The Traveling Vampire Show (40 page)

Hers was just a scratch.

She’d really opened up Chester.

“AND HOW ABOUT THAT PHYSIQUE!” Stryker went on. “IF ANY OF YOU LADIES ARE INTERESTED, I’M SURE YOU’LL HAVE NO TROUBLE FINDING CHESTER LATER AT THE LOCAL EMERGENCY ROOM.”

Here and there, people were making their way down the bleachers. Mostly women. Several towed men along behind them.

Apparently, they’d had enough.

Ignoring the exodus, Stryker studied his stopwatch. “CHESTER LASTED A GRAND TOTAL OF FOUR MINUTES AND FORTY-THREE SECONDS. CAME UP ONLY SEVENTEEN SECONDS SHORT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.”

Vivian hurried over to Stryker and leaned in close to his side. As she started speaking into his ear, he lowered the microphone. Whatever she was telling him, we couldn’t hear it.

“Maybe we should be going, too,” Lee said.

Rusty blurted, “No! We can’t!”

“This is worse than I thought it’d be. You boys shouldn’t be seeing this sort of thing. I shouldn’t either.”

“Please, Mrs. Thompson.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking, bringing you boys to a show like...”

“It’s not so bad,” Rusty said.

“That man was naked.”

“So? It was just a guy. I mean, maybe you didn’t like to see that, but it wasn’t any big deal for me and Dwight. It ain’t pretty, but we see that sorta stuff in gym class all the time. Right, Dwight?”

I just shrugged.

“You don’t see guys get ripped open,” Lee said.

“It’s just a show, Mrs. Thompson. You said so yourself. I’ll bet Chester didn’t even get a scratch on him. It was probably all a big fake-out. They can do that sorta stuff, magicians and people like that. It’s easy.”

Lee frowned and shook her head, but I noticed she was still sitting down. In my opinion, she felt that she ought to take us away from the evil show, but she didn’t much want to miss the rest of it, herself.

I finally opened my mouth. “Why don’t we just stick around for one more bout and see what happens?”

Lee frowned and sighed. “I suppose we can stay for one more.” Glancing from Rusty to me, she said, “But you guys have to promise you’ll never breathe a word about any of this to your parents.” To me, she added, “Or your brothers. If they find out I dragged you guys to something like ...”

“I’ll never tell,” Rusty said.

“I sure won’t,” I said. “I promise.”

“Okay. Well, I guess we can stay a little while longer.” Rusty grinned and clapped. “You’re the best, Mrs. Thompson.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Just about then, Vivian got finished whispering to Stryker. As she hurried out of the cage, he raised the microphone to his mouth. “I’VE JUST BEEN ASSURED THAT CHESTER WILL NEED A FEW STITCHES, BUT HE’LL BE FINE. LET’S HEAR IT AGAIN FOR HIM!”

Some applause came from the crowd, but not much.

“PERHAPS HE DESERVED WORSE THAN HE GOT.”

With that comment, Stryker won over a good portion of the remaining spectators. They laughed and cheered.

“BUT THE SCRAWNY LITTLE BASTARD CAME WITHIN A MERE SEVENTEEN SECONDS OF WALKING HOME WITH FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS CASH MONEY IN HIS POCKET! HE LASTED THAT LONG, FOLKS. IF HE CAN STICK IT OUT—NO PUN INTENDED....”

Laughter, groans, applause.

“IF CHESTER CAN LAST THAT LONG, WHY NOT YOU? OUTLAST HIM BY A MEAGER SEVENTEEN SECONDS AND YOU’LL WIN THE BIG PRIZE. NOW, HOW ABOUT IT, FOLKS? DO WE HAVE A VOLUNTEER?”

“I’ll take her!” shouted someone behind me.

I recognized the voice.

As shouts and cheers erupted from the crowd, I twisted around and saw Scotty Douglas near the top of the bleachers. Though standing up, he wasn’t going anywhere yet. He stood there smirking, flanked by five or six of his hoodlum friends including a couple of tough-looking gals. Not letting the hot night get in the way of fashion, they all wore black leather jackets. I didn’t know any of the others, but I had no trouble recognizing Scotty.

Even though I hadn’t seen him in a long time (he’d dropped out of high school after his junior year and moved to Clement), the sight of him gave me a sickish feeling in my stomach. It was pretty much the same feeling I’d gotten a couple of years earlier when he and his two buddies, Tim and Smack, went after Slim and Rusty and me when we were at Janks Field for archery practice.

He looked about the same as always: greasy hair piled high on his head, long sideburns, black leather jacket, white T-shirt and blue jeans. He wore a familiar sneer on his face. A cigarette dangled from a comer from his lips.

“YOU!” Stryker announced. “YOU UP THERE IN THE LEATHER JACKET!”

Scotty nodded, winked toward Stryker, then turned to his friends. He spoke to them for a few seconds—probably cracking wise about how he would decimate Valeria. After that, he stripped off his leather jacket and handed it to one of the gals. Then he started to work his way across the row.

He’d gained a scar on his left cheek since the last time I’d seen him. Also, he looked as if he’d gained about twenty pounds of muscle.

Rusty said, “Jesus H. Christ, is that who I think it is?”

“It’s him, all right,” I said.

“The Douglas kid?” Lee asked.

“Yeah.”

“I knew his big brother. A real ... jerk.”

“Must run in the family,” I said.

I watched Scotty make his way down the bleachers and enter the arena. He didn’t seem to have a limp anymore, but I bet he still had a scar from Slim’s arrow.

He was wearing motorcycle boots, the same as always.

Cigarette hanging off his lower lip, he took the clipboard from Valeria and signed it. Then he tossed his butt into the dirt, climbed the stairs and entered the cage.

“NAME’S SCOT DOUGLAS,” he said into Stryker’s microphone. “I’M HERE TO COLLECT MY FIVE HUNDRED BUCKS.”

The grandstands went wild with shouts and hoots and whistles. The worst of the noise came from behind us. Looking over my shoulder, I saw what I expected: Scotty’s friends were on their feet, a couple of them waving and shrieking while three were busy giving out ear-splitting whistles with the help of fingers buried in their mouths.

“THINK YOU CAN BEAT CHESTER’S RECORD?” Stryker asked.

“DAMN RIGHT, SPORT.”

“WELL, GOOD LUCK TO YOU.” Spurs jingling, Stryker walked out of the cage and trotted down the stairs to the ground. He raised his stopwatch. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, LET THE CONTEST BEGIN!”

For a while, Scotty and Valeria stood a few feet apart, looking each other over ... Scotty smirking, Valeria glaring back at him with narrow eyes. Then they started circling like a couple of wrestlers.

The crowd went silent.

Scotty peeled off his T-shirt. Holding it in one hand, he swung it like a towel, sweeping it past Valeria’s face, snapping it at her bare midriff.

Way off beyond the other bleachers, the sky flashed as if a monstrous light bulb had burst to life inside a thunderhead, shuddered and quickly died.

Scotty whipped his T-shirt at Valeria’s face. She tore it from his hands and the wind tossed it across the cage.

Thunder grumbled through the night.

Here it comes, I thought. All day long, the sky had been grim with clouds, the air heavy and moist and hot. Now the storm would come ... in time to spoil the show.

It isn’t here yet, I told myself.

Besides, Lee’s going to drag us out of here as soon as Valeria finishes with Scotty.

Maybe.

While I’d been busy worrying about the storm, Scotty had been busy pulling his thick leather belt out of the loops in his jeans. Now he was swinging it instead of the T-shirt, snapping it at Valeria as she circled him.

She didn’t seem to be in any hurry to rush him. Nor did she seem very concerned by the belt. Though she dodged and feinted fairly often, she didn’t make any great efforts to avoid its lash. Every so often, the leather smacked against her skin with a sound like a face being slapped. Each time that happened, she flinched but just kept circling Scotty.

Why didn’t she close in and put a stop to it?

I started to wince myself each time the belt struck her.

Turning to Lee, I said, “Why doesn’t she ... ?” But even as the words started to come out, I noticed that Lee seemed entranced by the spectacle. Her eyes had a glazed look and her mouth hung open.

Though I hadn’t finished my question, she blinked and turned her head. “Huh? What was that?”

“I was just ... why is she letting him do that? He’s hurting her.”

Lee shook her head, muttered, “Don’t know,” and returned her attention to the cage.

Rusty leaned forward and said to me, “Bet she likes it. Some gals like to get knocked around, you know? Turns ’em on.”

I nodded. “Yeah, that’s probably it.”

We both stopped talking.

Eyes on the show again, I flinched as the tip of Scotty’s belt cracked against Valeria’s belly. That one must’ve really hurt, because she cried out and twisted away.

As Scotty rushed after her, swinging his belt, she backed away from him. A couple more strides, and a wall of the cage would stop her retreat.

Suddenly, she reached behind her back, undid whatever fasteners were there, and swept off the bright red leather top of her costume. The sight of her naked breasts tore my breath away. All through the audience, people gasped. I could feel myself growing hard. A moan came from Rusty’s direction, but I didn’t look over at him. Couldn’t look anywhere except at Valeria.

Clad only in her short red skirt and boots, she whipped the bra-like garment through the air in front of her. The quick motion swung her breasts.

In midair, the red leather of Valeria’s top met the black leather of Scotty’s belt. They tangled.

Valeria’s arm leaped back and the belt flew from Scotty’s hand.

The crowd roared with delight.

Most of the crowd, that is. The bunch behind us—Scotty’s friends—hissed and booed. Someone from back there shouted, “Get her, Scot!” Another shouted, “Ream her!”

Down in the cage, Valeria flung away the tangled leather of Scotty’s belt and the top of her costume. They landed inside her open casket. Scotty watched them drop out of sight with a look on his face as if his favorite hat had just been blown over the edge of a cliff.

Beyond the other bleachers, a jagged dagger of lightning ripped through the night.

Scotty made a dash for the casket.

He wanted that belt.

Valeria raced to intercept him, her large breasts leaping and swinging.

Thunder grumbled.

She dived, wrapped her arms around Scotty’s waist as he ran, and tore him to the ground. They rolled through the dirt. Then Scotty was on his back. Valeria, straddling him, grabbed his shoulder with one hand and his head with the other. She shoved his head sideways, then plunged her face against the side of his neck.

He thrashed and writhed underneath her.

Stryker’s voice boomed from the speakers, “AND THE WINNER IS ... VALERIA!”

She stayed on Scotty, not done with him yet.

Stryker ran into the cage. “THAT’S ENOUGH, VALERIA! STOP IT.”

She didn’t stop.

“NEED ANOTHER TASTE OF THE SPUR?”

She clung to Scotty for a few seconds more, then raised her head and rolled off him. She flopped on her back, gasping for air. Her lips and cheeks and chin—even the tip of her nose—were crimson with Scotty’s blood. The rest of her body gleamed with sweat.

As the crew rushed into the cage, Stryker announced, “SCOT’S TIME WITH VALERIA, THREE MINUTES AND TWENTY SECONDS.”

He hadn’t lasted nearly as long as the frail Chester, but the audience showed lots of appreciation. Maybe because he’d gotten Valeria to remove her top.

The crew lifted Scotty onto a gurney and hurried away with him.

There was a lot of blood on the dirt floor where he’d been sprawled.

The audience cheered Valeria as she rose to her feet. Her body gleaming with blood and sweat, she thrust both arms toward the sky in triumph and pranced around in a circle as if doing some sort of victory dance. The way she looked—beautiful and shiny, hair blowing in the hot wind, breasts bouncing and swinging—drove the audience to a frenzy. All around us, people stood up.

My view was blocked, so I stood up, too. As did Lee and Rusty.

Apparently enjoying her ovation, Valeria danced around even more wildly.

As she leaped and twirled, lightning in the shape of an upside-down tree turned the sky brilliant. Every detail of Val-Richard Laymon eria trembled in stark relief—the wild look on her face, the curves of her muscles and ribcage, the jutting tips of her breasts....

I felt hard and achy. Without underwear on, I was pushing tight against the inside of my jeans. I started to worry about having another accident so I sat down. This not only relieved the pressure, but it took Valeria out of sight.

Thunder roared, shaking the night.

Lee sat down beside me. “You okay?” she asked.

I nodded.

“We’d probably better get going,” she said.

“I guess so.”

“Before something else happens.”

“Guess so,” I said.

She patted my leg, then turned her head the other way. Toward Rusty.

But he wasn’t there.

All I could figure was that Rusty must’ve had an accident, himself, and hurried away to prevent Lee or anyone else from noticing it.

“Come on,” Lee said. She started to stand up.

“No, wait.”

“What?”

“Why don’t we wait here for him? He probably just went...”

Lee shook her head. “He knows we’re about to leave. Maybe he just went on ahead.”

We were both wrong.

In front of us, the spectators sat down and we saw Rusty halfway down the bleacher stairs, waving both hands overhead. Shiftless and bandaged, he almost looked as if he’d already been in the cage with Valeria. Racing toward the bottom, he shouted, “Me! Me! I’m next! I call it! My turn!”

The audience cheered him.

Lightning ripped through the sky.

“Oh, my God,” Lee muttered.

I couldn’t believe my eyes—oh. yes I could. Though stunned, I wasn’t very surprised. Of course Rusty wanted to get into the cage with Valeria. He probably saw this as the opportunity of a lifetime.

And maybe he was right.

The thunder came ... a long, rumbling noise. I could feel its vibrations in my chest like the drums of a parade band.