Bacho ran toward the bushes that hid Dina and her attacker, but his legs were too short. He couldn’t run with the speed he wanted. His eyes could, though. His view through his second pair of eyes shot forward at incredible speed, tracking the faint signs of motion. Doubled vision. And with it two different views. From the vantage of his running joker body, Bacho saw a large, dark shadow leap over him and bound, wolflike, into the bushes. His second set of eyes, he realized, saw from within that canine body. They took the wolf crashing through the bushes, arriving as the attacker pulled back his hand to smack Dina, who was still struggling to pull away from him. The wolf bit down on the man’s arm and yanked it savagely. He felt the man’s shoulder dislocate, the arm go limp. He heard the man scream, his voice high-pitched and frantic. Bacho shoved him away. It was Dina that mattered.
She stood leaning back into the bushes as if she’d been thrown there, arms stretched out to hold her up. She stared, mystified, into the wolf’s eyes. The joker Bacho ran all the more frantically, worried that she would be afraid, desperate that she not be. He scrabbled through the bushes, saw the hulking, shadowy form of the wolf, highlighted at times by shimmering waves of silver light. It was a tangible form, and yet Bacho walked right through it. His joker vision went dark for a second, and then he pushed through and there was Dina. His two pairs of eyes saw her from slightly different angles, but they saw the same scene again.
When Bacho reached out, gently offering his hands, Dina’s eyes left the wolf, saw him. After a long moment, she reached out to him as well.
When Bacho emerged from the bushes with Dina, the spectral wolf hulked behind and above him. It moved as he moved, paused when he paused. It stretched to nine feet or so, a bulky form that had substance and yet was ethereal as well. Wide shoulders, long arms, furred in glistening black. Above the shape was that wolf head, long-muzzled, with black canine eyes that glimmered as they moved.
Seeing him, their attackers fled. Two of the men took off running. The third urged the man with the crushed hand to walk faster. Their leader clutched his dislocated arm to his chest, flinching as the slightest movement sent jolts of pain through him. They all kept looking back, clearly fearful of Bacho following them. He didn’t. He just stood, his little fists clenched, panting as he watched them go. The wolf shared the posture, watching as well. The rage in Bacho burned hot, but instead of feeding it by chasing them down and tearing them apart—as he knew he could do—he embraced the fury and let it fill him. But just because he could have torn them apart didn’t mean he wanted to, or should. He’d done enough. He let the anger burn itself out, saddening slightly as he felt it fade away.
Around him, the others stared. First at the retreating attackers, and then at Bacho himself. The vision through his second pair of eyes faded, blinked a few times, and then cut out completely. He was one being again.
“What was that?” Antonia asked. “You all saw that, right? The … the …”
“It was like a werewolf,” Darryl said.
“How come only Bacho has it?” Antonia asked.
“I don’t know.” Dina looked perplexed. “I’ve never seen something like that happen from a DJ Tod drop.”
“This joker stuff is insane,” Jax said. “I just want to be normal again.”
“What?” Dina asked. “Like those guys?”
Jax put his fingers to his temples, and then he shook his head. “No, not like them. Screw them. Thank you all for … you know, not just leaving us.”
“We’re not jerks,” Antonia said. She smiled. “We have to watch out for fellow jokers.”
Jax wasn’t quite ready to get on board with that. “Can we just go now? Let’s go back and get in trouble and normal stuff like that.”
The five youths made for a sad procession as they hobbled back to the hotel. Jokers, battered and beaten, fatigued from the long night, traumatized both by what had happened and by what had nearly happened. Back at the hotel, Jax and Darryl were the first to go inside. Bacho waited near the entrance as Dina had a private conversation with Antonia, who then went inside also, waving good night to Bacho. Dina walked back to him. She didn’t say anything immediately. They shared the night for a bit, both of them watching the salmon-pink hues creeping into the eastern sky.
“That was some night,” Bacho said. He began walking, the two of them strolling absently in front of the hotel.
“More than I bargained for,” Dina said. “Sorry if you’re mad at me. It was a stupid idea, taking you all to Drop City. But …” She exhaled. Pursed her lips. “Antonia’s my cousin, Bacho. I love her. Always have. Loved her before her card turned. When we were little, at family gatherings, she and I were inseparable. We’d clasp hands and be glued to each other. Then she changed. At first I didn’t know what to feel. All I saw was the deformity and I hated it. It felt like God or someone had taken my cousin away and made her a freak. For a while I didn’t even want to see her. I was a jerk. Stupid. She didn’t get mad at me, though.” She laughed. “She’s too cool for that. Instead she sent me a Snapchat. Just one where she held out her hands in front of her and talked to me, asked me to see her, to remember her, to understand that she was still the same Antonia. She said, ‘I’m here for you. Are you there for me?’ And then the Snapchat ended and that was that. I replayed it once, and that was it. There I was staring at the empty screen, and I realized I still loved her. Of course I did. I’m not saying it’s like that for all jokers. I know it’s not. But still, I see them differently now. That’s the point. This stuff tonight, that wasn’t just me being a jerk. I was hoping you guys would see things differently too. I didn’t plan for the assholes.”
“That’s part of it, though,” Bacho said. “Right? Dealing with the assholes.”
They’d come to stand in front of one of the hotel’s large glass windows. They stood there, looking at their joker shapes in the reflection. It seemed so strange, but not because it was strange, but because it should be strange and yet wasn’t. He could look at himself and see something completely hideous. A joker. And yet at the same time it was the same as looking in the mirror always had been. What looked back was … him. And Dina. She didn’t look anything like the girl he’d met yesterday in the lobby. He recognized that her snout was a thing that only a mother pig was likely to love. But he did love it. It wasn’t even that he saw her beneath it. It’s just that he saw her. She—no matter what she looked like—was still her.
“None of it was stupid. Dina, I think what you did was pretty awesome. I don’t regret it, but … I’m sorry about the stuff that happened. And the stuff that might’ve—”
Dina stopped him. “What happened happened, and it sucked. But we’re all okay. I’m okay. Thanks to you.”
Bacho flushed, looked away. “Thanks to that wolf thing, you mean.”
Dina touched his face, brought his eyes back to hers. “Whatever that was, it was a part of you.”
Bacho hesitated a moment, almost giving in to his old, tongue-tied reticence. But that was force of habit, not because he really felt it. Actually, the words came more readily than they ever would have before. He just said what he thought and knew to be true and wanted her to know. “I think that you’re pretty awesome.” He took Dina’s pudgy, soft hand in his. He squeezed it, and he watched her in the reflection.
She squeezed back. “You’re cute, you know? I thought so before. I think so now. Chances are, I’ll think so tomorrow, too.” She turned toward him, leaned in, and kissed him.
Behind them in the reflection from the window the spectral wolf materialized. His canine eyes watched them a moment, tenderly. Sadly. Proudly. But not for too long. The wolf turned his head away, giving the two their privacy. He was there a little longer, nostrils flaring as he smelled the sunrise in the air. Then he faded to invisibility and was gone.
For the time being.
Bubbles and the Band Trip
Part 12
MICHELLE KNOCKED ON THE door to Creighton’s suite at eight thirty Saturday morni
ng. When he opened it, he was wearing a sharp navy pin-striped suit. But she couldn’t place the face he was wearing. It was a handsome face with dark eyes and dark hair that was Brylcreemed back from his forehead. Under a grown-up version of Segway’s mustache, his lips curled into a bemused expression.
“I feel like I should know who you are,” she said. Her suspicion was this was another dead movie star from one of Creighton’s black-and-white films.
“You really need a movie education, Ms. Pond.” He tucked one hand into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette and lighter. With a practiced touch he popped the cigarette into his mouth and then lit it. “This”—he gestured to himself—“is William Powell as he appeared in the Thin Man movies. I’ve decided I should go all Nick Charles on these clowns.”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“Oh, you will.”
“Ms. Pond, I confess, I’m perplexed,” Priscilla said when Michelle opened the door to Creighton’s suite. Priscilla had knocked promptly at nine. “Dr. Smith texted me and told me to meet her here this morning. So why are you here, Ms. Pond? And who is that?” She pointed at Creighton.
“That’s Mr. Charles,” Michelle answered. “I hired him to investigate the incidents that happened to the Mob during the competition. Since the police didn’t think there was a problem, I took matters into my own hands.”
“Beg your pardon,” Priscilla said. “Then why am I here?”
“Everything in good time.” Creighton gestured to the sofa. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
Priscilla eyed him warily. “Is Dr. Smith on her way? This is very strange. Ms. Pond, your students are due at the auditorium at eleven.” She made no move to sit down.
“It shouldn’t take that long,” Creighton said. “Please make yourself comfortable.”
A few minutes later, there was another knock. Michelle opened the door. Bambi and Kimmie Coldwater stood without. Bambi glowered at Michelle. “Where’s Dr. Smith?” she asked imperiously, then grabbed Kimmie’s arm. “We’re not staying in this room with you.”
“Mom, stop.” Kimmie yanked her arm free. “I’m sure Ms. Pond is here for the same reason we are. Dr. Smith asked her to come.” She smiled at Michelle, and Michelle wondered why Kimmie had been called in. Surely she wasn’t a suspect. “C’mon, Mom, let’s just go inside.”
No sooner had Michelle closed the door behind them than there was yet another knock. “Splendid!” Creighton said. “Things are going well!”
Michelle gave him a dubious look. “What exactly is going on, Mr. Charles?”
“Have you ever seen the stateroom scene from A Night at the Opera?”
Both Bambi and Priscilla nodded their heads. Creighton looked pleased. Michelle was confused. “No, I haven’t,” she said. “But I’m not a big opera fan.”
An expression of sheer exasperation flew across Creighton’s face. He took a puff of his cigarette. “Well, it’s not going to be that bad.”
“Mr. Charles,” Bambi said with a delicate cough. “Can you please extinguish that cigarette. The Gunter does not permit smoking. It’s vile.”
Creighton smiled. “I would be happy to, my dear lady.”
“Welcome!” Creighton said cheerfully. “You’re right on time!”
Michelle stared in disbelief as Creighton stepped aside and revealed Earl Walker and Betty Virginia.
“Who are you?” Betty Virginia asked Creighton. “Bambi! Why did you tell us to meet you here?”
“I didn’t tell you to do any such thing, Betty Virginia,” Bambi sputtered. “I’m as confused as you are.”
“I think we should leave.” Earl’s right hand went to his holstered gun. “She’s here.” He pointed at Michelle with his left. “And we don’t know what she might do to us.”
“Earl’s right,” Betty Virginia said grimly. “You’re a menace, Michelle Pond. God will punish you someday.” She put her hands on her hips. “But I confess, now I’m curious. And Bambi, you most certainly did tell us to come.”
“I did not,” Bambi said hotly.
“Well, since I’m one of the ‘chosen people,’ I’m not really worried about the whole God thing,” Michelle said cheerfully. “Though being a lesbian could counter the whole chosen people thing, depending on one’s interpretation of the Bible. By the way, do you eat bacon or ham? Because if you do, you’re violating God’s law.” This was turning out to be more fun than Michelle had expected. “I’m pretty sure you’re also wearing clothing that has different fibers in it,” she continued. “Unless that’s a polyester jumpsuit, Betty Virginia. In which case, I’d argue you’ve already sinned against God.”
Creighton interrupted. “We’re not here for theological discussions, ladies.”
There was a tentative knock on the door. Michelle opened it to find three jokers standing in the hallway. One had lumpy skin that looked like curdled cream. He was at least a foot and a half shorter than Michelle and had a long tail. His legs were encased in shorts and he had probably the worse case of cellulite she’d ever seen.
The joker on the left side also had skin that looked like lumpy milk, but instead of being short, he had massive thighs. The joker on the right wore a miniskirt and a halter top. His legs were long and skinny. His skin was the same color and consistency as the other two. And they all had snouts.
“And who might you be?” She didn’t remember these jokers from the joker protesters outside. And she couldn’t imagine why Creighton might invite them to the proceedings.
“Dr. Smith got in touch with us,” one of them said. His voice sounded familiar to her. “I’m Bacho and that’s Darryl, we’re from the Detonators. And there’s Jax from the Originals.”
Michelle was stunned. What had happened to these boys to trigger all their cards at the same time and in similar ways?
By this time, Creighton had come up behind her. “Well,” he said. He sounded pleased. “This should make things even more interesting. Come in, boys.”
He opened the door wide and they shuffled in single file. But when they saw the rest of the people in the room, they stopped. “Wh-what’s going on?” Darryl asked. “And where’s Dr. Smith?”
“This is all of us.” Creighton leaned over and whispered in Michelle’s ear, “Make sure no one leaves.”
“I’m already in trouble with the locals for doing that,” she hissed. “It’s called unlawful imprisonment, and after I did it to God’s Weenies on Tuesday morning, doing it now to Bambi, Earl, and Betty Arizona Bialowsky might get me into trouble.”
“Virginia. Her name’s Betty Virginia.”
“Whatever.”
Creighton grinned. “Just watch.” He turned back to the rest of the room. “Dr. Smith asked me to take over this meeting,” he lied smoothly. “Here’s what we know. One of our young friends here is responsible for the stink bomb that was set off on Wednesday.”
“I didn’t do that!” Bacho said with real bewilderment in his voice. “I’d never do anything like that. It’s so … so … jerky …”
“How do you know one of us did it?” Jax asked.
Creighton smiled. It was full of glee and confidence. Michelle suspected he had nothing concrete. “Because you boys were followed, and overheard talking about what sort of things you might do to the Mob.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” cried Jax. “It was just bullshitting. Everyone does it.”
Creighton smiled enigmatically, then walked across the room and started making a drink. “Anyone else for a martini?”
“It’s ten in the morning!” Betty Virginia said. “And Earl and I don’t drink. It’s a sin.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s not a sin,” Michelle said. “Don’t you guys do the whole ‘This wine is my body’ thing?”
“We use Welch’s,” Earl said.
“Ew,” Michelle replied. “Sounds like no fun at all.”
“Back to the matter at hand.” Creighton poured vermouth over ice cubes and swirled it around. Then he added gin. The juni
per fragrance of the gin floated in the air. “Now, we’ve accounted for all the other suspects except for the three of you.”
“I’m telling you, we didn’t do it,” Bacho said. This time there was a real thread of anger in his voice. Michelle thought she saw something blooming around him. Then it disappeared as he said more calmly, “I was in the bathroom. When I was on my way back to the auditorium, I ran into everyone leaving. You can ask Mr. Gunderson!”
Michelle pulled out her phone and texted Wally. A minute later, he texted back: Yup. I saw him. Nice kid.
She looked up at Creighton and nodded.
“Well, that just leaves the two of you,” he said, pointing to Jax and Darryl. “Odd that all three of your cards turned at the same time.”
“We’re not jokers!” Jax said, clenching his fists at the sides of his massive thighs. “This is temporary.”
“That would be new,” Creighton said. “There’s only one person I know whose wild card changes.”
“He’s right.” Darryl’s voice quavered and he sounded like he was going to cry. “At least that’s what we were told. This isn’t permanent. We’re not going to be jokers forever.”
“And who told you that?” Creighton took a sip of his martini and seemed pleased with it. Then he tucked his left hand into his suit pocket and patted a bulge there.
The boys glanced at each other, then pursed their lips and said nothing. “Would it be the worst thing in the world to be a joker?” Kimmie asked. “I mean, if you could still play music. Wouldn’t that be okay?”
“To look like this?” Jax gestured at his misshapen body. “I’m disgusting.”
Kimmie got a mulish expression on her face. “And what if you had a wild card like Ms. Pond? What if you had an ace? Would it be okay then?”
“That’s different,” came the reply.
“It’s most certainly not,” Betty Virginia said. There was a righteous tone in her voice. “All people with the wild card virus are marked with the sign of Satan. They can appear as demons—like these boys.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Or, they can have wings like angels, or they can even be like Ms. Pond here, using her powers in the service of the United Nations, that great destroyer of American sovereignty.”
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