The Ultimate Werewolf (19 page)

"Hey, Kitty. When'd you get here?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"Hey, Darryl. Hey, Rafe. I rode over with Veronica about a half- hour ago. You just get here?" There was a strand of pink candy floss I stuck at the corner of her perfect mouth. I watched in silent fascination as she tried to dislodge it with the tip of her tongue.

Rafe shrugged. "Kind of."

"Seen the World's Smallest Horse yet?"

"No."

"Don't bother. It's a rip-off; just some dumb old Shetland Pony at the bottom of a hole dug in the ground." She poked her half-eaten cotton candy in my face. "You want the rest of this, Darryl? I can't finish it. You know what they say: sweets to the sweet."

"Uh, no thanks, Kitty." People keep saying that to me on account of my last name, Sweetman. I hate it, but short of strangling everybody on the face of the earth, there's no way I can avoid it. And no one believes me when I tell them I can't stand sugar.

"I'll take it, Kitty." Rafe was a smoothy, even then. Did I mention he

ended up marrying her after high school? Did I mention I haven't talked to him since?

Kitty frowned and pointed over my shoulder. "Isn't that Raymond Fleuris?"

Rafe and I turned around and looked where she was pointing. Sure enough, Raymond Fleuris was standing in front of the "Tub-O-Ducks" game, watching the brightly colored plastic ducks bobbing along in their miniature millrace. Although his hands were still gloved, he no longer wore his bandage on his head, and his dark hair bristled like the quills of a porcupine.

Rafe shrugged. "I saw his daddy shovelling out the livestock barn; the carnival lets the temporary workers' families ride for free."

Kitty was still looking at Raymond. "You know, yesterday during recess I asked him why he had brain surgery."

I found my voice first. "You
actually
asked him that?"

"Sure did."

"Well, what did he say?"

Kitty frowned. "I dunno. When I asked him, he looked like he was trying
real hard
to remember something. Then he got this goofy grin on his face and said 'chickens'."

"Chickens?"

"Don't look at me like
I'm
nuts, Rafe Mercer! I'm just tellin' you what he said! But what was
really
weird was how he said it! Like he was remembering going to Disneyland or something!"

"So Raymond Fleuris is weird. Big deal. C'mon, I wanna check out the guy who cuts a girl in half with a chainsaw. Wanna go with us, Kitty?" Rafe mimed pulling a cord and went
rup-rup-ruppppp!,
waving the wad of cotton candy like a deadly weapon.

Kitty giggled behind her hand. "You're
silly!"

That was all I could take. If I had to stay with them another five minutes I'd either puke or pop Rafe in the nose. "I'll catch up with you later, Rafe. Okay? Rafe?"

"Huh?" Rafe managed to tear his eyes away from Kitty long enough to give me a quick, distracted nod. "Oh, yeah. Sure. Later, man."

Muttering under my breath, I stalked off, my fists stuffed in my pockets. Suddenly the fair didn't seem as much fun as it'd been ten minutes ago. Even the festive aroma of hot popcorn, cotton candy, and corndogs failed to revive my previous good mood.

I found myself staring at a faded canvas banner that said, in vigorous Barnum script:

Col. Reynard
's
Pocket Jungle.

Below the headline a stiffly rendered red-headed young man dressed like Frank Buck wrestled a spotted leopard.

Lounging behind the ticket booth in front of the tent stood a tall man dressed in a sweat-stained short-sleeved khaki shirt and jodhpurs. His hair was no longer bright red and his face looked older, but there was no doubt that he was Colonel Reynard: Great White Hunter. As I watched, he produced a World War Two surplus microphone and began his spiel. His voice crackled out of a public address system, adding to the noise and clamor of the midway.

"Hur-ree! Hur-ree! Hur-ree! See the most ex-zotic and dangerus animals this side of Aff-Rika! See! The noble tim-bur wolf! King of the Ark-Tik Forest! See! The wild jag-war! Ruthless Lord of the Am-A- Zon Jungle! See! The hairy orang-utang! Borny-Oh's oh-riginal Wild Man of the Woods! See! The fur-rocious Grizz-lee Bear! Mon-Arch of the Fro-zen North! See these wonders and more! Hur-ree! Hur-ree! Hur-ree!"

A handful of people stopped and turned their attention toward the Colonel. One of them happened to be Raymond Fleuris. A couple • came forward with their money. Raymond just stood there at the foot of the ticket podium, staring at the red-headed man. I expected the j Colonel to make like W.C. Fields, but instead he waved Raymond inside the tent.

What the hell?

I didn't really want to see a bunch of half-starved animals stuck in cages. But there was something in the way Colonel Reynard had looked
^;
at Raymond, like he'd recognized him, that struck me as curious. First I
j
thought he might be queer for boys, but The Great White Hunter didn't look at me twice when I paid for my ticket and joined the others inside the tent.

The "Pocket Jungle" reeked of sawdust and piss. There were raised platforms scattered about the tent, canvas drop-cloths covering the cages. Colonel Reynard finally joined us and went into his pitch, going
¹
on about how he'd risked life and limb collecting the specimens we were about to see. As he spoke, he went from cage to cage, throwing back the drop-cloths so we could see the animals trapped inside.

I hadn't been expecting anything, and I wasn't disappointed. The "jaguar" was a slat-thin ocelot; the "timber wolf" was a yellow-eyed coyote that paced the confines of its cage like a madman; the "grizzly" was a plain old black bear, its muzzle so white it looked like it'd been sprinkled with powdered sugar. The only thing that really was what it was supposed to be was the orangutan.

The ape was big. its wrinkled old-man's features nearly lost in its vast face. It sat in a cage only slightly larger than itself, its hand-like feet folded in front of its mammoth belly. With its dropping teats and huge girth, it resembled a shaggy Buddha.

Just as the Colonel was wrapping up his act, Raymond pushed his way from the back of the crowd and stood, motionless, gaping at the "timber wolf."

The coyote halted its ceaseless pacing and bared its fangs. A low, frightened growl came from the animal as it raised its hackles. The Colonel halted in mid-sentence and stared first at the coyote, then at Raymond.

As if on cue, the ocelot started to hiss and spit, flattening its ears against its sleek skull. The bear emitted a series of low grunts, while the orangutan covered its face and turned its back to the audience.

Raymond stepped back, shaking his head like he had a mite in his ear. The muscles in his face were jerking again, and I imagined I could smell blood and dust and hear Chucky Donothan squealing like a girl. Raymond staggered back, covering his eyes with his gloves. I heard someone in the crowd laugh; it sounded like a short, sharp, ugly bark.

Colonel Reynard snapped his fingers once and said in a strong voice; "Hush!" The animals grew silent immediately. He then stepped toward Raymond. "Son . . ."

Raymond made a noise that was somewhere between a sob and a shout and ran from the tent and into the crowds and noise of the midway. Colonel Reynard followed after him, and I followed the Colonel.

Raymond made for the cluster of aluminum outbuildings that served as exhibition halls. The Colonel didn't see Raymond dodge between the Crafts Barn and the Tractor Exhibit, but I did. I hurried after him, leaving the light and activity of the fairground behind me. I could dimly make out Raymond a few dozen yards ahead.

I froze as a tall, thin shadow stepped directly into Raymond's path, knocking him to the ground. I pressed against the aluminum shell of the Crafts Barn, praying no one noticed me lurking in the darkened "alley."

"You all right, son?" I recognized Colonel Reynard's voice, although I could not see his face.

Raymond shuddered as he tried to catch his breath and stop crying at the same time.

The carny helped Raymond to his feet. "Now, now, son . . . There's nothing to be ashamed of." His voice was as gentle and soothing as a man talking to a skittish horse. "I'm not going to hurt you, boy. Far from it."

Raymond stood there as Colonel Reynard wiped his face clean of tears, dirt and snot with a handkerchief.

"Let me see your hands, son."

Raymond shrank away from the stranger, crossing his gloved hands over his heart. "Paw sez if I take 'em off he'll whup me good. I ain't ever supposed to take 'em off ever again."

"Well, I say it's okay for you to take them off. And if your daddy don't like it, he'll have to whup on me first." The carny quickly untied both gloves and let them drop. Raymond's hands looked dazzlingly white, compared to his grimy face and forearms. Colonel Reynard squatted on his haunches and took Raymond's hands into his own, studying the fingers with interest. Then he tilted Raymond's head to one side. I could tell he was looking at the scar.

"What have they done?" The Colonel's voice sounded both angry and sad. "You poor child . . . What did they
do
to you?"

"Here now! What you doin' messin' with my boy?"

It was Mr. Fleuris. He passed within inches of me, but if he noticed my presence it didn't register on his face. I wondered if this was how the first mammals felt, watching the dinosaurs lumber by their hiding place in the underbrush. The big man reeked of manure and fresh straw.

Raymond cringed as his father bore down on him.

"Raymond—Where the hell's yore gloves, boy? You know what I told you bout them gloves!" Mr. Fleuris lifted a meaty arm, his sausage- sized fingers closing into a fist.

Raymond whimpered in anticipation of the blow that was certain to land on his upturned face.

Before Horace Fleuris had a chance to strike his son, Colonel Reynard grabbed the big man's wrist. In the dim light it looked as if the Colonel's third finger was longer than the others. I heard Mr. Fleuris grunt in surprise and saw his upraised fist tremble.

"You will not touch this child, understand?"

"Dammit, leggo!" Fleuris' voice was pinched, as if he was both in pain and afraid.

"I
said
'understand'?"

"I heared you the first time, damn you!"

The Colonel let Fleuris' arm drop. "You are the child's father?"

Fleuris nodded sullenly, massaging his wrist.

"I should kill you for what you've done."

"Here, now! Don't go blamin' me for it!" Fleuris blustered. "It was them doctors up at the State Hospital! They said it'd cure him! I tried to tell 'em what the boy's problem was, but you can't tell them big-city doctors squat, far as they're concerned! But what could I do? We was gettin' tired of movin' ever time the boy got into th' neighbor's chicken coop . . ."

"Now he'll
never
learn how to control it!" Reynard stroked Raymond's forehead. "He's stuck in-between the natures, incapable of fitting into your
world ...
or ours. He is an abomination in the eyes of Nature. Even animals can see he has no place in the Scheme!"

"You like the boy, don't you?" There was something about how Fleuris asked the question that made my stomach knot. "I'm a reasonable man. When it comes to business."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Mr. Fleuris was standing there, talking about
selling
his son to a complete stranger like he was a prize coon dog!

"Get out of here."

"Now hold on just a second! I ain't askin' for nothin' that ain't rightfully mine, and you know it! I'm the boy's pa and I reckon that calls for some kind of restitution, seeing how's he's my only male kin . . ."

"Now!"
Colonel Reynard's voice sounded like a growl.

Horace Fleuris turned and fled, his fleshy face slack with fear. I never dreamed a man his size could move that fast.

I glanced at where Reynard stood, one hand resting on Raymond's shoulder. Colonel Reynard's face was no longer human, his mouth fixed in a deceptive smile. He fixed me with his murder-green eyes and wrinkled his snout. "That goes for you too, man-cub."

To this day I wonder why he let me go unharmed. I guess it's because he knew that no one was going to listen to any crazy stories about fox- headed men told by a pissant kid. No one wanted to believe crap like that. Not even the pissant kid.

Needless to say, I ran like a rabbit with a hound on my tail. Later I was plagued by recurring nightmares of a fox-headed animal-tamer dressed in jodhpurs that went around sticking his head in human mouths, and of a huge orangutan in overalls that looked like Mr. Fleuris.

▼▼▼

By the time Christmas break came around everyone had lost interest in Raymond's disappearance. The Fleuris family had moved sometime during the last night of October to parts unknown. No one missed them. It was like Raymond Fleuris had never existed.

I spent a lot of time trying not to think about what I'd seen and heard that night. I had other things to fret about. Like Kitty Killigrew going steady with Rafe.