by Power, P. S.
Conspiracy theorists did that. Apparently clowns too, because he kept wasting electricity by holding the door to the cold box open, just standing there. Staring at the green glass, sitting on its cushion of straw. The bottles all labeled, with different colors, but they all had a twin, or in one case, a triplet.
The font used was the same for each one too. That didn't happen too often, he didn't think.
Jay didn't give in and touch any of the bottles, just closing the white door and standing there for a bit, as an idea dawned on him. His friends had a magic act. So what would they need wine bottles for? That wasn't exactly rocket science. His mind had just been too closed to understand it before. Too hung up on the idea of drinking to see what was clearly in front of him. They used them for their act. Some kind of substitution trick, probably. A bottle would be broken, and then reappear, whole and exactly the same. They needed exactly seven a week, and that meant getting more bottles. That, or making them. So it was a special trick, not one they did all the time. Given the math, it would be enough for four shows. They did more than that each week.
Jay wasn't forbidden from snooping around the house. They probably figured that he would be doing that, given the fact that he was a person and would probably want to search for booze at some point. He hadn't done that yet, but it had been close a couple of times. What he did now wasn't really a betrayal of trust, as much as confirming his suspicions.
In the lower cupboard, next to the sink, there were molds. Things that looked like bottles. Given that glass was hard to work with, compared to some things, his guess was that one of his friends made the bottles out of sugar. Like rock candy. The labels all had the same fonts, because they made them at home too. It was probably a cost saving measure. That would be why they spoke of cooking with the wine. Or more exactly the bottles, which were unfilled. They weren't there to get him to relapse, just to make the magic show more entertaining.
Laughing, he put it all away and walked back to his little stone shed. It was dark out, and cold already. The day had been comfortable, but it was still early spring. It was, he thought, about eleven at night now. His little mystery, which wasn't much of one, had taken a lot more time than he'd thought. So had doing the floors. Between the two things he was already a bit sleepy, so barred his door from the inside, and settled on the mattress.
Once the lamp was off, he just stared at the pitch black ceiling. It was lighter colored during the day, but almost no light was coming through the window at the moment. There was no reason for it to. They were back from the street, and the neighbors that counted, being close, were so old that they went to bed at about nine every night. It had them getting up at about four in the morning, since the elderly didn't sleep as much as the young.
He could still manage it, on occasion. Not most days, since his back got sore after a few hours. It was a low ache that showed him that he was getting old already. Only in his mid-forties, the best part of his life was gone. Wasted, on people that just didn't matter at all. Or shouldn't, if he was going to be a real man. The kind that didn't have his wife treating him like trash.
Not for the first time he seriously considered just going to her house and killing her. It would serve her right. It wasn't fear for himself that got him to not do it, but worry over the damage it would do Alex. She might not have been his, but she was his daughter. Even if the court was fine with the idea that she wasn't. He'd help to raise her, and had really done more of it than Lynn. That, plus the fact that he wasn't the kind of person to lash out in anger. Jay was too weak. Too much of a pansy to take action.
Lynn had said that to him, before they divorced. He had taken action, there at the end. Not by being violent, but by leaving. It seemed to amaze her that he'd done that. Angered her too. That was one of the few good memories he had of that time. The look on her face when he told her to get the hell out of his life.
She was so confused. As if she just hadn't seen that one coming.
It also occurred to him that Carl Morse really didn't deserve to live. That one was a lot more dangerous, since the man was the County Sheriff, but there was always a way, if a person were careful. Jason would need to be armed, and learn to use the weapons well, but if an idiot like Carl could do it, so could he.
Revenge fantasies weren't rewarding or helpful, so he blocked them out, and wondered how the heck he was going to fix his life. It seemed so hard, from where he was. When he was younger it had all fell into place so easily. He'd gone to school like everyone had told him to, worked a few office jobs and then went into teaching. It hadn't been hard at all. Rote almost.
This time, no matter what he did, it seemed like there just wasn't going to be a simple or easy break for him.
It was all just going to have to be done one big shoed step at a time. That wasn't what he wanted to do, but whatever grace the universe had for him earlier in life, it had withdrawn it now. Thinking about it wasn't going to help, so he rolled over and pretended to sleep, until it finally came.
Chapter three
It took a few minutes to blink the sleep out of his eyes, and longer to raise enough concern for living to stand up. Really, it wasn't anything as powerful as a will to survive that did it, but the fact that his bladder was about to burst that got him into motion. That meant a trip into the house. Even this time of year, in the early morning just before dawn could truly break, it was cool. Not cold, but he slipped on shoes first, since the yard managed to have sharp bits in it for some unknown reason. Jagged edged rocks that time had forgotten to smooth, and strangely the odd piece of sharp plant life. It hadn't taken him long to learn that wearing something on his feet paid off, given where he was.
The sun was well and truly down still, even as the sky at the horizon tried to light things up a bit. The neighbors off to the left had turned a lamp on, but not all of them. It was morning then, or they'd still be asleep. He could tell time off of their schedule, most days.
The yard wasn't a proper lawn, being too barren for that. It had a patch of grass, but that was spare and reedy, not even worth mowing really. The low spiky plants that would try to take over if no one battled them were starting to grow, and looked pretty, this early in the year. They were green in an area that needed it, making them special and perfect, even if later in the year he'd be cursing them daily.
If he were still around for that part of things. It wasn't the plan, but he'd learned not to really count on anything he did making a difference. Not as a thing to rely on. He knew enough that he'd try, and keep going, but you took things where you could get them, and didn't turn down any chance. Jay hadn't always been good at that last bit, but decided to be from then on, as he hobbled across the dusty earth that lay between him and the sweet relief his bladder cried for.
The house was silent and dark inside, waiting for the next day when Carlos and Wendy would be back, bringing life and happiness to it. It still held that faint scent of lemon, from his efforts with the floor. The whole thing was sparkling, so he made certain that he cleaned up after himself well, before washing his hands. It was a minor point, at four in the morning, but they could come back without sleeping, and did about half the time. It was about a two hour trip, so when they finished packing up, at about two, they often just climbed into the van and headed home. Taking a small rest, when they could find it.
So he jumped when the phone rang. It was early, and their land line, which was a thing that most people didn't even bother keeping anymore. He'd never asked why they had it, since it wasn't any of his business. The answer would probably be pedestrian and boring anyway, like they'd gotten it once and had simply never bothered to get rid of the thing and update. They both used cells, and carried them all the time, so it wasn't fear of radiation that did it.
Blearily, and feeling a bit breathless, he approached the thing. It was wireless, since they weren't complete luddites, and they'd sprung for caller I.D. which meant that he knew it was a call from a number that came from within Nevada. For the first three r
ings he just stood there, not knowing what to do. It wasn't his phone, but he'd answered it before, and Carlos was happier knowing that he'd take a message than not. Calling this time of day probably meant either an emergency or a disaster had happened. That, or a wrong number.
Taking a deep breath, he picked it up and tapped the glowing button to make it work. It felt odd and clumsy in his thin fingers, but the throw rug under his feet, in front of the wooden phone table, kept him grounded and feeling real. It was where it was supposed to be, which meant this wasn't a dream, or a nightmare trying to take place.
"Hello, this is the residence of the Great Mantooth, I, his humble manservant Joseph stand ready to take any message you might have for him." He affected a British accent, which wasn't too bad, if he had to say so himself.
The familiar voice on the other side of the phone laughed.
"Joey the Clown, is that you?" It was Carlos, but he picked up on things fast, and always had.
"You got me. Is something wrong?" It didn't sound like it. Carlos didn't even sound sleepy. Then he was just a few hours past his shift, wasn't he? This was pretty much just life, for him.
"Nope. Wendy and I picked up another gig here. Twenty-three performers in one hotel all came down with food poisoning. That's the word. It's the Placemont, so off the main strip, but still a high profile job. The manager begged us to work for the next two weeks. I was hoping to catch you. You still up?" That made sense. All of it did, to tell the truth.
Carlos was a good magician, but had to use his intellect and charm to carry his shows, since his fingers didn't allow a lot of sleight of hand work. They were the wrong shape for it and a bit too short to really pull it off. So he'd compensated by being interesting and not coming across like a freak. Why so many of the modern magicians did that, acted bizarre, Jay didn't know, but he'd seen it more than once, in the last year. It meant that Carlos and Wendy were popular to work with, if not that well known. They didn't do work on television for instance, since that might look like people were mocking the little person.
"Just getting up. I went to bed early. Do you need anything? Props? Those fake bottles in the fridge?"
There was a soft gasp, and the man's voice was a bit tense when he spoke, even if the words themselves were kind. The phone against Jason's ear was irritating, but he didn't let it move.
"You weren't thinking of drinking from them, were you?"
"Not in the least. I just wanted to figure out why there were always exactly seven bottles. So you know, I worked it as a project. Corks, in the tops that are out of place, the same font being used on all the labels, and of course, the fact that there are molds in the cupboard. I do love a good mystery." It was, he realized, the truth. As long as there were no real stakes to it. Especially if it let him work out why things had happened. That was the big part of it for him. How, was simple if you had the facts, why took real work. If he had the chance ever again it might be nice to really try his hand at anthropology. He was a bit old to change careers again, but it was still an idea. A thing that he wanted. Or had, once.
There was a sigh from the device that was pressed against his ear, standing in the mainly darkened room. Only the one light, the lamp that was connected to the switch by the front door, was on, leaving inky shadows along the edges of the space.
"Oh? Good, I was hoping I could get you to bring us those? I have a list of what I need, if you're willing. Also, my friend, Max? The manager here, he wants to know if you'll do some work too. It won't be each night probably, but that works for me, since you can run back and forth like my little minion. Joseph. What do you say?"
"What? Sure. What does he want me to do? I could deal cards, or... sweep up, whatever. Work is work." No dignity. That's for people with money. He practically chanted it to himself.
"He actually wants you to perform. Joey the Clown, the Clown of a Thousand Faces has an offer for a stage gig. Really, he's pretty desperate to get something booked for the next two or three days. Longer possibly, depending on how you do. We can work something up for you, if you're willing. Heck, even balloon animals would be better than not having anything going on at all. Losing that many performers at once is a huge problem. He'd probably pay you to go on stage and talk about your life as a history professor." There was a male voice in the distance, over the phone, that sounded like he was agreeing to that. Like it was real.
He nearly refused, but then forced himself to nod. What had he just been thinking earlier? If you got a chance, you needed to take it. Grab on with both hands and hold tight. No matter how awkward it left him feeling in the moment.
"Right. An act for adults?" He knew the answer to that, given that the average age of a casino patron was about fifty-three million years. Jay didn't wait for confirmation, knowing that he'd have to scramble to get something together in time. "Get me that list and I'll head that way directly. Do I get a place to stay?" Even a closet, or the floor of someone else's room would work, but when Carlos asked Max, whoever that was, there was no answer. He figured that he'd be in the van then, which beat the street, but when his buddy spoke, things changed a lot. It suddenly all seemed real.
"He wants to know if you need a suite." There was no sense of humor or teasing to it, or outrage from the other man at all.
"Heh, not really. Just whatever is open, as long as it has a shower and a real bed." He nearly felt bad about saying that, since he didn't have that there, with Carlos, but it just got relayed.
Then he had to run and get a pen and paper and make the list out, reading it back and asking questions about where everything was, exactly. There were complete areas of the house that he'd never been in. Like the manufacturing workshop, where Carlos made his tricks. Their bedroom too. The amount of materials needed wasn't that great, but he had to bring some basic equipment along that normally didn't travel with them. The molds for the bottles, and the printer used for the labels, as well as their special blanks. It filled most of the backseat of his bug, the whole thing dangerously lacking in rear window vision when it was finally loaded, about seven.
He grabbed half a bagel from his stash in the shed, and ate it before he drove off into the morning light. Jay knew better than to try and snack and drive. Not with Carl and his... The word that Carlos had used came to him, seeming to fit better than employees. Minions.
That worked. The deputies all had that feeling about them, didn't they? Like the creepy guards that followed their feudal lord's orders, on pain of death. The only problem there was that they were, with the possible exception of Deputy Richmond, with his horrible little black mustache and constant case of ass face, all just human. Or looked it. Even Carl was just an ordinary seeming person, as long as he didn't speak. Then he came across like a bully that hadn't been spanked enough as a child. He was a bit too loud, and more than a little too confident. It had worked to get and keep a nice position for years, but made him a pretty poor leader. Everything had to be all about him, all of the time. In real life that always led to problems, in the long run. Kingdoms fell when the leader was too into himself.
Driving perfectly, watching his mirrors the whole time, Jay prayed, if without words, that he wouldn't be stopped trying to leave with his car full, since there had to be some kind of traffic violation in what he was doing. It made for a tense trip, even when he stopped for gas, not knowing if he was out of the County yet or not. Vegas was, thankfully, outside the other man's control. Once he was there, he only had to worry about regular police. Ones that didn't know he wasn't there as a tourist, looking to lose some money and spur on the local economy. Even having a Nevada plate didn't mean he might not be there for that reason, since he was registered as living a few hours away. So they'd play nice, unless he really did something egregious.
It wouldn't be too hard to avoid murder or mayhem, he didn't think, so he should be fine. Even having lived there for a year, on the streets, he'd never been arrested. Even as a drunk. He should be able to manage it now.
It wasn't hard to find
the Placemont, and it was still early when he got there, having avoided all the traffic that the city was normally famous for. It was late enough that all the drunks had gone home, and the taxis were put away for their brief daily naps, and still too early for the whole thing to start over again. Ten in the morning, almost exactly. That would all go away, after a bit, as the city woke up, and a new day began. He pulled around the back, noticing that there were cameras set up about every fifty feet.
It made him nervous, but he'd been invited there, so tried not to let it show. Even a medium sized casino had too much cash on hand not to be protective of it. That meant they'd watch everything, and probably have security out to greet him, if he didn't get out of the car almost instantly. He was in the right spot, he thought, section G, yellow, which was a plot of ground actually painted with parking stripes in that color, so that you didn't get confused. He ended up right next to the blue and silver van that Carlos and Wendy used.
After that he was a bit lost. They, being sensible people, who knew that the next day would bring more work, would be asleep. It was early enough that no one was there to greet him, and just walking in, from behind the building, would probably set off alarms. If he'd had a number, and phone, he could have just called in that he'd arrived, but didn't. When he stood up, climbing out slowly, blinking in the bright light of the sun, the door banged open and a portly fellow who looked like he hadn't shaved in three days, with a loose red tie and a white button up shirt, practically ran at him. He had a black and wrinkled jacket on, that flapped a bit as he scurried.
The voice that came out of the man was gruff with exhaustion, and started in, even before he could explain that he was there for a reason, not just a confused guest.
"You Joy the Clown?"
"Joey." He smiled, since the man nodded, and then waved his mistake away.