Hard Press: The Evie Black Files

by Adam Nicholls

  It was a beautiful day for it, too. The sun beamed down on her, and the breeze carried the sweet scent of cotton candy and toffee apples across the site. A pipe organ tinkled in the distance, some clichéd seaside melody that brought back memories of her youth. Evie stood for a moment, watching the carousel as she reminisced of a family day out.

  I miss you, Dad.

  Before her past could consume her, she shook it off and stalked toward a large tent. She passed happy young couples holding hands, jocks showing off their skills with a rifle on harmless wooden ducks, and stalls selling candy at good prices. When she reached a seemingly vacant tent, she checked her surroundings and then slipped inside.

  Cooler air kissed her cheeks, offering a pleasant shade that would have been impossible to find outside. Surrounding the inside wall of the tent, row after row of sparkling costumes hung on rails. Evie’s mouth turned upward into a smile as she felt the familiar excitement of watching a circus performance. When she was no older than ten, anything that sparkled was enough to make her giddy. Times had changed since then, but the eager cheeriness of a young girl remained, if only for an indulgent moment.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  The hairs pricked up like nails on the nape of Evie’s neck. She spun to the direction of the voice that had startled her. In front of her stood a perfectly normal man, but he stood out in every way. Evie’s heart almost stopped as she admired his slender physique, his dark hair with fine wisps of silver, and his deep, mystifying eyes. His attire demanded the most attention: a silky lilac shirt covered by an open red jacket, which met with his neck at an open button. It wasn’t your everyday choice of clothes, and she thought that maybe he was a performer of some kind.

  “Miss?” he said, with an exotic accent that Evie couldn’t quite place.

  “I’m sorry, I…” She shook her head, as if to physically snap out of her trance. “My name’s Evie Black. I’m a journalist who worked with Cara Fey—”

  “That’s all well and good, Miss Black, but you can’t just come and go as you please. This is private property.” The man held himself upright without pushing his chest. He stepped aside and gestured to the slit in the tent, where she had come from only moments ago. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  Evie nodded and walked out quickly, the man following her outside.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, stopping her before she could get away.

  “Thanks…” Evie turned back toward him. “Look, I’m sorry for snooping. I was just looking for someone who might give me a little information on what happened. Maybe… I mean, would you mind giving a few words? You work here, right?”

  The man smiled, showing off small but perfectly white teeth. His crow’s feet creased up at the corners of his eyes, humanizing him somewhat. “You could say that.”

  Evie wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. The sun beat down on her now, making her uneasy.

  “I’m Fry Carter, owner and leader of this whole carnival.”

  Fry? “Wow. Okay. Well, would you mind?” She pulled the notepad from her purse and hovered the pen over it. “Just a few words would do fine.”

  A tense silence ensued. Fry studied her with a glassy-eyed grin, which was equal parts charming and frightening. Those same eyes looked her up and down, cataloguing everything.

  Missing nothing.

  “No.”

  Evie recoiled. “No?”

  “No.” Fry inched forward, leaning so close his mouth hovered beside her ear. With a voice so smooth, his breath caressing her skin softer than silk, he whispered, “Why don’t you meet me here tomorrow night? I can buy you dinner and give you a full statement.”

  “Wha…” It wasn’t the first time somebody had asked her out, but it was the first time she’d considered saying yes in recent years. What was it about this man that made the offer so tempting—so exciting? “Tomorrow night.” Evie nodded. “Tomorrow night, right here at… nine o’clock?”

  “Fantastic,” said Fry Carter, placing a hat on his head and tilting it toward her with a wink. “It’s a date.”

  Chapter Four

  As office hours drew to a close, Evie snuck into the magazine’s headquarters. She only intended to swing by work and pick up a couple of things. But she hadn’t counted on Conan Reed watching her like a hawk from the doorway of his office.

  “So, what did you find?” he asked, folding his arms and leaning into the doorframe.

  Evie wanted to lie to him, to tell him it was a dead end. It would get her out of having to write the piece, and at the sacrifice of only a small amount of respect. But she couldn’t—very little in her body allowed her to lie without being consumed by guilt. “I’ve got nothing. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Not yet?” Conan’s eyebrows contorted as he stood up straight.

  “I met the manager of the carnival. We’re going out tomorrow night.”

  “How very nice for you. But what about the story, Miss Black?”

  Evie looked down at her shoes, desperately avoiding eye contact. “He’s going to give me something tomorrow. That was the deal—dinner for some information.”

  Conan’s eyes lit up then, and a small smile came upon him. “Great! Get in close to him. Find out things that nobody else would think to ask for. Hell, why not make it a whole feature on the life of a carnie? We can—”

  Evie put a hand up, palm outward. “No.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said no. You asked me to check out the circumstances surrounding Cara’s death. Against my better judgment, I accepted and went out of my way to collect some details. You’ll get your article, but I’m also going to get my date.” Evie didn’t realize she’d even wanted this date until she’d said it aloud. It was as much a surprise to her as it was to Conan.

  “Miss Black, I didn’t mean to suggest that you use this man. I was simply saying—”

  “That’s enough, Conan.” Evie turned on her heel then and marched for the door. Whatever she had come back to work for could wait. Christ. She didn’t even remember why she’d come. The truth was, she wanted to go out with Fry Carter. The quote that he had promised to provide was little more than a bonus now—a bit of useless information for a stupid article that nobody would read, except Cara’s family.

  “Miss Black,” Conan called from somewhere behind her.

  Heads turned, but Evie carried on walking away from her boss. Every footstep she took sent her deeper into defiance, and she knew that she’d just put Conan’s respect at risk. She just didn’t care anymore.

  Chapter Five

  Danny Brolin had no idea of the time or his present location. He only knew that it was dark, cramped, and that the last thing he could remember was taking a shortcut down a backstreet on his way home from a long shift at the bank.

  His back hurt like hell, pressing up against something hard and uncomfortable. He had little room to move his fingers but could feel around just enough to know that it was wooden. With his knees to his chest, breathing was difficult, too. And although Danny didn’t want to admit it, he was clearly locked in a box. By whom remained a mystery.

  “Let me out!” he wheezed, the air stuffy and in short supply. “Let me out, you assholes!”

  No reply came from the outside of the box. His cries were met with only a horrific silence that told him he was alone. For all he knew, the box had been abandoned. He could be anywhere: an alleyway, a shipping dock—hell, maybe even a landfill site.

  The sudden sound of footsteps saved him from immediate despair. They were softly padding nearer. Finally, a rescue. “Who’s there?” Danny tried, pushing his lips to the small hole of light that had been cut into the wood. “Can you help me?”

  But no response came back from his anonymous visitor.

  “Please…”

  From somewhere behind him, as if it had been there the entire time, an animalistic growl breathed into the silence. The heavy footing of a large beast. A tiger, perhaps.


  And then, at long last, a voice.

  “Here, my little babies.”

  Danny struggled to keep his breath steady, listening beyond his heavy panting and hoping to uncover what was happening outside of his wooden prison. The voice had been perfectly calm, perfectly sweet. A man’s voice, full of endearment for his pets.

  “Have a little more? Oh yes, you like that, don’t you? Good boy.”

  Just what is he talking to? Danny pressed his lips to the hole and gave it another try. “Hello? I’m over here.” He knocked upon the wood, offering a signal. “Please, get me out of here!”

  “Why don’t you stop your whining?” the voice retorted.

  Danny froze, barely able to believe what he had heard.

  “I know it’s stuffy in there,” the man went on, every syllable pronounced with effort in a well-spoken accent, “but you won’t be in there for much longer. I promise.”

  The relaxed tone floated over Danny, and he shivered. Did he dare to hope he’d be released? Danny paused, processing that information. Many questions rushed to mind: Why couldn’t he be let out now? Who was this man? Why was he shoved inside a box to begin with? Something told him he wouldn’t get the answers he needed.

  “What’s your name?” the man asked.

  “D-Danny. Danny Brolin.”

  “Then relax, Danny. It will all be over soon. In fact, tonight you’ll go out with a bang.”

  Before Danny could find the words, the man’s footsteps indicated his departure. They grew quieter, quieter, until there was a flapping sound and he was gone.

  Now Danny was all alone, with nothing but extreme discomfort and one big question.

  What did he mean?

  Chapter Six

  For the first time in her life, Evie Black skipped work that morning. It was nervousness, she supposed—anxiety over seeing Conan again. Nerves for her date, too, but at least there was an element of excitement buried within that particular trepidation.

  Nine o’clock arrived without issue. Evie made her way to the costume tent where she’d first met Fry Carter. She felt a little out of place in her black dress, which was of modest length and matched the color of her short, straight hair. Still, she was dressed to impress, and when Fry appeared—perfectly punctual—he seemed more than satisfied with the appearance of his date.

  “Well, you look just stunning, Miss Black.”

  “I think you can call me Evie now,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “And you look pretty good yourself.” She really meant that. He’d dressed down in a casual blue shirt, open at the top two buttons with the sleeves rolled up. But it suited him somehow—made him look as free-spirited as he seemed when he spoke.

  “Thank you kindly. Are you ready to go?”

  Evie nodded and took half a step, but she stopped short when a heavy knocking from inside the tent reached her ears. It was a hollow thump on wood, pounding in urgent beats. “What is that?” She turned toward the tent, listening intently.

  “It’s nothing. We’re just having some new props constructed. Come on.” Fry let her take his arm, and he led her through the carnival.

  It was strange for Evie to be passing through the site on her way to dinner, rather than eating and then heading out for some easy fun. But she supposed that this was his workplace, and he liked to get away from it as much as the next man.

  They wound up in a cozy little restaurant on the edge of Darley Avenue. The place was smaller than your average diner but painted in a romantic scarlet. The lights were low as if to particularly accommodate couples. The mood was perfect.

  An hour passed before they even ordered food, and the conversation flowed in a natural rhythm. Evie didn’t even think to ask for the quote he had promised her. It no longer felt necessary. It no longer felt important to her. All she could think of was how Conan had tried to take advantage of her situation with Fry.

  “So,” she said after dinner, dabbing her mouth with the cloth napkin, “the carnival must be a pretty exciting business. How did it come about?”

  Fry took a sip of his expensive red wine and then smiled. “It’s not a business, my dear. It’s a lifestyle. See, my mother was a carnie. She raised my brother and me to be the same. So we spent our childhood traveling from state to state, performing in the circus when needed.”

  “Oh, so you’re a traveling carnival?” Evie felt a dash of disappointment, picturing that this otherwise perfect man might soon set back upon the road, never to return again.

  “Something like that.”

  “And your family handed the responsibilities to you?”

  “Actually, my mother passed away when I was ten. Then it was handed to my brother, who passed shortly after. He was a superb acrobat.” Fry’s sparkling eyes lowered to the table, his hand twisting the stem of his glass. “Unfortunately, that was what killed him. Sometimes his ambition surpassed his abilities.”

  “He died while performing?”

  Fry nodded.

  Evie sunk back. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It was a long time ago.”

  A moment of silence passed. Evie didn’t know where to look, until finally, she offered a fact about herself. “I’ve never seen a circus performance.”

  Fry’s eyes widened. “Never?”

  “Nope.”

  His hand came up so quickly that it almost made her jump. He signaled for the bill, stood, and grabbed his coat. Fry then left a big wad of cash for the meal and took Evie’s hand. “Then come with me.”

  Chapter Seven

  Fry led her quickly through Lowner’s Carnival. They zipped past a number of lit-up attractions: a Ferris wheel, a carousel, and others that Evie recognized but couldn’t recall by name. There were even stranger attractions nearer the fence at the back of the site—she guessed that the Three-breasted Woman was best kept away from kids.

  “Quick, in here.” Fry held open a corner of the tent, ushering Evie inside.

  She ducked through and emerged on the other side, struck by wonder. The circus was exactly how she had pictured it. There were seats perfectly aligned around an enormous ring in the center. Hundreds of people laughed and cheered as two clowns battled it out with buckets of water. Evie’s breath caught in her throat, and she suddenly felt so alive.

  “Follow me,” Fry shouted over the music.

  Evie tucked in behind him, inching between rowdy circusgoers and families who seemed to be enjoying it as much as she did. But she’d never known anything like it—such energy. They stopped at the back, where a man opened up a gate to a personal elevated bench. They each took a seat.

  “You deserve a private viewing,” Fry said, putting a hand on hers.

  Overcome with joy lent from the atmosphere, Evie felt a little giddy for this man. She didn’t know how, but he had made her feel special. Like she had longed for something her entire life and he had given it to her so easily, all within a few hours.

  “This is incredible,” she said, unable to keep from smiling. “God, I feel like a little girl.”

  Fry laughed. “Just enjoy it.”

  The clowns in the center ring waved themselves off, the crowd cheering and clapping as they exited. Before they disappeared, another man entered. His long purple coat complemented his slick black hair. His voice boomed from the speakers around the tent. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for the Loopies!”

  Clapping ensued before a silence cast shadows on the audience, dying down their screams. They listened patiently, waiting to see what wonder they would witness next.

  “Let me ask you, have you ever seen a man fly?”

  The crowd yelled in unison, “No!”

  “But do you want to, folks?”

  “Yes!”

  “I can’t hear you!” the man yelled.

  This time they roared, startling Evie. “Yes!”

  “Then let’s give it up for the Flying Yankee!”

  The crowd erupted in cheers and screams as a man was escorted out into the ring. He was squi
rming and trying to break free, dressed in a tight leotard with a long orange cape. Evie couldn’t help but notice that the man looked different from the other performers. He looked genuinely scared.

  “What’s happening?” she asked, her eyes trained on the man.

  “He’s playing victim,” Fry said. “It’s just a part of the act.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Down in the center, an assistant wheeled out a large cannon. The ringleader still talked to the audience, but Evie’s laser-sharp focus remained on the cannon, so his words—like white noise—fell unheard to the dirt floor. As the man struggled to break free of the strongman’s grasp, the crowd laughed with obvious delight, watching him being shoved into the barrel.

  “Is this safe?” Evie asked, all too convinced by the Flying Yankee’s act of desperation and reluctance.

  “Relax,” Fry said.

  A countdown began as the strongman lit the fuse, a blinding flash slicing through the charged silence. Everyone stared with frightful anticipation, but they all knew it would be okay—that the man would land in the enormous net across from the ring. They only begged for that faint threat of danger, near certain that the act was only that—an act.

  Boom!

  A horrendous bang erupted in the ring, echoing across the tent. Evie jumped in her seat, her hand coming to cover her gasping mouth as she saw the man shoot from the barrel to fly through the air. All around her, squeals of excitement and anticipatory applause erupted.

  An eerie pall enveloped Evie, settling in the pit of her stomach. Something was wrong.

  Dead wrong.

  The man had been overshot. The Flying Yankee passed all the way to the left, his body striking a large wooden beam. Even from across the tent, Evie could hear the thud, followed by an awful cracking sound as his broken body dropped to the ground.

  The whole tent fell silent. Fry shot to his feet but only stood staring in disbelief.