Dave leaned against a wooden dock pilling, the slight smell of fresh creosote coming from near the waterline. “Leave it alone, Sean. The police have probably already arrested her. If she’s innocent, it’s up to the legal system to prove her guilt. At this point in time, I spotted a grey goose flying over the marina. Alas, the bird thought it was an artic penguin and took up refuge in my freezer where it resides. Let’s have a drink and toast to American jurisprudence.”
“You guys go without me.”
“What are you gonna do?” Nick asked.
“I’m going to hit the redial button on my phone and see who picks up from the number Courtney Burke used to call me.”
Courtney followed Tony Bandini into the office decorated in dark woods and leathers, antique framed carnival posters on the walls. He took a seat behind a desk, stacks of banded money, checks, and a calculator placed neatly on the desk, a dark cigar smoldering in a tarnished ashtray, a half empty glass of scotch on the rocks, sweating. A two-inch line of cocaine on the desk. A Beretta was on the far right side. Bandini said, “I got a dilemma on my hands. Murder at a carnival isn’t good for business, at least in the same town. The beauty of this life is we move on, move past obstacles, head towards new opportunities. Maybe I could have a few opportunities with a filly like you in my stable, but I can’t have you killin’ the clients.”
“Clients? I’m a ticket taker — that’s it. I didn’t kill Lonnie. I was on a ride when he was stabbed. A man in a hooded jacket did it. I need this job. Do I still have it?”
He grinned out of one corner of his mouth. “Everything is negotiable. Come here.”
Courtney stepped closer to the desk. “Thank you.”
He shook his head. “No. Come around here.”
She stepped behind the desk, within a few feet of Bandini. He said, “You wanna get high?”
“No.”
He grinned, stroking her body with his eyes. “Now, it’s negotiation time. Depending how good you are, purely based on performance, you can have your job back …. And other jobs, too. Now, get down on your knees and open your mouth.” Bandini started to unzip his fly.
“No! That’s not gonna happen.” Courtney held up one hand.
Bandini rubbed his crotch and grinned. “Shut up! I say what does and does not happen in this carnival. Now get down on your knees and open your fuckin’ mouth.” He reached out and grabbed her left wrist, pulling hard, gripping her hair with his other hand and dragging her down to his open zipper. She could smell the odor of dried sweat, testosterone, and cigar smoke on his clothes.
She fought back, trying to stand. He slapped her hard across the mouth, splitting her lower lip, blood running down her chin. He tore open her shirt and reached for her breasts, laughing, his breath smelling of scotch and garlic. She drew back, then slammed her right fist into his testicles.
“You fuckin’ bitch!” He reached to his right, trying to grab the pistol on the desk.
Courtney scrambled, kneeing him a second time between his legs as she grabbed the gun. She pointed the Beretta directly between Bandini’s eyes and shouted, “Stand back!”
He sneered, eyes fierce. “You won’t shoot me!”
She backed away a few feet, reached down and picked up four one-hundred bills from a stack. “This is what you owe me in salary and the cost of replacing my shirt you just ripped open. I’ll take another hundred for what you owed Lonnie. I’m sure he’d want that. And I’m telling the cops you had Lonnie killed.”
Bandini pushed back in his chair and stood. “You’re crazy! Take that money and you won’t live to spend it.” He stepped closer. “Put the gun down and we’ll talk.”
Courtney backed up. “Stay where you are!”
Bandini grinned and stepped a little closer.
Courtney raised the pistol in her hand. “Stop!”
“Or what! You don’t have what it takes to kill a man. Your hands are shakin’ like a little girl.” He took another step.
Courtney backed up against the closed door. “Don’t make me do this.”
“Do what?” He grinned, moved a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “Gimme the fuckin’ gun. Johnny’s gonna be back here in a second. He’s a big boy. Hung like a mule. He’ll literally tear you up so bad you’ll wear a diaper for a month.”
“No! No, he won’t. Stop! I swear I’ll do it.”
“Get real, bitch. You never took the safety off the gun.”
Courtney glanced down at the Beretta, searching for the safety. Bandini jumped, reaching for the pistol. “No!” she screamed as he tried to wrestle the gun from her hands. She squeezed the trigger, the bullet hitting Bandini in his throat, severing the spinal column in the back of his neck. He fell to the floor, eyes wide — disbelieving, head trembling. He died with the toothpick still in the right side on his mouth.
Courtney placed the gun in her purse and ran has hard as she could, running by motorhomes tucked in the long shadows, hidden from the lights of the midway, sequestered from the crowds. She could hear the contrived narrative from a reality TV show coming from the open windows of one trailer, heard the bark of a pit bull chained to the steps of a motorhome.
Someone stepped from the dark into the soft light.
She stopped, tried to catch her breath, eyes wide and frightened.
Isaac Solminski said, “Courtney, follow me. Hurry!”
She nodded and followed the dwarf between the tents, campers, and motorhomes. He snatched open the door to a camper and said, “Come on!” He closed the door behind Courtney and led her to a couch and two chairs. He gestured for her to sit on the couch and said, “I saw you go into Bandini’s office. What happened to your mouth? Hold on, let me get some ice for that.” He opened the door on a small refrigerator, removed two ice cubes, wrapped them in the center of a clean, white washcloth, and stepped back to Courtney. He reached out and tenderly touched the cool cloth to her lips. “What’d Bandini do to you, or was it Johnson who did this?”
“It was Bandini. He tried to force himself on me. I fought back as hard as I could. He’d left a gun on his desk. I got to it before he could. He kept coming for me. I warned him.”
“Is he dead?”
“I don’t know … I think so.”
“Look, it was self-defense. You had no choice.”
“Nobody’s going to believe me.”
“I believe you. Just tell the cops what happened.”
“They’re convinced I killed Lonnie. I have to leave. I have to think.”
“I have a friend who lives south of Tampa in a little town called Gibsonton. It’s a carny town. The place where circus workers and carnies live in the winter during the off season. My friend’s name is Boots Langley. He recently retired from the business, and he knows just about everyone in it. He rents out cottages. Stay as long as you need. Tell Boots to put it on my account. I’ll write his address down for you. He’s a quirky kind of fella, but once you get to know him, you can overlook his … uniqueness. Also, he knows a lot of people in the business. Maybe he can point you in the right direction, help you find who you’re looking for.”
“Thank you.” She stood up to leave, walking to the door.
“Wait!” Isaac climbed down from the chair and stepped to the door. He slowly opened it and peeked outside. He watched Johnny Johnson and two other men as they pounded on camper doors, spoke into the crackle of walkie-talkies, and shined flashlights into the dimly lit areas backstage from the midway. “I’m gonna go out there and stall them best I can. Courtney, leave through the side door. Cut between the Himalayan and the Zipper. The taxis are out there. Head for the bus station. Go see Boots Langley.”