Circus Wolf (8 page)

“I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later,” she said and
disappeared inside her caravan.

He stood staring at the door for a few seconds, then
headed down the arcade with its milling crowds, inhaling popcorn, caramel, and
the scents of oily machinery and excited humans. Splashes of color and movement
of whirling rides weaved its magical spell around him. Barkers squawked through
their megaphones. Calliope music blared from the carousel. The din from the
midway penetrated his thrashing thoughts. He had to help Tigra.
And to do that he needed information.

 
Restless, and as if on remote control, his feet took him deeper
into the arcade.
Then he spied Madam Mystic’s tent. The police had
talked to her. Maybe he could wheedle some information from her. It would be
worth a try.

The flap of the tent was open; the inside, like
their caravans, looked like a hurricane had whipped through it. The Amazon
African grumbled as she put things back in order, her gold earrings brushing
her strong ebony jawbone.

When he stepped inside she turned. “Back so soon, my
brother? Good. Plop down your money and state your concerns.”

“Just a social call.
Now that I’m part of the circus family it’s time we
get to know each other better.”

Her laugh was harsh. “We’re a traveling bunch of
misfits and don’t accept outsiders well.” She glanced at him sardonically and
lit three candles. “Besides, I know you well enough.”

He heard the humor in her calypso tone and tried not
to take offense. “Perhaps I have a certain magnetism you’ve yet to appreciate—and
mysterious hidden qualities.”

“Hidden from me? I doubt it.” She winked. “If you
can stand the clutter, sit down. Want some tea? You look like a man with a
tremendous thirst. ”

Wariness slithered through him. “No, no thank you.
We’re all concerned about the police coming through the grounds like storm
troopers, invading our caravans, upsetting our schedules, and interfering with
business. Can you tell me what the cops know that they aren’t telling?”

“They’re wondering the same about all of us. But they
didn’t cross my palm with any
dinario
.
” She frowned. “By the way, neither have you. And
Madam Mystic has a rule…no money no talk. So, fork over the green or be on your
way.”

“I’m sure when you peek into your crystal ball
you’ll see my pay day isn’t until the end of the week. And it won’t be much,
only enough to buy the barest essentials.”

She waved her hand across the crystal and stared at
it a minute. “You can’t hoodwink me. You have some bucks tucked away, and a
very wealthy brother.”

He gazed at the crystal and saw nothing but the
clear glass. “How do you know those things?”

She smiled. “I make it a point to learn a bit about
all the Circus-Carney family.”

“Then you’re aware what the police are looking for
and who has it?”

“Perhaps, but I mind my own business. With
your
secrets, you should be glad I’m
closed-mouthed. Now back to the subject of money. You get paid to be a
roustabout and jack of all trades and I get paid to tell the future—and often
the past. You don’t work for free and neither do I. So, call your brother to
help you out.”

Resentment shot through Hugh like a hot poker. “I
earn my own way. If money is an issue, I’ll leave my watch with you as a pawn
until I get paid.” He took it off and pushed it toward her.

She pushed it back. “You’ll need your watch. Working
with Tigra and the tigers, requires perfect timing.” She looked him up and
down. “I’ll let you run a tab. Five bucks a visit to be paid in full at each
paycheck or I’ll cast a curse on you.”

He shook his head.
Another curse, that’s all I need.
I should run like hell out of here.

“You could leave,” she said with humor ringing in
her voice, “but you’ll only come back and by then the price will have soared
like a sky-rocket. So agree to pay me, and I’ll give you a reading you’ll never
forget.”

The big, buxom African was an accomplished scammer.
“What did you mean earlier when you said that sometimes you read the past?”

She waved her hand across the crystal Ball and
peered deeper into it. “I see a dog. No, no, it’s a wolf...a werewolf. I see
bubbling mud…”

A chill slid down Hugh’s spine.
“Stop!
I don’t want to hear about the past. I want to know who killed Rolo and who the
thief was who stole the golden arrowhead from the museum.”

“But that
is
the
past, my friend. Make up your mind. What is it you
really
want?”

“Dammit. Future or past, I want the name of the
murderer and the name of the thief.”

“Is he not the same?”

“It’s a
he
?”

“Such a request for info has many ramifications.
When a mystic knows things they must tread carefully. I do not answer questions
that can snake back and grab me by the throat.”

“Then forget it; you’re of no help to me.”

She met his gaze with an eerie intensity. “I see
death close by.”

The smoke from the candles thickened. His heart
pounded wildly.
She’s sucking me in
again.
“Exactly what do you mean?”

“The future is a maze of uncertainty.”

“Hell. I don’t need a mystic to tell me that.”

It was clear the fortune teller knew something about
the murders and theft, but for self-preservation was refusing to talk. He
couldn’t blame her. Why would he expect the truth anyway? Maybe the whole band
of closed-mouthed traveling entertainers was a den of liars.

****

Hugh stuck his head into the office doorway. “Good
news,” he told Boss Coleman, “Tigra is resting, but she’ll be able to do the
evenings show.”

“Great!” Coleman said. “Glad you came by. I need a
clown for the Entrance Parade. Billy Cornwell has disappeared. Ever play around
with clown make-up?”

“No, sir.
But if you provide the costume, I can probably
improvise.”

Coleman handed him a costume that was several sizes
too big around the middle and too short. “Tigra is great with make-up and
costuming, but we’d better let her rest. Bubbles, the exotic dancer can help
you. She’s a make-up expert, too. She’s in caravan seven. You’d better talk to
her right away. Unless you’re a quick change artist, you’ll probably have to
wear your costume in the tiger show.” Coleman smiled. “With all the
sensationalism in the newspapers about the tiger attack on Rolo, we should have
a full house in spite of the unpredictable weather.
Which
means we can’t disappoint them on any level.
Maybe a clown in the cage
wouldn’t be a bad idea. I liked the tiger switch trick, but we have to keep the
surprises coming.”

The satisfied look in the boss’ expression and the
calculating tone in his voice sent an uneasy feeling creeping through Hugh.
Could the boss have poisoned Rolo to bring sensationalism to his circus,
thereby increasing the revenue? Could he also be the thief?

As Hugh headed back out into the fairground’s
swarming crowds, he frowned at his thoughts. He liked the boss and didn’t want
to think evil of him.

Chapter
Nine

Hugh slowed his pace when he saw Vance Skull Kilman
coming toward him; he had seen his aerial act from a distance and saw him around
the grounds, following after Tigra, but he’d never talked to him. His long,
high-cheek boned face with shadowy hollows and his musky odor reminded Hugh of
the walking dead he’d known. Skully, as everyone called him, wrinkled his
narrow nose as if he had also caught a scent and gave a poor excuse for a
knowing smile through thin lips, showing long, extremely white teeth.

“Where’s Tigra,” Skully asked.

The biting chill to his voice scraped across Hugh’s
nerves. That and the dead look in his eyes warned that, when it came to women,
Skully was a user and opportunist.
And possibly a killer.

“She’s resting for tonight’s performance.” Tigra’s
habit of not allowing anyone to do what she could do on her own and her
dedication to her job could make her especially vulnerable to an
advantage-seeking man like Skully.

Skully sent him a gleaming white smile; he was
probably considered a handsome man by the ladies. He wore his long, black hair
in a pony-tail and, as an
aerialist,
the man had a
tight flat abdomen, wide-shoulders, and appeared strong and fit. Hugh fought a
pang of jealousy and hoped there wasn’t something going on between Mr.
Highwire
and the Queen of Tigers.

As they did a sizing up dance, Hugh’s suspicions
grew. He sensed something supernatural, cold, even icy about the man. He didn’t
know where Skully Kilman fit into the trouble arising about them, but the vibes
rushing between them were like dark, swirling flood waters of death. The
aerialist bore watching. He definitely didn’t want him around Tigra. Hugh shook
his head at his possessiveness; he was acting as if he owned her.

He snickered at his arrogance; his internal self
knew the truth. Inside he’d always be the once horribly deformed hunchback with
no such rights to any woman. How dare he try to fool himself and others with
his phony facade of confidence? Yes, he resided in a handsome strong body, but
underneath he was still Hugo, the cripple.

No! I mustn’t think the old way.
The angel promised I was equal to any man in
every way, and to honor her, I must honor her belief in me.
To have any kind of life at all, I must
believe in myself, sidestep negative thoughts, and avoid suspecting everyone of
wrong doing.

****

Hugh spent the next few minutes between annoyance,
grim speculation, and building up his nerve to call on the entertainer called
Bubbles. Time was fleeting. He didn’t want to bother Tigra, so he forced
himself to tap on Bubbles’ caravan door. With her radio blaring, it would be
futile to hope she wasn’t home. She answered wearing feathers, rhinestones and
little else.

He swallowed, broke out in a sweat, and couldn’t
seem to avert his eyes. “Mr. Coleman sent me. He thought you might help me with
some clown makeup.”

Bubbles chewed hard on her gum and looked him up and
down like he was a piece of meat. “Sure, honey,” she said with a hillbilly
twang in her voice. “Coleman called and said he was sending you over. Just
plunk
yerself
down and I’ll turn
yer
handsome, serious face into a grinning white-faced jester.
How’s
that?”

“Sounds good.”

In spite of her overt beauty, he saw the telltale
traces of a hard life—lines around eyes that had seen too much, a mouth that
had learned to curse like a truck driver and one that had kissed too many
frogs.
Poor girl.

Her caravan was neat enough except for the counter
strewn with a jumble of varied sized make-up cases. When he eased into the
chair before the mirror, she bent over him, her breasts practically falling out
of her skimpy bra. He leaned back as far as possible. She grabbed his face and
pinched it between long fingers. Her dagger-like blood-red fingernails traced
his skin, and against his will, the stroking sent heat to his groin.

“Want a massage first? For you, honey, it’ll be
free.” She traced her hand to his shoulders and found his knots. “Sugar, you’re
so tense. I could firm you up and then send you on your way loose as a goose.”

 
He cleared
his throat.
“Just the make-up job, please.”

“In a rush to train with Tigra?
I’ll bet she’s a real tiger in the sack.”

Hugh frowned. “I wouldn’t know. She’s a professional
with me and I appreciate that about her.”

“You gay, honey?”

“Please, Miss Bubbles.”

“Okay. But for a guy who wants to play clown, you’re
not much on clowning around.”

She worked fast and rough, revealing her
displeasure. As she fit a white skull cap over his head, she said, “It’s a
shame to hide all that silky hair.” She yanked a hank through a hole in the top
and dangled it down his back like a pony tail. She fingered it slowly then
finally affixed false tufts of hair over his ears. She dropped her lipstick in
his lap and when she retrieved it, she managed to stroke a finger across his
cock.

Hugh tightened his jaw, and with effort,
concentrated on the make-up job.

“You do good work.” He groaned at his choice of
words after just being fondled.

“What I meant is
,
you’re
skilled with make-up.”

“I’m skilled in everything, honey. Remember, when
you need a massage I do a
thorough
job.” She tilted her head. “If it’s Tigra who scratches your itch, just
remember Rolo. They were hot for each other until his popularity grew to almost
match hers. Think about it. Isn’t it strange an expert trainer like The Queen
of Tigers couldn’t stop her assistant from getting mauled and chewed up like
raw steak?” She leaned in closer, giving him the feeling she was on the verge
of adding something else then cut herself off.