A Fear of Clowns (The Greasepaint Chronicals) (17 page)

They sat up, talking things over
for a while but he went off to bed, spending what he hoped would be his last
night on the hard little pad. The last week and a half had spoiled him, and his
spine hurt when he got up. By nature he was a back sleeper, but had learned to
lay on his side, while on hard objects. It had worked out so that he was a bit
stiff when he got up and went into the house at nine, to get a shower. No one
else was up yet, so when that was done, he loaded up his car, trying to be
quiet.

There wasn't a lot to take. The
old laptop that Wendy had given him, his few remaining clothes and the white
envelope from under his bed pad. The rest of it needed to stay, but he stripped
the sheets and blanket, and went in to put them in the washing machine. It was
far enough from the main bedroom that he could run it without waking anyone.

While he did that he finally
broke the seal on the envelope. He'd forgotten about it, when he'd been called
away. The front still said "Joey the Clown" and it was as fat as he
remembered. Maggie had mentioned putting in a little extra, since there were
more people there. It was more than a little.

A whole lot.

His fee had been a hundred and
fifty dollars for the event, and there was five hundred, all in crisp twenties
inside the thing. He had to count it six times to make certain he had that
right. It was enough that, had the woman been alive, he would have returned
most of it. Poor or not. It was the kind of thing that he should have done
anyway, and would have, if the lady had died from something normal, like cancer
or a car accident. Clown murder was a little too close to home, so he just
decided to donate the money to charity. Keeping it felt wrong now, but trying
to do anything else was probably the same as announcing his guilt. Since he
wasn't, that would be a good thing to avoid.

He didn't wait to say goodbye,
having done that the night before. He owed both of them, Carlos and Wendy, far
too much for any amount of thanks to do the trick, but he wasn't saying goodbye
forever. They worked in Vegas and still had another partial week on the
schedule at the casino. They'd see each other, from time to time. It left him
feeling a bit lonely, since they were close to the only friends he really had
in the world, but this wasn't the last day of high school, and he wasn't
eighteen. Adults kept their friends by making certain that they stayed in
touch. It wasn't magic, just regular correspondence. Visits and what have you.
Really, he decided, he should have been doing that with his other friends, like
Henry Boggs, his old department chair. Even if he wasn't looking for a new job
at the moment, keeping feelers out wouldn't hurt and the older fellow had
always been willing to chat. It would be good to brush up on his knowledge of
old wars, anyway. You never knew what would come in handy.

He considered it while he drove,
keeping to the speed limit the whole way, even in the desert, wondering if
Richmond or Mills would stop him first. Possibly even Carl himself, ready to
shoot him, for being... Annoying? Upsetting to his sensibilities because he
didn't just let the man use him?

Whatever it was, however that
thinking worked, nothing took place, except a completely normal drive. He
barely even encountered another vehicle. The ones he did all passed him,
including a blue American made car, with a male driver. Jay couldn't make out
the face, but it felt familiar. Like someone that he'd seen in the last day.

Which could mean it was anything
from him being paranoid and simply wrong, to the driver being a clever
murdering clown, leading him on the only road for twenty miles, instead of
following from behind. If so, why? It was one thing for someone to pick his
client as a target, but to actively stalk him indicated some kind of personal
thing, didn't it? As far as he knew, he'd never done anything bad enough to
make someone hate him that much. Except Carl. It wasn't him in that car. The
driver was too small, for one thing. Thin, nearly.

Letting the whole thing go,
because it was probably just wrong anyway, he drove in peace, wondering if he
had a job waiting for him, or if he needed to get on the road and just drive
until the money ran out. It was tempting anyway, but if he hadn't been fired
for needing an alibi, he had responsibilities. Clown duties and management
assistance work. When he got in, he went straight to Max's office, to have the
man scare the crap out of him without even trying.

"What are you doing
here?" The voice was a bit hard, but followed by a smile. "I figured you'd
be doing eight to ten in Sing-Sing by now. Burglary or whatever. Weany-wagging?
What did you need that alibi for anyway?" The man seemed curious, but not
like he was about to say Jay was fired.

"A client of mine was
killed, so I had to prove that I wasn't in town. It's suspicious as all heck
too, but even the FBI gets that it wasn't me. Since the Sheriff in that county
might
be involved, and I don't feel like being framed right now, so I came back here.
You mentioned wanting some time off too?"

"If you're offering, yeah,
that would be good. I have a house that I haven't hardly been in for weeks. A
wife too. Not that she cares if I'm around, you know? As long as the money
flows in. That's life though. So, if you don't mind, I can take tomorrow? Maybe
do up something nice with the missus?" The man was dressed like he
normally was, but looked tired. Exhausted by life and world, and a bit frayed
around the edges.

Jason could understand that,
since he was the same way. What he looked like he had no clue, but it probably
wasn't sharp and efficient. He used to manage that, back when he was teaching.
Neatly trimmed hair and nails, a decent suit and tie each day. A brief case
with actual papers in it. Things to be checked and graded, or returned. Along
with the various work that being a professor entailed that no one ever thought
of. Forms and evaluations, tax returns and grant proposals. That last one was a
big part of the job. It was hard to get a grant for strict history research.
People just didn't find it valuable. Most accepted that it was enough to know
the official story, but that was almost never the whole thing, if it was right
at all.

Heading toward his room, he felt
a bit hungry. He was on the list at the buffet, but wanted to drop his bags
first. Jason was, he realized, officially moved. That didn't mean he was back
yet. Not all the way on his feet, but he wasn't on the street and things were
getting a little better. For him. Poor Maggie Winthrop came to mind then, but
there just wasn't anything he could do for her.

 Just as he went in, the door
starting to close, he heard a familiar voice.

"Hey! Can I talk to you for
a bit?" Dropping his things he moved back and opened the door again, since
the heavy spring had caused it to close on him, without his even trying.

Rhonda stood there, dressed in a
plain white skirt that covered her knees, and white shoes that looked stylish,
rather than comfortable. Her legs had hose on, but he didn't let himself do
more than glance, working up her body. Her shirt was a blouse that was a
brilliant blue, and unbuttoned enough that, if she bent over, he could have
probably seen right down it to her naval. He stared into her brilliant green
eyes instead, breaking off after about four seconds. Any longer and you ended
up looking like a psycho, and he was sort of avoiding that at the moment.

"Hey right back. Is it an
emergency? If not I was just going to go and pick up some brunch. You're
welcome to come keep me company?" That was polite and the kind of thing
that real people did, wasn't it? She smiled back at least.

"That works. I haven't eaten
yet today. It isn't an emergency, I just want to lobby for a better time slot
for me and the girls. I mean, I get it when Mantooth is here, since
he's
famous, but the drunken jugglers? I mean, really?" She moved to walk along
side of him, and kept chatting as they headed down the hall toward the
elevator. "So what do you say? Pretty please?"

She batted her eyelashes at him,
which got him to look away, not trusting her. She wasn't really trying to flirt
even, just manipulate him. It was part of the job, he didn't doubt.

"Fine, but you have to do
some things for me, first." He deadpanned it, not even thinking about what
it would sound like. When she went wide eyed he got that part, but didn't
wince, it wasn't what he meant.

"What... do you want?"
She sounded more suspicious than he'd ever heard her be, before that very
moment. Given the industry, or at least Max and people like him, Jay couldn't
really blame her.

He smiled.

"At least half your numbers
need to be new ones. Old material, since that's the gimmick, 50's and sixties
stuff, but fresh for this venue. Sharp too. You and the others are good, but if
you want top billing, you have to bring the 'A plus' game. Otherwise it will
look like I'm just being swayed by a pretty face." It wasn't the whole
truth, even if she was attractive. People would think it was, however.

For some reason that got the
woman to take his arm in hers, matching his stride.

"You know, I think we can do
that one."

He hoped so, because changing the
schedule wouldn't make the others happy at all.

It turned out that shifting
things around wasn't that big of a deal, since two acts suddenly walked the
next day, without bothering to even make up an excuse. There was no warning, or
complaints about anything in particular. They were simply gone. That left time
in the schedule. Rhonda and the Rhondettes Experience got their billing, and
Felicity Maine had a full hour and a half on stage. Jay split his time up into
shorter bits, to try and fill things a bit, but the Saturday act was a bit
lighter than it should have been. The worst part of things wasn't that, of
course.

No, if just having to shuffle
some things around and cover for some flaky people had been the bad part of his
week, Jason would have gotten a piece of cake and held a celebration at the end
of each day. Every moment he wasn't busy with work thoughts of poor Maggie
Winthrop, and what had happened to her filled his mind. It was, after a bit of
thought, pretty clear who had done it.

Deputy Mills. At least from the
description, that fit. His department had been chasing Jason around for nearly
a year, and the man was the one that could fit into the uniform. The clown one,
not the Sheriff's costume. That wasn't enough to send him to prison, but there
were other things that slid into place, when he thought about it.

The man had only been on the
force for about six months, but was pushing thirty. In his mid to late twenties
at least. Jay had jokingly considered that the man was young enough looking to
be his son, but that didn't really fit. Not unless he'd gotten Lynn pregnant
when they were both sixteen. Before he met her, by years. Nearly a decade.

Who he looked like, when he
thought about it, was the young woman that walked up to him after coming off
stage. Felicity. Except that his eyes were brown, not blue. So were Alex's.
That could just be his imagination, since Jay felt pretty bad about that whole
situation with her, his daughter, still. He hadn't seen her since the last
court date. It made it seem like he'd dropped her, or didn't care, but that
hadn't been his intent, just what life had forced into being. Mainly thanks to
his bad choices.

He tripped onto the stage, and
made himself do some fresh material. It didn't go over too well, at first, but
the one power of the clown was the ability to go big. He waved his arms,
pretended that the disdain of the crowd, their apathy, was a cliff, and that he
was about to fall off. They were pretty drunk, so after a few cat calls for him
to jump, they played along. It got laughs and he worked it into a bit where he
did up some balloon animals, making "hot dogs", claiming they were
anything except penis's. It wasn't really naughty, but people were willing to
pretend for him, which was nice of them.

Rhonda and her group made their
mark, and the music was started at the right time, because Gloria was doing
double duty, taking the lights and sound, given that Jay was on stage when the
right key needed to be hit. That meant the music started before the lights came
up, but only by about five seconds. It might have seemed unprofessional, if
anyone noticed, but Jay knew that it had required actual running on the woman's
part. Sprinting backstage, without making a sound. It was impressive. Jay
couldn't have done it. Not in the oversized shoes that he was wearing that
night. They were new, and squeaked when he walked, which meant he had to kick
them off, the second he got back stage. Picking the shining red things up,
their oversized bulbous toe fronts each having identical fake patches on them,
as decorations, he padded softly. Those were in yellow. It was a bit outside
the hobo act, but he liked them, since it added a bit of color to an otherwise
drab outfit.

That gave him an hour. Fifty
minutes, actually, though he needed to monitor things. That meant he was
standing in the wings, looking at the Rhondettes when the lights went out. It
was a sudden thing, and everything went dead for about ten minutes, before it
all started again. Except the music, of course. That was on a computer, and
didn't restart instantly. It would take a few minutes for the thing to boot
back up and be ready to go, and he needed to be back there, to get it cued up
at the right place. Also out front, to entertain the crowd while he did that,
because
that
would work. All he needed to do was be in two places at
once. Felicity came out, since she'd been in the back dressing room, but wasn't
going to be much help. She couldn't work the computer, and she was out on the
stage too much to do any singing, even acappella, that night. Rhonda might have
been able to work that out, if she had some time, but at the moment she and her
friends were just out there dying.