ClownFellas (11 page)

The fireball of a clown car roared down the street with the Juggler Brothers tailing close behind. No matter what he did, Vinnie just couldn't shake them. The jugglers rode their unicycles across the telephone wires as quickly as if they were on motorcycles, launching bottle after bottle of liquid fire into their path.

“How the hell did they find us?” Jimmy yelled, hanging out the window and whipping at the flames with his coat.

“Somebody must've seen the direction we were headed after we left the brothel.”

“Shit.” Jimmy's coat caught on fire and he tossed it away. “You think Miss Tina told them?”

Vinnie shook his head. “It had to be another customer. Did you see him with anyone before you got into the fight?”

Jimmy shrugged. “He might have been hanging out with other vanillas.”

“Were they French?”

“I don't know. All vanillas look alike.”

Another bottle exploded in the road ahead of them. Vinnie swerved to avoid the pool of flames, nearly rolling the little car in the process.

“They're sloppy,” Vinnie said. “But they're not bad.”

“How the heck are they keeping up with us on those unicycles?”

“They say these guys have been riding unicycles nonstop since they were old enough to walk,” Vinnie said. “And they've built up their leg muscles into super-powered pedaling machines.”

“They're faster than hell.”

But they quickly learned that the jugglers weren't even going as fast as they could go. Once they dropped down from the telephone wires onto the street, they were able to pedal at full speed. The jugglers came up alongside the car, one on Vinnie's side and the other on Jimmy's. They were no longer juggling Molotovs. They juggled chain saws, tossing them back and forth over the roof of the car.

“Where did they get chain saws?” Jimmy asked.

The saws sliced through the car's exterior as the French clowns juggled. Sparks flew from the hood as the chain-saw blades grazed the metal.

“Take them out,” Blue Nose said, handing Jimmy his air horn.

Up close, Vinnie was able to get a good look at one of the jugglers—a clown so skinny that his limbs were like twigs of muscle. His clown face was patterned with black and white circles around his blood-red eyes, wide black grins stretching across his round cheeks. He looked like a spring-action doll from a jack-in-the-box, complete with the pointy little hat on top of his bald white head and a frilly collar around his neck. His brother was identical but he wasn't as thin and he was missing his nose, as if it had been bitten off in a bar fight long ago.

“This is for Pierre, you filthy Bozo,” said the noseless juggler in a thick French accent.

Then he tossed the chain saw into the car with them. It cut a gash across Jimmy's chest, then sliced the top of Vinnie's wrist, and the skinny juggler caught it as it passed through the driver's-side window.

“Motherfucker!” Jimmy cried as blood gushed from his torn shirt.

Jimmy aimed his air horn at the noseless clown and fired, but the juggler was too quick. He leaned back on his unicycle, his back nearly touching the street as he pedaled at seventy miles an hour. The sound wave went right over him and shattered the windows of a hardware shop.

Vinnie let the blood drip from his wrist. It was bleeding fast, but it wasn't that deep. He jerked the wheel and made a hard left, trying to knock over the juggler riding alongside him. The skinny clown moved with him, turning just as quickly, as though he anticipated Vinnie's every move.

“We don't want you, Blue Nose,” the skinny clown said. “Turn over the Bozo boy and we'll let you go.”

“Yes, blue man, don't you want to go back to your pretty human wife? Are you sure you want to make poor Samantha a widow so young?”

Vinnie had no idea how they knew so much about him. All the Bozo Family knew about the members of Le Mystère were rumors they heard from friends of theirs around Little Bigtop. But the French clowns must've done their research on every high-ranking Bozo in the family. Vinnie couldn't help but respect that, despite the vulnerable position they put him in.

“It would be a shame to let the mademoiselle's bed go cold without you,” said the noseless one, juggling the chain saws by himself.

“We'll make sure to keep her warm when you're six feet underground,” said the other, who was now juggling grenades that were attached to his suspenders.

Vinnie didn't like to let his emotions lead his actions, but he couldn't help himself when they were talking about his wife. He pulled out his gun and shot at the skinny clown. All three of the laughing bullets missed their target when the juggler fell back into Vinnie's blind spot. The clown chuckled, delighted to have gotten a rise out of the stone-cold capo.

“So that's your answer then?” the noseless clown said through the passenger window. “You care so little for your wife's well-being?”

Jimmy fired his air horn at the clown peeking through his window, but again the juggler dodged as fast as wind. When he pulled himself upright, the noseless clown tossed one of the grenades into the backseat of Jimmy's car.

“Look out!” Jimmy cried as the glittery pink-and-blue-speckled ball landed in the seat behind them.

The Juggler Brothers fell back, waiting for the vehicle to blow.

“Get it!” Vinnie said.

Jimmy didn't have time to crawl back there and throw it out the window. He aimed his 12-gauge air horn at it and fired. The blast had enough force to blow the back door out, sending the explosive out the new hole in the side of the car.

Vinnie looked in the rearview mirror, watching the grenade as it bounced down the street like a colorful rubber ball. As it bopped between the two unicycles, the smiles dropped from the Juggler Brothers's faces as the French clowns disappeared into a cloud of blue fire.

“Did we get them?” Jimmy asked, sitting on the edge of his seat. He stared back at the blue flames behind them, so excited that he forgot about the blood dribbling down his chest.

“I don't see them,” Vinnie said, watching the flames through the mirror.

“We got them. I
know
we got them.”

But only a moment later, the Juggler Brothers emerged from the blue flames, pedaling their unicycles like apocalyptic horsemen. Their clothes were scorched. Their pointy hats had been blown from their heads. But they weren't wounded. They were pissed.

“No…,” Vinnie said. “They don't go down that easily.”

“Those sons of bitches.” Jimmy leaned out of the window and fired three more blasts from his air horn, but at that range the sound waves dissipated in the wind before reaching their targets.

The juggler brothers threw everything they had at the Bozos. Vinnie swerved the car in a zigzag pattern as grenades exploded into blue fires that tore apart the exterior of the car. When they were out of grenades, the jugglers came at them with the chain saws. Jimmy pointed his air horn out the window and the noseless clown sawed it in half as he pedaled by. Then the skinny brother juggled a saw into the front of the car, cutting into the engine. Smoke poured from the hood.

The engine made a shrieking sound as Vinnie hit the gas, trying to go even faster.

“Hold on,” Vinnie said. “I've got an idea.”

He took a hard right and floored it.

“What's that?” Jimmy yelled, looking at the jagged remains of his air horn.

“We're going into The Sideshow.”

“What!” Jimmy's eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Are you freaking nuts?”

“The Juggler Brothers won't follow us in there.”

“Yeah, because they're not stupid.”

“You got a better idea?”

“Yeah, we can put a couple bullets in our heads right now and make it easy on ourselves.”

Vinnie shook his head. “I don't like it any more than you do, but it's the only choice we got.”

The jugglers didn't turn back when Vinnie led them into The Sideshow. No matter how dangerous that area of town was, nothing was going to stop them from getting their revenge.

“Those crazy motherfuckers,” Jimmy said. “Well, at least if we die they'll go out with us.”

“They don't plan to be in here for long,” Vinnie said. “They're going to try to take us out before we get too deep into Sideshow territory.”

Jimmy looked back at the clowns on the unicycles. They were pulling machetes from sheaths on their backs, preparing for their final attack.

“Be ready for them,” Vinnie said.

Jimmy glanced down at the spliced air horn in his hand. He didn't know how he was supposed to protect himself. Vinnie had one hope. If the French clowns hesitated long enough, they could realize that there wasn't enough time to both attack and return to safety. It was possible they would choose to play it safe.

As they headed deeper into The Sideshow, Vinnie became a little more than worried. He'd only seen this area from a distance, never daring to step foot inside. The place was a wasteland. It had once been an industrial area, now long abandoned. The buildings were left to crumble and rot. Weeds grew through the cement and cracked apart the road. The air was so thick with toxic smog that he couldn't see ten feet in front of him.

When the jugglers came in, they came in hard and fast. They went straight for the tires, cutting through the two in the back as they juggled their machetes back and forth. Vinnie just heard the thunderous pops, then lost control of the vehicle. He glanced away from the road for a moment. Just a moment. He didn't see it coming out of the fog. All he saw was a distorted, maniacal grin as the clown car plowed through its misshapen form.

The tiny clownmobile spun out, hit a pile of debris, and flipped into the air. Red metal crumpled around them as the car crashed roof-first into the street.

For a moment, everything was silent. Blood dripped from Vinnie's round blue nose as he hung upside down inside the mangled vehicle. He blinked. His vision blurred in and out. All he could see of the Juggler Brothers were their unicycle wheels squeaking past his broken window as they circled like sharks.

“Motherfuckers…” Jimmy moaned.

He was more banged up than Vinnie, but he was able to move. He crawled out of the car and staggered to his feet.

“Don't go out there,” Vinnie said.

But Jimmy didn't listen. Jimmy
never
listened.

“You wanna fight me?” he yelled at the jugglers. “Fine, come and fight me.”

Vinnie tried to pull himself out of the car to back Jimmy up, but his seat belt was jammed, pinning him to the spot. He tugged and thrashed but couldn't get free.

“I'll do the same to you as I did your pussy cousin,” Jimmy yelled.

The French clowns circled him, one on each side, hurling their machetes back and forth across Jimmy's front and back, trapping him within their juggling loop. Jimmy just stared at them, laughing death in the eyes.

“You're like a dumb animal, Jimmy Bozo,” said the skinny brother.

The noseless brother finished his statement, “Somebody should have put you down a long time ago.”

Jimmy wasn't brave. He was impulsive. He'd fight fire with gasoline if the mood struck him, and somehow he thought he'd always be lucky enough to get away with whatever crazy action he took.

“You think you're the only clowns who can juggle?” Jimmy asked. He grabbed one of the machetes from midair as it twirled past him. “I can juggle, too.”

Then Jimmy snatched up another machete. He juggled both of them, giggling at the two brothers. The Frenchmen did not respond, staring at their target with blood in their eyes.

“You think you're better than me?” Jimmy asked, juggling far sloppier than the brothers. “You're not better than me. I'm going to slaughter the both of yas.”

Jimmy threw a machete, aiming it right at the skinny brother's head. But the juggler just snatched it in the air, flipped it around, and threw it right back at Jimmy. The Bozo tried to catch it, but it was too fast. The machete impaled his right hand.

“Son of a bitch!” Jimmy fell to his knees.

The sixteen-inch blade split the center of his palm open. He couldn't move any of his fingers. Four of the tendons had been severed. Blood sprayed down his white arm.

“I'll cut off your damn gumballs,” Jimmy yelled, grabbing the other machete with his left hand.

The noseless brother threw a machete into Jimmy's left shoulder. The noise was like a loud clap as the blade tore through the muscles and scraped against bone. Jimmy's arm fell limp and he cried out. His only weapon slid out of his fingers and fell to the ground. All he could do was curse the jugglers as they circled him on their unicycles.

From his upside-down position, Vinnie shot at the brothers, aiming carefully with both hands. But the jugglers dodged every bullet. It was like they knew when he was going to pull the trigger even before he did.

“It's time to finally put you out of your misery, Jimmy Bozo,” said the skinny brother, closing in on the bleeding clown.

Jimmy growled at him like a wounded animal.

“You're not getting away with this,” Jimmy said.

The brothers looked at each other, then back at Jimmy. They rolled up to him and stopped, taking their feet from their unicycle pedals. They finished juggling, catching the machetes and holding two or three in each hand. Bloodthirsty looks in their eyes as they stared down on their wounded prey.

“If your father wants to retaliate that's fine,” said the noseless brother. “We'll be ready for him.”

“That's not what I mean,” Jimmy said. “You won't get away with this because you won't make it out of here alive.”

The clowns giggled. “You still think you're a threat, Little Bozo?”

Jimmy shook his head. “Nah. I was just trying to make as much noise as possible.” He chuckled. “You know, so I could attract the locals.”

The Juggler Brothers looked around. They didn't realize how many of The Sideshow natives had come out of the surrounding buildings, attracted to Jimmy's screams. There were dozens of the deformed shadowy figures. All of them giggling in their warped, gurgling way.

“You're not getting out of here alive, jugglers,” Bozo said, a big bloody smile on his face.

As the figures closed in, the Juggler Brothers looked at each other with panic on their faces.

“Rot in Hell, you son of a bitch,” the noseless brother said, raising a machete at Jimmy.

Before the machete went down into Jimmy's neck, Vinnie fired at him. The noseless clown was forced to dodge. The laughing bullet missed. Vinnie fired twice more, but he didn't go for the clown. He aimed for the street below the juggler's feet. The bullets shattered on impact, spraying tiny pieces of shrapnel at the juggler's ankle. The noseless clown's leg was nicked with the tiniest sliver of metal, but it was enough to inject him with the laughing chemical.

The noseless clown raised his machete again. Then he chuckled. He paused in midair, laughing at Jimmy. Then he looked at his brother and laughed at him. Then he looked at the shadowy figures staggering toward him. He couldn't stop laughing.

“You filthy Bozo scum,” the noseless clown shouted to Vinnie, choking out the words between laughs.

He tried to finish the job, but he was cackling so hard he couldn't even hold the machetes. He dropped them to the ground and then fell to his knees, laughing at the top of his lungs. He wasn't able to dodge when Vinnie put two more bullets into his chest.

“François!” the skinny juggler cried as his brother fell to the ground.

Vinnie fired two more rounds at the ground near the other brother's feet, but the skinny juggler leapt up in the air as the bullets hit. He grabbed on to the power line, pulling himself and his unicycle up.

“You will die,” the skinny juggler yelled. “All of you Bozos will die!”

He looked at his brother's body just one last time, then the skinny clown fled the scene, riding the power line like a tightrope over the horde of figures below. But those ancient cables weren't designed to hold the weight of a clown, even one as skinny as the remaining juggler brother. The wire snapped and the clown fell. Vinnie and Jimmy were too far away to see what happened to him.

“We got them,” Jimmy said, looking over at Vinnie. “We actually took out the Juggler Brothers!”

But they both knew they wouldn't live long enough to celebrate the victory as the giggling figures closed in on them. When they came into the moonlight, Vinnie got a good look at their faces. With their twisted smiles and bulging muscular bodies, they looked like reflections in a fun-house mirror. They were The Sideshow Freaks—deformed, mutant clowns with the minds of depraved psychopaths. Everyone feared The Sideshow Freaks. Even the cops. Even the clownfellas. Even Jimmy Bozo.

“Trespassers…,” said one of the freaks in a hissing voice. He looked like a clown-shaped tyrannosaurus with his hunched back and tiny clawed arms dangling from the center of his chest. “Wicked trespassers…”

The mob closed in around Jimmy.

“Get away from him,” Vinnie yelled, firing his last bullet at one bulbous blob of a clown that didn't even feel it.

All Vinnie did was bring their attention to him. The mutant clowns surrounded the overturned clown car.

“Tuna in a can! Tuna in a can!” A stubby clown with eyes the size of grapefruits giggled at the clown trapped in the driver's seat. “Tuna in a can!”

The last thing Vinnie remembered was a rock-sized red fist breaking through the windshield and colliding with the center of his face.