A Fear of Clowns (The Greasepaint Chronicals)

by Power, P. S.

  "Freaking brilliant. Thanks for coming on short notice like this. Can you get in there now? We don't need a full stage show, just, I don't know, juggle or something, tell bad jokes... Sing off key. This is the morning crowd, so they'll hate you even if you're good. Walk the main floor, and I'll be your new boyfriend. Here, I'll help you get set, what do you need?"

  He thought for a moment and then looked into the car. Some of the props, like those sugar glass bottles probably needed refrigeration. That was the main thing, he thought. Not letting those and a few wax bits, melt in the back of his little car.

  Saying that out loud got the man to tuck the prop cigar in between his thick lips and do his best to act like a nineteen fifties gangster.

  "I can do that. What else you need? A dressing room? Some cocaine? Booze? Loose women to tell you how pretty you are?" The man glanced around a bit, but didn't crack a smile. He was dead serious in fact.

  Jay could see part of that, when he bothered to think about it. The offer of drugs. He was skinny. The kind of thing that you had to really work for to achieve, if you weren't a tweeker or starving for some other reason. Anorexia or something. A thousand funny things came to mind to say, and a few polite ones did too, but he shrugged and just told the truth. It wasn't like Carlos wouldn't have mentioned it.

  "Just a place to change, that and an act that's fit for a casino. I normally do kids parties. As for the drugs... I have a drinking problem, so if you see me about to put anything to my lips stronger than water, slap it out of my hand, will you?"

  The fellow, who looked like he hadn't seen sleep for a while, his eyes red rimmed and a bit blurry, just nodded.

  "Got it. I'll put the word out. You won't see anything closer than ten feet from you. That might mean a few waitresses tackling you, but we can only do what we can." Again, it came out so dead panned that it seemed simply real. "Oh, Max, by the way. Max Gringer. Talent manager here. If you need anything else, just let me know. Can you do four hours on the floor? Just walk around, or whatever. Burp the alphabet, or, well you know. Anything to let the public know that we actually have more than cheap eats. It isn't strictly the performer's job... Carlos said that you'd be great. I saw him be wrong before. Once. If he says you've got the chops, then you do. A clown is a hard sell here, but screw it, right? Just be colorful and steer people toward the buffets and gambling rooms. We have great slots here, real loose. That kind of thing."

  "Got it. Jason Hadley, by the way. Joey if that's easier to remember."

  "Perfect, easy to work with, I love it. Come on. This way." They had to find refrigerator space that would be safe first, but he was assured that no one would touch the bottles, knowing all about that kind of thing. Then, with very little time to prepare, or ceremony, the man practically pushed him out into the main floor. It wasn't the main stage, at least, since no one was expecting a show until mid-afternoon, but he walked around, making balloon animals, and passing out coupons for the buffet, which sounded good, to tell the truth. His half bagel wasn't really cutting it anymore. All you could eat for five bucks? Only in America.

  He took time to talk to anyone that smiled at him, and made jokes, running through gags constantly, as if his life were actually one strange seeming event after another. His scarf didn't end, and he played with it, not even looking at the people that bothered to watch, until he finally conquered the thing and got it under control. It was on a spool that was in his breast pocket, or had been. That would have to be rewound before he tried that one again.

  While he did all this, he tried to notice what got people's attention, earned a chuckle or got smiles. A plan for his later show coming to him, as he noticed what people liked, and more importantly, what these partially drunk and very distracted people didn't notice at all. They found him failing to be funny, even when he was pretending that it was really happening and not part of an act. More than normal people would have. So, with that feedback, he planned out what to try on stage, knowing that it would be risky going on without practice. That meant trying things out there first. It was all he had, so needed to work.

  Jay was in what he liked to think of as his bozo costume. It had a bright red wig, and an all blue outfit that was loose all over, but had a big ruffled collar to it, in white, with blue highlights. Like a giant dyed carnation. His face was all white and his nose a red foam ball. He used a high pitched voice, and suddenly called out to a passerby.

  "You ma'am, look like you have a most discerning eye! You can no doubt see that the Placemont has the loosest slots and the least watered down drinks in town! But did you know, that we also have complimentary magic coins? They work in the slot machines, here, let me show you!" Gamblers loved free things, especially money, so a small crowd gathered.

  The gimmick wasn't that big of a deal, since he just palmed a quarter, and made a big show about putting it in the machine, after "magically" producing it. It was the kind of thing that uncles all over America did for little kids at family gatherings every day. The only difference here was that the woman that he'd stopped had two female friends with her, and they all looked far too pleased that there was a funny looking clown there.

  That meant screaming, when he had the woman, who looked to be near fifty and a little chubby, pull the lever of the machine he'd picked. That was mainly because it won. It wasn't a big payout, only five dollars, but the people watching all clapped, as if it had been on purpose. He'd planned to make fake noises and act like the magic win was invisible, actually, but changed up easily enough.

  A large man, his huge gut hanging over the top of his belt enough to obscure any buckle that might be there, called out, a drink in his hand.

  "Hey can I get a magic thing too? My luck's been crud all day!" There was a grim laugh, and Joey the Clown hung his head.

  "No can do, no how, no when... that was my last one. They don't pay me to be here, you know. I have to work for tips. The last one I got was 'don't bet on horses'. Say, I don't suppose anyone needs their bags put up in their room? Reasonable rates..." He danced around and made merry for a while longer, getting a few chuckles and making more balloon animals. Occasionally he threw in some tricks, testing the waters a bit. A few prat falls and some simple magic that Carlos had taught him.

  Max had been right when he'd said that the morning crowd was a tough sell. The only nice thing was that he actually did get the occasional tip. True, that was normally done along with a request that he go away, but hey, that was the life of a clown in the modern world. He collected thirty bucks in two hours, which was nearly enough to make it worth doing. Then things changed, as the afternoon crowd came in, and he had to steer people to the tables for either gaming or food. No one told him to, but it made sense to him. It wasn't a hard sell, since they were mainly there to gamble, and just wanted tips on what was likely to come up lucky, or what had been hot. He just lied, not having been paying attention, but no one seemed to mind. Wins were attributed to him, and losses to bad luck.

  Things picked up a bit, as people started to drink a little harder, and a waitress, who looked to be about his own age, named Ginger, which he got from her name tag, waved to him. She seemed to have been watching him pretty closely, he realized. It was a bit unusual.

  "Hey honey, can I get you anything? Some water or..." She gave him a sly look, as if the something more could be anything on the menu, regardless of what the manager had said.

  Staying in character, which made his voice crack a bit after all that time, he nodded. "Water, would be greeeat! I'm going to have to go soon, and take a break. Whew am I tired!" He had to reset all his props and restock. The woman didn't wait, coming back almost instantly with a glass of water that had crushed ice in it. Jay drained it, as if he'd been in a desert all day, instead of inside an air conditioned gambling establishment.

  "Well, I don't think anyone will complain if you do. This place has been dead the last two days, all the performers being out. Someone said it happened here, in our kitchens, but... If that's so, doesn't it see
m like other people would, you know, get..." She looked around, not trying to announce to the whole place that twenty-three people had gone down with something that was most likely a food borne illness. It sounded weird, however. Like the woman was feeling him out, to see if he knew anything more about it.

  Because that was the job of a clown, thinking about things like that? Smiling he handed the glass back and then put both his fists on his hips, like he was Superman in an old time serial.

  In his high pitched voice he spoke proudly.

  "Fear not, oh damsel, I shall go forth and find the villains, and bring them to justice!" His right fist went up into the air, and the woman laughed a bit, if slowly, not certain what the proper response was. That, or she felt guilty. It was hard to tell with women. Really, with anyone. He made himself correct that, not feeling all that trusting suddenly, but not wanting to take out his issues on her either. She'd been nice, and the only one that had come to see if he needed anything, so far.

  "Good. You do that. We don't need this kind of thing here. Sabotage, I bet. Nothing else would do it like that. If you need anything, let me know. A sandwich, or a sledge hammer for the hands of whoever did it. A lot of those people are friends of mine."

  If anyone had done it. Sometimes people got sick. All of humanity was one slightly warm egg salad on whole wheat away from praying to the porcelain god, most days. The trick would be in finding out what all those performers had in common. Food, water, other beverages, or even drugs. Or really, making sure that it was a real illness and not a strike made sense too. He wondered who to ask about that? It wasn't his job, but if he was going to be all over the place for a few days anyway, why not try? He was still feeling flush over having solved the incredibly easy mystery of the sugar glass bottles, after all.

  Ginger smiled at him, over her shoulder, as she walked away. Her slacks were tight over her behind in the back, but he made himself ignore that part of things. After all, no one flirted with a clown. That meant that she was either just that kind, or else she was trying to do something else. Figure out what the new man knew, or thought was going on, for instance. That, or his perception of what flirting was had become so skewed that she hadn't been doing that at all and he was imagining things.

  Using the changing room he got ready for the act he had planned for later, which would feature his down on his luck, but hard working hobo character. Joey the Hobo, since he was the closest to what Jay really was. That would make it easier to stay in character if he got flustered. Then, after using the restroom to scrub all the white off and get into the next outfit, a brown jacket with a hat, suspenders and black oversized shoes with bulbous toes, he went out and filled the first stage spot.

  No one else had come for it, not even an announcer, though the sign clearly said it was taking place at five exactly, and that everyone should go in for the show. So he did it, hoping it would be all right. The room wasn't packed, but it reminded him a bit of the pack of teens he'd faced down the day before. Only slightly drunker. Possibly less offended if he made sex jokes than teen girls might have been.

  Jay stumbled out onto the stage, the deep red curtain closed behind him, only to have a helpful fellow yell at him before he could say a single thing.

  "You suck!" The man's face was in shadows, since the stage lights came on as he moved into place. Whoever was running them actually ready for the show, at the earliest sign of life. It meant they were good. That kind of thing was hard for most people to manage, paying attention like that, while nothing was happening.

  Holding his hat in his right hand over his heart, he brushed his left through his short brown hair.

  "Well, sir, in this economy, a clown has got to do whatever he can to keep food in the mouths of his flea circus. If that means sucking on stage for your amusement, then all I can do is kneel down and give it my best."

  It took a second, but a few people got it, and laughed. A few others groaned, but they let him start then, actually refraining from throwing anything. It was strange, but he used nearly as many tricks from his days as a professor as he did his more recent studies. He managed to engage people, not let them get bored, and told enough jokes, or at least said things funny often enough, that only a few people left. Part of that was down to the fact that they were all eating dinner at the same time, but hey, for a first show, it wasn't that bad.

  When he got off the stage they even clapped for him. Probably because he'd left, but that counted too.

  Chapter four

  The great mystery of who poisoned the performers turned out not to be that hard to solve. Which, no doubt, was why Ginger the waitress had been on him like she had been. Jason started to ask around about it, hitting first the servers and cleaning staff, since they were out and about all the time. It was a janitor that clued him in first, not realizing that he was doing it.

  It was after his first stage time, so he felt a bit giddy, and exhausted. It was strangely draining, being in front of a crowd. His hobo makeup was still on, because he didn't know if he had to go and try it all again later. It was a good thing that he didn't remove it, since it seemed that looking harmless, and a bit down on his luck, really worked with the man that was sweeping up the short pile carpet in the hallway. That was apparent after the first glance and smile.

  The man was older, and black, wearing a blue work shirt and tan pants, with his name on a silver and black tag that hung above his pocket. Kibs. It was a different thing to be called, and could have been either his first or last name. A nickname too. Jay decided not to judge, since his wasn't that wonderful either. Jason. He'd never liked it all that much.

  "Hey, did you see those performers the other day?" It was abrupt, but the fellow just snorted, and went back to his sweeping, looking down at the floor as he worked the dustpan, which was hinged and on the end of a handle so he didn't have to bend over. It didn't seem hard, but the gray plastic thing was filled with cigarette butts, and almost nothing else. There were ashtrays around, but from the leavings the man had collected, those didn't seem to be used most of the time.

  "Hell yeah. Walked out by security. No one said why, but I heard they were sick? Course, you don't get eighty-sixed for being under the weather, do you?" There was no more conjecture than that, but it was enough for Jason to start tracking it all down, over the next hours.

  Everyone said the same thing. No one had seen anyone throwing up, and while the people being removed were all distressed, they carried their own things, and weren't taken away in ambulances. Just shown the door.

  Given that they were in a casino, it meant something pretty specific.

  So, by the time the head of security found him, about seven in the evening, he had a decent idea of what had been going on.

  The man was large, but in a way that spoke of having once been in great shape, rather than having kept himself that way. Not that Jason would judge. Being a bit thick around the middle didn't mean weak, or even lazy. It was just an indication that the man had managed to keep himself fed over time. He probably didn't have a massive drug problem either. If he had, then he wouldn't be allowed to work there for long. Plus he'd probably have been skinnier. His hair was thin on the top, and brown with liberal amounts of gray mixed in. If his nose was any more squished looking it would have vanished into his thick face, the lines and folds looking slightly pasty, telling Jay that this man did most of his work indoors.

  He also didn't seem to be all that pleased, when he walked up. Jason could see that. They were in a casino, which meant all the questions he'd been asking had been overheard. It was suspicious, doing things like that, and this man's entire life was about rooting out things that didn't belong. Mainly thieves and cheats. His badge, a simple name tag really, if a nicer one that what Kibs the janitor had worn, gave away his job as Head of Security. It said it, right at the top.

  Before he could speak, Jay did, using his hobo character voice. He was a performer now, after all, and once in character, he wanted to stay that way, until he got out of
it.

  "Hello! Did those last performers get..." Looking around, an over exaggerated thing that seemed silly, which was the point, he checked to make sure no guests were watching. No one was at all, other than the cameras, so he went on. "Tossed out of here for running a card counting scheme? That's the only thing that makes sense. If they were planning a heist, then the police would have been called. If they'd just let some friends have an extra coupon at the buffet, then they'd be asked not to do that again, if anyone really cared. It's the only thing I can think of. Blackjack?"

  The other fellow stopped, his mouth opening a bit, then working as if chewing the air a little. He didn't blurt anything out, and squared his shoulders, ready to threaten Jay into silence. Or he would have been, if it had been a movie, or the security head actually cared that much about who knew what. Which lies about illness aside, he didn't really seem to. The rapid attention did make it seem that Ginger had been being careful about what she'd said to him, now that he thought about it. Which was even more odd than what he'd been doing. Or would have been, if Jay hadn't been dressed like he was.

  "Right. We noticed you asking about that. Are you some kind of detective? If you want, I can show you the tapes. We have ten of them obviously pulling a scam on us. The rest were asked to leave because of association. That isn't really fair of us to do, but we couldn't take the chance that they weren't all in on it. It's why we hushed it up, and passed the word down the strip about what the ones we have proof on did. If you're working for any of them... Well, it won't do much. We can't let people cheat, and they did it. Not even employees can get away with that." There was a dark look to go with the rather sensible words.

  Nodding, his made up face itching slightly, Jay changed the motion comically, and slowly shook his head, still staying in character.

  "I'm just some clown, not anything else. I like mysteries is all. This one was pretty easy. I don't suppose that I could look at those tapes anyway? Maybe see how everything works for security? Or, probably not. My kind don't rate, do they?" His look was hangdog, and downcast, his drooping eyes and too thin face making the whole thing really work.