“Are you Mr. Sweeney?” she asked.
He nodded and said, “Can I help you?”
She reached into the pocket of the jacket, pulled out a car key on a rubber fob and held it out in the air.
“I’ve got your Honda.”
“Oh,” Sweeney said, “you’re from the agency.”
She nodded and he took the keys, then hesitated a second, unsure of the etiquette here, if he should invite her in.
“Have you been driving all night?”
He saw her look past him into the apartment and motioned with his thumb. “I’d offer you a coffee, but I just got into town myself. Haven’t made it to the store yet.”
She ignored the explanation and fished, first in one skirt pocket and then in the other, until she pulled free a crumpled receipt. “You’re supposed to sign that,” she said.
“Right,” Sweeney said. “Of course.”
He left her standing in the doorway and went back to the couch, retrieved his pencil from the puzzle book, returned to the door, smoothed the receipt against the jamb and wrote his name on the bottom line.
“You’re supposed to keep the yellow copy,” the girl said, and Sweeney tore the backing sheet free and handed over its mate.
“This is a little awkward,” Sweeney said. “I’d like to give you something, you know.”
“You don’t have to do that,” the girl said. “I left the car in the lot out in back of this place.”
“Thanks,” Sweeney said, “but really, I’d like to, you know, tip you. For all that driving you did. And you got here ahead of schedule and all. But I haven’t gotten to a bank and I’ve only got large bills. What if you give me your address and I can mail something to you?”
She put a hand over her mouth and yawned, then said, “It’s not necessary. You saved me bus fare.”
Finally, he stepped back and asked, “Do you want to come in for a while? You really look bushed.”
“My friend’s waiting outside in her car,” she said. “I’ve got to cruise. You could call the agency though. Tell them I did a good job.”
“I’ll do that,” Sweeney said. “Are you staying in town long?”
“We’ll see,” she said, turned to leave and turned back to add, “Your Accord really burns a lot of oil. You should have it looked at.”
“I’ll do that, too,” he said. “Thanks again.”
By now she had moved across the storage area, thumbed the elevator, and was yawning again. She gave a halfhearted wave and Sweeney couldn’t decide if he should stand watching her until the lift arrived.
But the girl looked back at him and said, “I’m all set,” through a yawn and he closed the door. He started to put the receipt in his pocket and touched the envelope that Adele had given him up in the vault.
He pulled it free, tore it open, and removed a prescription sheet. Dr. Alice Peck’s name was at the top of the sheet, but the note underneath read
I’d like to talk to you about Danny.
I’m working third shift again tonight,
if you’d like to come by and visit.
Nadia Rey
He read it twice and reminded himself not to overreact. Back at the St. Joseph, every call, every note, every meeting had been a problem. Not once in the last year had a single request to talk resulted in good news.
He carried the note into the bedroom and dropped it on the bureau, then looked at himself in the mirror. No wonder the drive-away girl had refused to come into the apartment. He stripped off his clothes and took a cold shower. Then flopped back on the couch and tried, once again, to understand the world of the freaks.
LIMBO COMICS: FROM ISSUE # 6: “The Roving Jubilee”
. . The purchase of the bus hadn’t left much of a bankroll. And Bruno had to deplete it even further the next day by buying a route card at their first gas stop.
The next week was one long blur of driving through farmlands and pastures and skirting the bigger cities. The freaks were hot and dirty and regularly hungry. They ate two meals a day, cooked hobo style on the roadside. Gehenna became a different land with each day that passed, and the extent of the differences from day to day suggested an enormity that began to awe them.
They stopped twice for provisions — once at a roadside produce stand and once at a blighted general store. Bruno knew they would run out of money for gas and food before they reached the interior plains, but he chose not to share that fact.
Chick had a couple of low-grade seizures during the trip, which bore a couple of names that, as usual, didn’t yet mean anything to anyone. But he did hear the Limbo voice, the father voice, mention a show title that was featured prominently on the route card. The Bedlam Brothers Present the Roving Jubilee, a Pious Entertainment for the Righteous and the Reborn sounded both impressive and a little frightening and there was some debate as to whether or not such a show would want a freak act on their bill. But the card said the Jubilee was playing a weeklong stand at the county seat, a village called Mach’pella, which, according to the map, was only a day or two away. So that was where the freaks were headed.
They almost made it, too.
The bus broke down just ten miles outside of town. When he felt the engine start its death rattle and the noxious, black smoke being spewed became too much to ignore, the strongman veered off the road and coasted to a stop in a field that stretched to the horizon, a field barren of anything but scrub weeds.
Bruno put his head down on the wheel and said, to himself, “I’ll drive it and I’ll sleep on it, but I’ll be damned if I’ll push it.”
Then he climbed out of his seat, stood in the aisle to stretch, and said to the freaks, “Looks like we’re walking to work this morning.”
No one complained. Like good soldiers, they filed off the bus and lined up by its side. They had no possessions to collect, no clothes to gather and pack beyond what was on their backs.
“Okay,” said Bruno, taking his place before them, “we’re on the hoof and you all know what that means. We stay together and close. I’ll walk lead. Chick’s behind me. Fatos will bring up the rear. Nadja, you hold hands—” He stumbled over the word, regrouped and rephrased. “You hold Antoinette’s hand. Durga, we’ll try to keep the pace moderate. But it’s all flat land, so you shouldn’t have too much trouble. Holler when you need a break.”
And with that, they began their march. It was blazing hot and, though the twins tried to sing as they moved, the day proved too buggy for even a short medley.
BY MIDAFTERNOON, the big tops became visible in the distance. The skeleton was the first to notice, though she was in the rear of the parade. Jeta had terrific eyes and when she spotted the flashes of painted banners and flags against the pale blue sky, she let out a shriek that brought the troupe to a standstill.
“That’s it,” said Bruno. “And, Jesus, it looks big.”
“A fest that large,” said Aziz, swinging on his hands in excitement, “they’re bound to have some annex shows.”
They started moving again now, their voices competing with the rush of their speculations. Did the Bedlam Brothers have their own freaks under contract? And if so, what was the makeup of that troupe? Would they be frauds or second-raters? And if not, would the Brothers hire the clan? And if they did, what would be the fee?
Bruno let them theorize. The adrenaline was nudging them forward faster than a whip could have. Even Durga’s abused knees seemed suddenly oblivious to the pain of ambulating.
“I’m spending my first envelope on pie,” the fat lady said. “That’s all I’ve been able to think about since we left home.”