They were in Wiley Park, a small campsite just off a main road. No campervans were parked there tonight. "I know this place," Jamie said. "Hell, I grew up right around here. We used to fish in this river. And that paper mill across the road, we used to break its windows. Friend of mine tried to torch it one time. What are we doing here?"
Gonko spat in the direction of three tents, set up so the campsite's toilet block obscured them from the road. Large tents, with stripes like hard-boiled candy, and an antique looking caravan. In fact it was a marvel Jamie hadn't seen them until this moment. More circus magic? A few figures bustled around in between the tents, whispering to each other.
For superhero clowns concerned with the welfare of all, they were rather casual in dumping Dean's and Jodi's unconscious bodies in the nearest tent, and booting out the four strange people who'd been sleeping in there. Two were short—in fact they were dwarfs. One earned a kick when he grumbled at being woken. The other two looked Mediterranean, their necks and arms covered in brass and copper jewelry.
One of the dwarfs—in fact the one Gonko kicked—spotted Jamie and snarled, "You!" Fast as a rabbit he was on him, the little stubby kicks not so scary until one hand went behind his back and pulled free a dagger.
Gonko laughed at the initial attack but now jumped in, yanking the blade away and throwing it in the river. "I know you!" the dwarf screamed. "Let me cut him! My friends! You kilt Lucky and Banjo! You kilt em! You broke my record player too, dirty sumfabitch, I remember you!"
"Easy, this is a different clown," said Gonko, wrestling the dwarf to another tent. There came the murmur of conversation and the dwarf's angry weeping as Gonko explained things. The gypsies whispered to each other as they stared at Jamie. "What did I do?" he said.
"It was JJ," said Rufshod. "Don't sweat it. Ignore dwarfs, they get mad easy."
"Who or what is this JJ? Do I have an evil twin or something?"
Rufshod put his hands on Jamie's shoulders. "Look, JJ—I mean, Jamie. That is the craziest thing I ever heard."
•
When they were settled around a small fire, armed with marshmallows, Gonko continued his explanations. "So what we do is, we figure out what tricks have got bad stuff coming down the pipeline, see? Car crash or what have you. Then we get 'em in the show and do some circus magic, and we take away their bad luck. Some of 'em got a disease, but not after they been here with us. Some got evil in their hearts, they like to beat on puppies or swipe someone's oatmeal? Well after a show, they're all cotton candy and niceness sauce. Dig it?"
"Trying to dig it."
Gonko tensed up. The stick broke in his hand. "What's the problem?"
"For good guys, you seem to like laying on the violence, that's all. You may well be telling the truth, don't get me wrong . . ."
"A bit of slapstick, so what? Can't really hurt a carny, can it?"
"Dean isn't a carny. Nor is Jodi."
"They're carnies now. Don't you get it? There was gonna be a big train crash next week; they were both toast. We saved 'em. So now they can repay us by helping the circus out a little while. Then they go back to their normal trick lives."
"But Gonko," said Doopy.
"How long will you keep them here?" said Jamie.
"They're free to leave whenever they like."
"But gonko!" Doopy wailed.
"Shut your shit pie," Gonko snarled. "One more word, Doops, and I write a letter to Mr. Bigbad." Doopy went quiet and bit his knuckles. Gonko said, "So I figure they owe us a couple of weeks. Month, tops. Clown's honor. Who knows, maybe they'll like it here and want to stay, like you did."
Jamie sensed he shouldn't say it, but he did. "Does that apply to me too? Am I free to go right now?"
A tense silence. "Why, sure you are, Jamie," Gonko said slowly. "But it would be a mistake."
"Because?"
"Let's just say it would put you in grave physical danger."
Jamie nodded. "I expected as much."
•
So then Gonko was bullshitting him to some extent—he was maybe seventy-five percent sure of that, though not completely. It was also clear he had a history with them, that they wanted him around for some reason, and that there was a fair chance if he played ball, for now at least, he'd come to no harm. And yet none of these apparently familiar names and faces had jogged hidden memories.
When the "explanations" had ended, he went into Dean and Jodi's tent to check on them, beyond the pulse check he'd done earlier to verify Dean, in fact, still lived. Someone had been into the tent to put a clown outfit on Dean—striped pants of nearly fluorescent green and red, a stupidly frilly shirt, a red rubber nose, and something like a sailor's hat with rainbows vomited over it. Not only was Dean still breathing, it was now hard to tell he'd been severely beaten only hours ago. There was minor swelling in one cheek, a dried crust of blood here and there, but that was all.
Quick as a snake strike Dean sat up, the shock of it setting Jamie back on his butt. "Hi," said Dean in a flat voice. Then, just as quickly, he lay back again, snoring. His leg kicked out to the side once, twice.
Jodi snapped forward at least as quickly as Dean had. Her hand was around his throat, two long fingernails pinching his Adam's apple. She hissed, "What the fuck have you gotten us into?"
He gently pried her hand away. "You aren't going to like this answer . . . but I don't quite know. We'll talk later, okay? I'm not sure it's safe right now."
"You're not sure? They beat him half to death and now he's crazy. What the fuck am I doing here? I've known him one week, and this is the first time I've even spoken to you. I heard about you running around in your clown suit. What kind of freak serial killer are you?"
"Look . . . this is not a normal situation—" Her hand went for his throat again, and he dodged. "What I mean is, this isn't a case of drug dealers or some criminal gang. They're not going to kill us." He thought this was probably true, but either way she'd need to hear it said. "Look, you are going to see some very weird shit pretty soon, okay? You'd better brace yourself. Play along, as much as you can. They say they want us to help them out for a couple of weeks, tops."
"What kind of weird shit do you mean that's weirder than what I already—"
"I mean magic, real actual magic." He saw the contemptuous disbelief in her face—she was a skeptic. That did not bode well for her sanity in the short term. "I'm serious, Jodi, they call it circus magic, it's real." She'd turned away from him, laying down again as if to sleep. He said, "They say they're the good guys, that they saved you and Dean from danger. I don't know if that's true, but there's enough weird stuff going on that it just might be true, in part anyway."
"They beat him half to death to save him from danger? Do you even know what you're saying?"
"That was a misunderstanding. He was standing there with a baseball bat like he was about to jump me. But you're right, they beat him half to death and look at him now. Hardly a mark or bruise on him. His nose was smashed, Jodi. He was probably in a coma. Look at him now." She had stopped listening. He could think of nothing better to say than: "Brace yourself, play along."
A hand yanked him out of the tent. It was Rufshod. "You're sleeping with us," he said. "You're a real clown, you passed your audition, just like I had to. Him? No audition." Rufshod's face bunched up in distaste.
"Well, you know, he didn't get much choice in it."
"Neither did y—I mean, yeah, good point."
"I'm not sleeping tonight, I don't think. Too much to think about. And this face paint's got me revved up."
"Take it off if ya want."
"No way!" Jamie jumped up to exaggerated heights then slowly floated down. "Had dreams where I do this all the time, off rooftops and buildings."
Rufshod shrugged. "Want to go break stuff?"