The back lot was a large area, almost as large as the carnival itself. Here there were half a dozen RVs belonging to the better-off full-time carnies who had stalls, rides, or ran games, but there were also bunkhouse trailers with tiny rooms big enough for a bed or bunk beds and a small walking space. Divine suspected you’d have more room in a prison cell, but all it was for was sleeping so in that sense it served its purpose. There were usually four to six bunkrooms in each trailer; some bunkhouses had their own lavatory for the inhabitants to share, some didn’t. For those without, there were other trailers with mobile lavatories in them. There was also a trailer that served as a schoolroom for those children traveling with carnie parents, as well as a laundry trailer and a couple of small trailers that acted like small markets, corner stores, or drugstores, depending on which one you used.
In effect, the carnival was a small traveling city carrying everything they might need with it. A carnie didn’t really have to go into the towns they visited at all if they didn’t want to unless there was some specialty item that wasn’t available in the traveling stores.
“Miss Divine.”
Slowing, she glanced to the side, nodding in greeting when she spotted Hal walking toward her with a slight limp. A lifelong carnie, Hal was short, wiry, bowlegged, and had more wrinkles, and fewer teeth, than an elephant. The man had one good tooth in his mouth—a nasty, brown thing that looked like it too should have been pulled or fallen out by now. Divine didn’t like stereotypes, but some of the carnies lived up, or actually down, to those things said about them: hard drinking, fast living, rotten teeth, and old before their time. Hal fit every one of those stereotypes. Still, she liked the man.
From what Divine had read in his mind, Hal had earned every one of those wrinkles, and hadn’t lost all his teeth to rot. In fact, it appeared he’d lost half of them to alcohol-fueled brawls over the years. He was also as honest as could be. He’d tell you flat-out to lock your stuff up or it would go walking. “Finders keepers,” he’d add with a wink, making it more than obvious who would help it go walking. You couldn’t fault the man for that. At least he gave fair warning. Few people did.
“Your limp is a bit better,” Divine commented as she watched him close the last few feet between them.
“Ah-yep.” He grinned at her, showing off his one good tooth and a lot of gum. Running his fingers through his scraggly gray hair, he nodded his head and added, “All thanks to you. That remedy you gave me worked wonders. The gout’s goin’ away toot sweat.”
Divine’s lips twisted upward at the mispronunciation of “tout suite,” but she didn’t correct him.
“Another day and I won’t be limping at all,” he continued, beaming, and confided, “Haven’t been limp-free in so long, I’ve forgotten how it feels. And I just wanted to thank ye kindly, Madame Divine. I haven’t felt this good in more than a decade and it sure is nice.”
“You’re welcome,” Divine said, smiling faintly. She’d noticed the man seemed to be doing more poorly than usual a couple of towns back. It hadn’t taken mind reading to know he was suffering with his gout, and Divine had whipped up an old remedy for the ailment that she knew from her days running with the Gypsies. As he said, it appeared to be working relatively quickly. Of course, it would have worked quicker if he would refrain from red meat, coffee, and alcohol. But that was asking a bit much of the old man.
Divine could have slipped into his thoughts and controlled him, making him give up the booze and the other unhealthy food items that contributed to his problem, but she had no desire to control other people’s lives. Animals like Allen Paulson were one thing; she had no qualms at all about preventing him or his ilk from harming or killing anyone for financial gain, but other than that, Divine was an advocate of the “live and let live” credo. She didn’t want anyone controlling her actions and behaviors, and had no need or desire to control others. It was her opinion that people who did try to control others were sadly lacking in self esteem . . . and there seemed to be a lot of them. Judging by all the people starting movements to try to get the government to stop this and ban that, they also seemed to have a hell of a lot of time on their hands. She couldn’t help thinking that if they got a job, or a lover, friends, a hobby, or—hell—even a life, they’d be a lot more fulfilled and wouldn’t look to control what others did as a way to satisfy themselves.
“Well, I just wanted to thank you,” Hal said again, “And let you know your efforts worked before I head out to celebrate with Carl.” He hesitated and then added tentatively, “And see if you maybe wouldn’t want to join us? We’re going into town, McMurphy’s Irish Pub. I stopped there the last time we were in Bakersfield and they have the best ribs I ever tasted. Oak-smoked I think the gal said they were. Real good,” he assured her.
“Tempting,” Divine said gently. “But no thank you, Hal. You and Carl have fun. No fighting, though,” she added firmly. “If you come back toothless I’ll be mighty annoyed with you.”
“I’ve no great love for the hoosegow, so no fighting,” he vowed, raising crossed fingers that suggested the opposite. The man was just too delightfully honest, she thought as he added, “At least none we start. Now iffin’ someone in town starts something, we just can’t let ’em walk all over us, you know. But we won’t be starting them.”
Shaking her head with amusement, Divine nodded and turned to continue on her way, thinking she should keep her phone on. If Hal and Carl wound up in the “hoosegow” and needed bailing out tonight, she’d rather they call her than disturb Madge and Bob. The couple were getting up there in years, and the stressors and trials of running the carnival were beginning to show. If she could make things a little easier for the couple, she was happy to do it. Besides, it wasn’t like she’d be sleeping. She generally only slept an hour or two a day now. Divine had no idea if that was a function of age or worry, and didn’t care. It was just the way it was. Divine had learned over time not to sweat the small stuff. There was enough in life to worry about; the small stuff wasn’t worth fretting over.
The light was on in the Hoskinses’ RV, which meant that Madge, as usual, had left Bob to handle any last-minute issues that might crop up at closing and had returned to their RV to put on a pot of coffee and make a light snack for them to enjoy while they unwound. It was their usual routine. Madge opened and started the day and Bob closed at the end of the night. Teamwork at its best. At least, it seemed to work for them. The couple had been married thirty years and were still happy and affectionate with each other, which wasn’t unheard of, but rare enough among mortals to be mentioned.
Of course, while it was unusual for mortals, that was the norm with immortals. Once they met their life mate they were set. Ten, a hundred, even a thousand years later that couple would still be solid and happy together. It was what every adult immortal looked forward to. Divine used to dream of it herself, but that was when she was much younger. She had soon come to realize that the way she lived, having to hide and avoid other immortals, made it pretty much impossible to meet her life mate. She would be alone always, and that was a very long time unless she either got lucky and had a fatal accident where she was decapitated or burned alive, or she went really rogue and got herself executed. Some days, when her Gypsy lifestyle and lack of home and family got to her, engineering such an accident actually seemed almost attractive. So far, though, those moods passed before she did anything stupid. So far.
Pushing the thought away as she reached the door to the Hoskinses’ RV, Divine knocked briefly, waited for the “Come on in,” that Madge called out, and then pulled the door open and stepped inside. But the smile that had started to lift the corners of her mouth and the greeting she’d been about to offer died as she nearly walked into the greenie, Marco.