposite sex. That was another thing that pissed him off.
The pistol was an old .38 revolver. Earl picked it up. It was surprisingly heavy, and it was loaded. Earl didn’t know much about guns, but he’d seen plenty of movies. All you had to do was point the pistol and pull the trigger.
He stuck the .38 in his back pocket. It felt right back there. Like he should carry it with him always. He made sure his shirttail hung down far enough to cover it. It did. He was feeling really good now. He thought he should take aspirin more often.
It was time to call Harry and George and see if they wanted to have a little fun. Well, it was going to be a lot more fun for him than it was for them, the assholes. They’d blamed him for what had happened with Sue Jean, and they’d whined about it for blocks after they’d left the carnival. They’d be sorry about that. Earl grinned just thinking about how sorry they were going to be.
Buford Dorman was pissed off too. The bastards at the ringtoss booth had treated him like shit, and they’d made him look like a fool. If he hadn’t been outnumbered, he’d have shown that smartass who’d twisted his arm a thing or two.
And then there was Marcy. She should’ve supported him. Kicked one of those fuckers in the balls or something. That was the least she could do for him. She was his wife, after all. Instead she’d let them bully him and make him look bad. And he didn’t even get the fucking bear. OK, he’d gotten it, but he’d been so angry that he’d ripped it apart. Same thing.
Buford opened the closet in the bedroom. His deer rifle was in the back, behind his shirts, and there was a box of ammo on the floor. He pushed aside some shirts and bent down to pick up the box of .30-30 cartridges. He tossed it on the bed and got out the rifle. He hadn’t been hunting for a few years, so the rifle was a little dusty, but he’d cleaned it before he’d put it away. It would be fine.
He filled his pockets with cartridges from the box on the bed and then loaded the rifle.
“Marcy,” he called. “Come in here for a second.”
Serena of the Serpents still couldn’t believe that Clem and Clementine were dead. She was thirty-one years old, unmarried, and unlikely ever to marry, considering that she was of the sapphic persuasion and the kind of marriage that might have interested her was currently, if unjustly, illegal in most states. Clem and Clementine had been like the children she’d never have, and while she could replace them, what person in her right mind would want to replace her children? Clem and Clementine had had their own slithery personalities and were as distinct to Serena as any two human children could be, and no replacement could ever replicate their cute little ways.
The thought of the coldhearted way that the security guy had killed her darlings chapped Serena’s ass. Sure, he’d used the excuse that he’d had to kill them to save her, but that didn’t mean anything to Serena. She didn’t know why her babies had turned on her. The thunderstorm? The pounding of the rain on the tent? It didn’t matter. Not now. Now they were dead, and somebody had to pay for that.
Who had to pay? For some reason, that didn’t matter either. It would be just fine if the security guy…what was his name, anyway? Matt? Serena thought that was right. Matt. She’d like to see him flattened. Flat Matt. It would be just fine if he paid the price, would make her feel good all over, but that Madame Zora, the fake gypsy, was in on it too. She should get hers. And even Cap’n Bob. He was there, ordering people around and yelling about her babies. He should pay if anybody did. But if she couldn’t get to any of them, she’d just find someone else.
Like Gloria, Serena had her own trailer, and it had a tidy little kitchen. In one of the drawers of the tidy little kitchen there was a foot-long butcher knife. Serena kept it sharp because she liked to have everything in good order. She had a nice sharpening steel, and she went into her tidy little kitchen, took the steel and the knife out of the knife drawer, and began to draw the knife blade slowly up and down the steel, honing the edge to a fine sharpness. She liked the sound of steel on steel almost as much as she was going to like the sound of the screams she’d be hearing later on.
The carnival opened at noon on Saturday, and Matt was uneasy and watchful as he moved among the crowds. The sun was bright, the sky was blue, the humidity was low, and the air was cool. A perfect day. The people laughed, joked, played the games, took in the shows, and ate cotton candy and corny dogs. They didn’t mind the little bit of mud from last night’s rain. They didn’t have a care, or if they had one, they’d left it at home when they came to the carnival. The cheerful music from the rides at the end of the midway matched their mood.
Matt’s talk with Gloria had left him feeling worried and uneasy. The dreams he’d had later that night after he’d finally fallen asleep had only made things worse. He couldn’t remember them, but he’d awakened feeling sad, empty, and apprehensive. He was sure that Mr. Dark had been involved in all the strange things that had happened, but he didn’t know how or why.
Maybe everything would be all right after all. Maybe Mr. Dark had done all that he intended to do.
Matt almost laughed at his moment of hopeless optimism. He hadn’t seen the physical signs of decay on anyone yet, but he knew that Mr. Dark was around and that he wasn’t finished.
Because nobody had died yet.
But maybe now, between his sight and Gloria’s, he finally had an advantage over Mr. Dark…and could actually stop whatever it was from happening.
As Matt neared Gloria’s tent, he saw that she hadn’t opened for business. He didn’t know if that was bad or good. A dozen or so people stood outside the tent, milling around, talking among themselves. Matt heard enough to know that they were wondering when the fortune-teller would show up or if something had happened to her, but they weren’t worried. They just wanted to have their palms read because they’d heard that the gypsy was the real thing, someone who could really see into the future. They smiled and talked and waited, their moods light.
Everybody was having a fine time at Cap’n Bob’s Stardust Carnival.
Gloria didn’t want to be Madame Zora anymore. She wanted to go somewhere far away and forget all about telling fortunes, true ones or false ones or any fortunes at all.
That wouldn’t do, however. She knew there was no escaping whatever was to come. She swathed herself in her skirt and blouse and robes and scarves and left her trailer and books behind, wondering if she’d ever see them again. She couldn’t see her own future at all.
Maybe she didn’t have one.
She could see something about Matt, though, and while it wasn’t clear to her, she knew that she had to tell him something and that he wasn’t going to like it. Beyond that, she had no idea what might happen, other than that it was going to be bad. Very bad, indeed.
CHAPTER NINE
Sue Jean met Madison at the entrance of the carnival. Sue Jean sniffed.
“You’re wearing your mother’s perfume,” she said.
Madison blushed. “I thought Freddie might like it.”
“Oh, I’m sure he will.” Sue Jean smiled. “Is he meeting you inside?”
“At the ringtoss. He’s going to win me a bear.”
“Great! You deserve it. There’s something I want to show you before we go in, though.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a surprise,” Sue Jean said, taking Madison’s hand. “Come on.”
At first she thought Madison might pull away, but Sue Jean gave her a big smile and clasped her fingers with a friendly squeeze. Madison smiled too and came right along.
“What’s the surprise?” she asked again.
“You’ll see. You’ll never believe it.”
About a block from the carnival was a big open field that served as a parking lot. Sue Jean l
ed Madison into it. Except for the parked cars, the field was deserted. The ground was muddy from the previous night’s rain, and there were ruts in the mud. Sue Jean and Madison threaded their way along, trying to stay on the grass and avoid puddles and mud.
“You stand right here,” Sue Jean said, dropping Madison’s hand. “It’s too muddy for you. I’ll go get the surprise.”
“It’s a car!” Madison said. “Your dad got you that new car you’ve been wanting!”
“You guessed it,” Sue Jean said. “I can’t wait for you to see it.”
Madison waited while Sue Jean went off to get the car, which wasn’t new at all, just the old family sedan, a gray Camry that was four years old. Sue Jean started it up, pulled it out of the parking space, and headed for Madison. When she got so close that Madison couldn’t get out of the way, she gunned it. The car slewed and mud flew from beneath the front tires.
The look on Madison’s face was priceless. Surprise, shock, fear…it was wonderful. The sound the car made when it smashed into Madison was even better.
Madison’s body disappeared under the front of the car. Sue Jean kept right on going, having disconnected the airbag earlier. She didn’t even realize she knew how to do that. It just came to her.
At the entrance to the lot, Sue Jean turned around and located another parking spot. After she’d parked, she walked by what was left of Madison. Her body was mashed down in the mud, and her horsey old face was greatly improved by the way the car’s front end had rearranged her features.
Sue Jean giggled with happiness. She could hardly wait to meet Freddie at the ringtoss booth.
Buford looked down at Marcy, lying there on their bedroom floor. She hadn’t bled much. Buford was a little disappointed. You’d think that with a hole that big through her chest, she’d have bled a lot more. Oh well, you couldn’t have everything. He took a deep breath and enjoyed the satisfying smell of gun smoke.
He thought about dressing Marcy out, the way he’d have dressed out a deer, but he didn’t really have time for that. He had other things to take care of, namely those bastards at the carnival. He hadn’t looked forward to anything this much in years.
He put on his Saints cap and gave it a tug to settle it on his head. He picked up his rifle, gave Marcy one last look, blew her a kiss, and left by the kitchen door.
Earl picked up Harry and George at their houses in his old Ford pickup. George was a mess. His lips were puffy and his nose looked a little askew, as if someone had moved it to one side and hadn’t moved it back. He talked funny too, like he had a cold.
“I think my fuckin’ nose is broke,” he said. “You said Sue Jean was begging for it. You said it’d be easy.”
“Shut up,” Earl said.
Harry was in a little better shape. His ear was puffy and red, but it was still firmly attached to his head. “Don’t be such a pussy, George,” he said.
George slapped his ear, and Harry howled.
Idiots, Earl thought. He drove them to a little convenience store near the edge of town. They knew the guy who worked the late afternoon shift there, and he’d always sell them a six-pack if they slipped him a buck or two extra.
“I’m paying today,” Earl said when he stopped at the side of the store. He handed Harry some bills. Couldn’t send George, not the way he looked. “Don’t get that fucking Old Milwaukee.”
“Yeah,” George said. “I don’t know how you can stand that stuff. Get a good beer. Like Miller Lite.”
Harry sneered. “Miller Lite?” Harry fancied himself a comedian, and he made a farting noise, which for him was the height of humor. “That stuff tastes like piss.”
“You should know,” Earl said. “Just go get the beer.”
Harry went into the store and came back with a six-pack of Budweiser.
“Will this do?” he asked, tossing a can in George’s lap.
“It’ll do,” Earl said. “Let’s go drink us a couple for lunch.”
“Can’t we just drink it on the way to the carnival?” George asked.
Earl shook his head. “Can’t risk it. We might get stopped.”
“I’m going to start mine anyway,” George said. He took a can and snapped it open.
“Shit,” Earl said.
He headed out of town and turned off on the first country road he came to, a gravel-topped lane that didn’t lead anywhere of consequence. After he’d gone about half a mile, he pulled off on the shoulder and pointed to a clump of bushes.
“Let’s go drink over there. Nobody can see us from the road.”
The others bitched a second or two, but they went. When they were sitting on the ground slurping from their cans, Earl said, “You two still blame me for last night, don’t you?”
Harry touched his ear. It was red and swollen. “It was your idea.”
Earl got up and stood behind Harry. He pulled out the pistol. It had been digging into his back the whole time he drove, and he was relieved to have it in his hand.
“Look what I have,” he said, holding it up for George and Harry to admire.
“Where’d you get that?” Harry said, turning to look.
“At the gettin’ place,” Earl said. “Drink your beer.”
Harry didn’t need any encouragement. He turned back to his drinking.
“Is it loaded?” George asked.
“Hell, I don’t know,” Earl said. “Let’s find out.”
He shot Harry in the back of the head. Harry’s skull came apart in a haze of blood, bone, and greasy hair, a lot of which spattered on George, who dropped his beer and screamed.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!”
Earl didn’t approve of screaming, so he shot George right in the center of his forehead. The bullet didn’t make much of a hole going in, but it took a nice-sized chunk out of the back of George’s head.
“Whose fault was that, asshole?” Earl said.
He picked up the beer cans. He’d drink the beers and recycle the cans. A friend of the environment, that’s what he was. As for Harry and George, well, they were biodegradable. They’d make good fertilizer for the bushes if nobody found them, or they’d be good food for some scavenger or other. Earl didn’t really give a shit.
Serena had never liked Ken, and he’d been there in the tent when her darlings had died. He’d done nothing to stop the killing, so he was just as guilty as the rest of them.
He was also the first person she saw when she came out of her trailer. She wore jeans and a long-sleeved plaid shirt. The knife was hidden in the right-hand sleeve.
“Hello, Ken,” she said.
She knew just the kind of voice to use on him. He was a man, after all, and men were stupid. They’d fall for anything, even a come-on from a woman that everybody in the carnival knew didn’t like men in the least.
“Hi,” Ken said. “I was just coming to check on you. Cap’n Bob wanted to know if you were doing OK and if there was anything he could do for you.”
“He did?” Serena smiled. “How thoughtful of him.”
“Yeah,” Ken said. “The cap’n’s a thoughtful guy.”
“Let’s talk about that, Ken, shall we?”
“Uh…sure. Why not.” Ken looked back toward the midway. “Seems peaceful enough. Things don’t start hoppin’ until sundown.”
“That’s right,” Serena said. “Why don’t we step right over here and chat awhile.”
She led the way between two of the trailers. One of them belonged to the Seven Dwarfs, though there were actually only four of them. They doubled the parts. The other belonged to a couple of freaks, the Alligator Boy and his mother, the World’s Strongest Woman. They’d be busy in their tents and wouldn’t bother anybody.
Once they were sheltered between the trailers, Serena stood close to Ken and said, “You were telling me how thoughtful Cap’n Bob is.”
“Yeah. Right. He’s always looking out for us, y’know?”
“I suppose that’s one way of seeing things.” Serena paused and gave Ken a piercing loo
k. “Can he bring back my babies?”
“Babies? You mean the snakes? No. No, he can’t do that. But he said to tell you he has a line on a couple of pythons just like Clem and Clementine. A little younger, but just the right age for you to train. You’ll be back onstage in no time.”
“I don’t think so,” Serena said.
“But…”
“No buts. And no snakes are just like Clem and Clementine.”
“Well, I’m sure the cap’n didn’t mean anything bad when he said that. He doesn’t know much about snakes, I guess.”
“I’m tired of talking to you,” Serena said, and she let the knife drop down from her sleeve into her hand.
Ken saw it. “Wha…?” was all he could say before the knife slit his shirt and slid into his stomach and ripped upward though his skin and muscle as if it were slicing through a loaf of bread.
Serena pulled out the knife, stepped away, and looked at him. Blood ran down the knife blade and dripped on the ground.
“Y…you…” Ken said, or tried to say as he tried to hold in his intestines with both hands.
“Can’t you finish a fucking sentence?”
“I…I…sh…shit.” Ken sank to his knees.
“You surely did,” Serena said. “Or maybe that’s just your guts. It stinks, whatever it is. I’ll be leaving you now.”
Serena walked around behind him and kicked him forward onto his face.
“There aren’t any other snakes that are anything at all like Clem and Clementine,” she said, not that Ken gave a damn about that or about anything else, being pretty much dead by then.
Serena wiped the knife blade on the leg of her jeans and left him there.
CHAPTER TEN
Matt continued his patrol of the carnival grounds. He was passing the Ferris wheel when he saw Gloria heading in his direction. Matt smiled. She wore her gypsy duds. The show must go on. He stopped smiling when he saw the look of fear in her eyes.
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