Everybody Scream! (34 page)

All debates aside, Hector couldn’t help but wonder when he read the obituaries. Read that some child had drowned. When he considered his own inevitable end. Where would he go? Was there no peace beyond? And even if the predators caught him, caged him for a decade or an eon, and then consumed him (the
screams
), would something of him survive on another plane? Or would his soul, if such it could be called, be reduced to the violet gas that escaped from the rear apertures of the Bedbugs, the noxious smell which caused some to scornfully hold their noses?

The insect-like creature at last lowered its device and moved on.

Hector did not pursue it further. He did, though, cross to the leg, a skeletal accusatory finger, to stare at it and read the accompanying sign. The dribble from the air made sounds in the muddy puddle. He had no idea that no one had ever observed a liquid dribbling from the air before this.

They were back. Eddy stepped out of the van to see what was keeping Sneezy. The small balding man in the flowered tropical shirt stood just beyond the awning smoking a cigarette, looking off, it appeared, into the sky.

“Sneeze–come on in.”

Sneezy Tightrope mumbled something. One word.

“What? Hey–Sneeze. Come on, wake up.”

“Huh?” Sneezy turned around. He looked perplexed, distracted.

Eddy looked up to where his friend had been gazing and saw the bright coin of The Head still low in the sky but rapidly rising.

Mitch’s always tight voice was tighter over the public address system. “Del please come to security immediately. Del please come to security immediately.” Del had just stepped down from his own trailer, fresh again but wearing the same greenish-black silk suit, white shirt, string tie…like nothing had happened. He wasn’t far from the security trailer but hurried even so, feeling guilty that he had shut his phone off earlier.

Several separate bits of information were absorbed simultaneously when he entered the large mobile building. Noelle was indeed not here–had her friend been located? She hadn’t stayed to say goodbye? He was relieved and hurt.

Mostly relieved, because his wife was here. And it was Sophi he focused on, despite Garnet’s extra-grim intensity. Sophi was sitting and looked up into Del’s eyes, shocking him for several moments. Her face was pallid, setting off the redness around her eyes. She looked shrunken, turtle-like, inside her violet sweater and half hidden behind her hair. Her cigarette trembled. Del decided that this matter had to concern her in some way. Not much could reduce his strong, tough wife to this. He felt dread.

Dingo Rubydawn, Mitch’s Choom man, was also present, and spoke first. “Del, you know that girl who came in here looking for her friend? Noelle Buda? Well, she came in here about an hour ago and asked me if her friend had answered her page. No, she hadn’t, so I paged again. No show. So I figured, why not go down to the parking lot to see if she’s partying in one of the cars. Right? Well…”

“What?”

“I found a dead boy and girl in a car. They’d been partying. No clothes on. He’d been shot twice in the head. She’d had her eyes shot out. He had a gun with him but didn’t use it, I guess. I thought I’d found the Buda girl’s friend, but when I looked at their wallets it wasn’t her. They’d broken into the car, too, apparently–we just paged the owners so we can talk to them.”

“So who were they?”

“His name was Wes Sundry. Looks like a punk. She was Heather Buffatoni. We tried calling her parents but can’t reach them. High school kid, looked fairly respectable. I called Mitch.”

“I sent the KeeZees to run a search of the whole lot,” said Mitch. “It didn’t take long to find the next one…just a few rows over. Same deal. Car broken into. A boy shot twice, once in the face and once in the throat. He was naked, had a gun he didn’t get to use. Same make of gun as the Sundry kid. This one’s name was Fernando Colon.”

“And a girl?”

“There must have been. The boy was naked. But no sign.”

“Maybe she escaped. Or maybe she’s the one who did it. Could that girl have been Noelle Buda’s friend? That Moussa guy she went off with might have made his name up.”

“It wasn’t her friend,” said Dingo. “We found her.”

“One of the KeeZees found her. And Moussa. It was his real name,” said Mitch. “They were in a third car. This time it was registered to the guy–Moussa Habash. He was dressed and behind the wheel. He had a gun–not the same brand as the other two–and there were gold-dust traces on a hand mirror on the floor, some seaweed in a little container, and a bottle of booze. He was a law student. Rich father; he’s on his way.”

“The girl,” Del said, impatient.

“In the seat beside him, naked. Bonnie Gross. He’d been shot once in the forehead. The girl had been shot twice in the face and once in each breast. We’ve got a serial killer at the fair. A psycho,” said Mitch.

“Does Noelle know?”

“She identified those two, but didn’t know the others from their I.D.’s–she’s over in the med trailer having a coffee.”

“Okay,” said Del, shakily, strangely feeling in charge. He hadn’t looked at Sophi again but knew she was in no shape to take control. “All the bodies are in the cooler?”

“Yes. Gross and Habash just came in ten minutes ago.”

“Are you running time of death tests?”

“All the standards. I put in a call to the force, too. They’ll be sending down two detectives to look into it and a cruiser to patrol the lot.”

“Check to see if the same weapon was used at all three scenes.”

“Even if it wasn’t, the killer could have two guns. But that’s another test we’re running. The cars have been print scanned. We’re running the scans through the police files open to us. We tracked down Bonnie Gross’s people and someone is on the way. Nobody to contact, yet, for Sundry or Colon.”

“We’ve got to find out if that Colon boy was with a girl. She could tell us a lot. If she didn’t do it.”

“If she’s alive,” said Dingo.

“Sounds like a psycho who can’t stand seeing a girl and boy getting to it. A repressed fanatic,” mused Del. “Jealous.”

“I don’t want to limit myself to a speculated motive just yet,” said Mitch.

“Three scenes of killings, two with naked boys and naked girls, and one with seaweed that wasn’t taken? Looks sexual to me.”

“Well, we’ll see.”

Finally Del turned his attention back to his wife. “Are you alright, hon?” he asked. He didn’t feel dread toward her now, only concern, and still a little confusion. Even when their fights were so bad that she cried she never looked this battered.

“I’m alright,” she croaked, not making eye contact. “I looked at the bodies, that’s all.”

“Oh.” He’d thought so. Still…she’d seen plenty of bodies in their morgue before. And what about the mummified bodies incorporated into some of the rides? He thought he could smell drink from her, now.

He said, “Would it be too great a risk of scaring off the killer if we paged the carnival for anyone with info on the five dead people to come forward?”

“A real sickie or someone bold like a gang of punks would stay, page or no page, if they really wanted to stay. But if he’s smart, a mobbie or a pro, he’s already left anyway, so I’d say page.”

“Page their names,” Del told Mitch. “Anyone with information on these murdered people please report to the security trailer immediately. Then list the five names.”

“Could be bad for business,” said Gola, behind the desk.

“Well, this is more important,” rasped Sophi. That was the final word. She was boss. If she didn’t mind, no one could say much.

“I really hope we can do this ourselves,” Mitch said. Involved investigations weren’t his strong point; with Car Thirteen on Forma Street he’d dealt mostly with “in progress” conflicts. “I don’t want the town boys to think we need them to hold our hands.”

“It isn’t a fucking contest, Mitch.” Sophi stood, faced Del. “Can we talk alone in a few minutes? At home?”

“Yeah–sure.” Del glanced a Mitch, who shrugged, on the way out.

They didn’t talk along the short walk, or even until they were alone together in the turquoise and pink kitchen of their trailer home. Sophi lit another cigarette and Del asked her again, “Are you alright?”

“It’s been a long, bad night and I’ll be glad when it’s over.”

“A few more hours. We’re getting there. Why don’t you lie down awhile and let Mitch and me worry about this? You look bad.”

“Del, why did you have Mitch cuff Mortimer Ficklebottom?”

“He was selling purple vortex, that’s why!” (So Mitch had told her.)

“Are you trying to make trouble or what?” (So he didn’t know about Johnny–it wasn’t revenge.)

“Trouble? I said he was selling vortex.
He
was selling vortex but
I’m
making trouble?”

“Yes, he was selling vortex, they
all
sell it...is this some kind of revelation to you, suddenly?”

“Look...”

“You’re out of line, Del! This is my goddamn carnival, do you understand?
Mine!
And I didn’t want trouble tonight. Why this sudden concern over LaKarnafeaux’s people?”

“I hate them.”

“So do I. Another big revelation? Did you love them yesterday?”

“No, but I had enough of them tonight, that’s all.” He knew it was her carnival, but he had bankrolled most of it, hadn’t he? He had to live here with it,
in
it, didn’t he? But he didn’t want to open that can. She’d say, “Oh, so you bought it and you own it and I’m really just the manager for
you
, is that it?” She must have said that to him before half a dozen times. It wasn’t true–he respected her leadership most of the time. Sometimes he felt like a part of management, sometimes he detached himself, just sat back and watched. But tonight he couldn’t watch any more.

“Why, did you have enough of them?” Sophi pressed.

Del avoided her glaring green eyes. Leaned his rear against the sink, hands in pockets, eyes on the swirly pink plastic marble of the floor.

“They’re laughing at me. Greasy smug scum who sell drugs that kill kids, and they’re laughing at me. But that I could live with. Alright? Look at the source. Do I respect their opinion? I know better. It’s the kids. The kids who come and hang around all day with his people. They flock to that fat pig like he’s Santa Claus. Beautiful girls who want to grow up like Mortimer Ficklebottom and Johnny Leng. They emulate them.”

Sophi saw Del’s meaning. His motive.
Jealousy
. You got me raped in the mouth at gunpoint for
this?

He said it. “These kids worship him, but me they won’t listen to. Me they don’t know.”

“My God.”

He looked up. “What?”

“How petty you are.”

“Petty?”

“You make it sound like every single one of your millions of fans has deserted you so they can hang around with Roland LaKarnafeaux.”

“And with Sphitt. And with Flemm. And with the Saliva Surfers, and Mukas, and the Upchucks, and Ming and the Mongoloids, and all the other fuckheads who have so much wit and wisdom to share.”

“Del. Kids do like to have fun, too, you know?”