ClownFellas (25 page)

“What do you mean you're already booked?” Buggy yelled, wheeling Mittens through the Rainbow Gardens clown brothel. “I thought the space was available. That's what you said when I spoke to you last week.”

Miss Tina shrugged her fluffy shoulders. “I told you that it
might
be available. You never checked back in with me. It's available next Saturday, but not Friday.”

“But I need it on Friday,” Buggy said. “I've already been promoting that it'll be here on that date. I can't change it now.”

“It's not my fault you didn't solidify plans before promoting your event. Besides, my event space is meant for burlesque shows, not comedy routines. Find somewhere else.”

“Come on, Tina.” Buggy followed her as the madam inspected a line of clown girls, correcting their posture and tightening their belts. She wanted each of her employees to look as sexy as possible before the customers started arriving for the evening rush. “You've got to do me a favor here. It's a matter of life or death for me.”

“Spare me the sob story, Bugs.” Miss Tina used a long purple fingernail to wipe a drop of chocolate from one girl's bright-pink nose. The girl cringed at the sensation. “The Bozos aren't my favorite people right now. After Jimmy smashing up this place last month, not to mention the hit that was put on Pinky's life, I'm not feeling up to doing you any favors. Your man Winky almost killed my only son. Do you know what that would have done to me?”

“None of that was my fault. Winky was acting on his own. I never would've agreed to it.”

“It doesn't matter, Bugs. He's part of your crew. He's your responsibility. I'm not a Bozo, but even I know that.”

Miss Tina grabbed one of her girls by the breasts and squeezed them. The honking noise they made sounded more like a dying cat than a horn.

“Put more air in these, Cassie,” she told the large-breasted clown.

Buggy wouldn't give in. “Can you at least tell me who reserved the space from you? Maybe I can cut a deal with him.”

“Confidentiality is important in my business,” Miss Tina said. “I don't divulge that kind of information.”

Buggy pulled out a wad of hundreds.

Miss Tina looked at the capo, then at the money. She took it and shoved it in her cleavage.

“Reverend Jellybottom,” Tina said. “But you have to keep that between us.”

“Jellybottom? What kind of event would he want to throw at a brothel?”

Miss Tina shrugged. “I didn't ask.”

Buggy tried to wrap his brain around what a priest would want to do with the brothel's event space, but every possibility sent chills down his spine.

“If you can get him to agree to move his event elsewhere, you can have your event here,” Tina said. “But if I hear that you threatened him or forced him to change venues in any way, you'll have to answer to me.”

“Don't worry about it. I'm sure money will be enough to persuade him.”

Buggy didn't like the idea of bribing a priest. Not because he was morally opposed to it, but because priests were usually expensive to bribe. He hoped Reverend Jellybottom was the corrupt easy-to-bribe kind of priest. The reverend was planning an event at a brothel, after all, so he couldn't possibly be too ethical.

“Raarrfff!” Mittens roared when he saw the priest step out of his office.

“Reverend Jellybottom?” Buggy's voice echoed through the church.

“Yes, can I help you, Brother Buttons?” said Jellybottom. The preacher had a wide smile on his face, stepping belly-first toward the capo.

Buggy had never met him before, but he was only half surprised the reverend already knew his name. He heard that the clown liked to keep tabs on everyone in the Bozo Family. Perhaps he hoped to one day convert a Bozo. It would be quite an accomplishment for a priest to get a clownfella to change his ways.

“Raarrfff!” Mittens roared again. It was the most passionate bark Buggy had heard from the animal in ages.

Jellybottom looked down at the dog and said, “It appears your bulldog doesn't like me, Brother Buttons.”

Buggy picked the bulldog up in his arms, getting himself tangled up in the life support wires.

“Raarrfff!” Mittens cried.

Buggy had no choice but to hold the dog by the snout so he wouldn't bark anymore.

“Sorry, Reverend,” Buggy said. “Mittens is agnostic. He tends to get upset whenever he's around devout religious types.”

“Ahh-ha!” the reverend said with a big smile on his face. He assumed the clownfella was joking. “Well, what brings you here on this fine day, Brother Buttons?”

Buggy said, “Can we go somewhere private? I don't like how my voice carries in this place.”

“Of course. Of course.” The reverend led him and his bulldog into his office and shut the door. “Please, have a seat.”

Buggy sat down in a chair across from the priest's desk and put Mittens in the chair next to him with the life support machine between them. Mittens didn't bark anymore, but he sat upright with a grumpy look on his face, his bottom teeth sticking up over his jowls with utter contempt for the reverend.

“I hear you're throwing some kind of an event at the Rainbow Gardens.”

“Ahhh-ha,” said the reverend. “Yes, yes. The church is being renovated next week so I needed a place for my congregation to meet for mass.”

“On a Friday night?”

“Yes, yes. Friday Night Mass. That's when we have the fish-juggling contest.”

“Fish-juggling what?”

“It's very popular,” said Reverend Jellybottom, nodding with a wild smile on his face.

“So…you're having mass…at the Rainbow Gardens…on a Friday night…” Buggy's brain felt like it was about to melt out of his ears and roll down the back of his head.

“Yes, yes. Tina and I were childhood friends. We go way back. She often lets me use her venue for my church's events.”

“You know it's a whorehouse, right?”

“I know it's a place of sin, yes. But most places in this world are havens for sin. As a man of God, I don't judge.”

“And your congregation is okay with that?”

“I just tell them that it's a jazz club. They don't know the difference. Besides, there's a separate entrance for the theater. My congregation doesn't have to go through the brothel to get in.”

“Well, here's the deal,” Buggy said. “The space was double-booked for next Friday. I have a really important event I need to throw there and it coincides with your Friday mass. I'm wondering if you can move it elsewhere.”

Reverend Jellybottom rubbed his nose and stood from his desk. He paced the room, bobbing his head up and down in thought.

“Yes, yes,” he said. “That is a dilemma indeed, Brother Buttons. But, unfortunately, it's too late for me to make other arrangements. There's not another space available that my church can afford.”

“What if I set you up at the Marriott?” Buggy asked. “I'll pay. I can get you a real nice space to have your mass. It's got to be better than doing it in the back of a brothel.”

“Nah, hotels won't work,” said the reverend. “They won't let us do fish-juggling. We can't have Friday Night Mass without fish-juggling. Why don't you have your event at the Marriott?”

Buggy let out a deep breath. He was getting impatient with the holy man. “I can't do it at the Marriott because I need my event to be a little discreet, if you know what I mean. It's not exactly legal.”

The reverend's eyes lit up. “Is it a comedy show? Lord knows I love a good comedy show. When I was a boy I always dreamed about becoming a stand-up comedian, before it became illegal that is.”

“Yeah, it's a comedy show,” Buggy said. “The biggest show this town's ever seen. I'm bringing Bobby Goldstein back.”

“Bobby Goldstein? Are you kidding me?”

“I'm serious. That's why the venue is so important to me. You can do your mass anytime, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime event.”

Jellybottom rubbed his chin. “Hmmm…Well, the mass is over at nine
P.M.
Perhaps you can have your show after that.”

“But I'm already selling tickets that say eight
P.M.
I can't change it.”

Jellybottom thought about it some more. Then he snapped his fingers. “I got it! How about we combine our events?”

“Combine what?”

“We have both events at the same time. Friday Night Mass and Bobby Goldstein's stand-up routine. It'll be one heck of a night.”

“Combine a comedy show with a church service? Are you kidding me?”

“You haven't been to my Friday Night Mass. It's a crazy good time. You'll see. People are going to love it. Maybe even more than Bobby Goldstein.”

Buggy waved his hands. “No. No way. People are paying a thousand bucks a ticket to see this show. There's no way I can let a church service open a show like that. The crowd would have my head.”

“I'll make it fun!” said the reverend. “You'll see. My sermons are a blast.”

“Nobody's going to want to listen to your boring-ass sermon.”

When Buggy said that, the reverend's smile dropped from his face. He broke eye contact with the clown and straightened the crucifix on his wall.

“I'm sorry you feel that way, Brother Buttons. But if you want to have your show at my venue, you're going to have to do things my way. I give a sermon before your show or you find someplace else for your comedian to perform.”

Buggy didn't know what to do. He considered threatening the clown, but if he even tried he knew word would get back to Miss Tina. Then she'd never let him use her space.

“This is going to be a disaster,” Buggy said as he wheeled Mittens out of the church. He didn't care that the reverend could hear his voice as it echoed through the building.

“Tell me you got Bobby Goldstein,” Buggy said when he met up with Winky Gagliano later that night.

They were at Snuffy's club. When Buggy entered, he couldn't believe the state of the place. The furniture was wobbly and splintered. The lighting was too dim to read a menu. The bar was only stocked with watered-down bottom-shelf liquor. The hardwood floor was sticky and smelled of urine. It was no wonder why nobody ever came to this club.

“Yeah, I got him,” Winky said. “Piece of cake.”

Buggy didn't believe it. “Are you serious? He agreed?”

Winky popped a gumball in his mouth. “Yeah. It took a bit of persuasion, but he eventually gave in.”

“Are you sure? He said yes? He'll definitely be there?”

Winky popped another gumball in his mouth. “Ask him yourself if you don't believe me. He's in the back.”

Buggy paused for a moment. He looked at Mittens and back at Winky. “What do you mean he's in the back? He's here?”

“Yeah,” Winky said.

“Bobby Goldstein?”

“Yeah, through that door.” Winky pointed at the door to the back storeroom.

“You didn't…”

Buggy threw open the storeroom door and saw Bobby Goldstein in the center of the room. He was beaten, gagged, tied to a chair. His clothes were bloody and he looked like he had at least two broken bones.

“Winky, you stupid piece of shit…” Buggy turned to the clown. “What the hell is this? I told you to coerce him into doing the show, not kidnap him.”

“You said I could use force if I had to.”

“Not this kind of force, you son of a bitch!”

Buggy went to the comedian. “I'm real sorry, Mr. Goldstein. This was all a misunderstanding.”

When Buggy removed the gag, the comedian cried, “Take me to a hospital. Please…I think I'm bleeding internally.”

Buggy returned the gag to his mouth.

“What the hell did you do to him, Winky?”

Winky shrugged. “Well, I only roughed him up a little once he refused to do the show, but then he tried to escape.”

Winky paused. His winking eye started to twitch.

Buggy raised his voice. “And?”

Winky spit out his chewed gumballs. “Well, he was too fast to chase on foot so I had to use my car.”

Buggy raised his voice even louder. “And?”

“I couldn't think of any other way to stop him so…”

“So you ran him over?”

“Just a little,” Winky said.

Buggy was about to strangle the kid. “What do you mean just a little?”

“Well, I wasn't going that fast…and only part of him went under the tire.”

“You goddamn moron! How is he going to perform like this?”

Winky just shrugged.

“Do you know how bad you messed this up? People are going to be looking for him. The
police
are going to be looking for him. And where the hell are we going to take him if he actually needs a doctor? Not a hospital. We'd be arrested in minutes.”

“He'll probably be fine to do one show…”

“You ran over his freakin' leg! He won't even be able to stand up on his own!” Buggy turned from Winky. He had to figure out how to fix this mess. He contemplated putting bullets in all three of their heads, dumping their bodies in the river, and getting the heck out of town before he got himself whacked. “You really messed this one up…”

Buggy looked over at the comedian and saw that he was trying to speak. When he removed the gag, Goldstein took a few deep breaths. He looked like he was in so much pain he could hardly talk.

“I'll do your show,” Goldstein cried. “I'll do whatever you want. Just get me a doctor. At least get me something for the pain.”

Buggy looked over at Snuffy. “You got any strong painkillers in this place?”

Snuffy's voice was muffled beneath his handkerchief as he said, “I've got vodka.”

“Anything stronger?”

“I've got three kegs of laughy-gas,” Snuffy said, pointing to a few canisters in the back of the room.

“Will that work?” Buggy asked.

“Yeah. I think it's morphine-based.”

Buggy nodded. “Give it to him, then.”

Snuffy and Winky moved a canister to Bobby Goldstein, slipped the mask over his face, and turned on the gas. Within minutes, Bobby relaxed. Then he began chuckling.

As they watched the comedian laugh at nothing in particular, Buggy realized how unusual it was for Snuffy to have so many laughy-gas canisters in his club. If he was dealing the stuff off the record, Don Bozo would be pissed. Their treaty with the Carnies explicitly stated that the Bozo Family was not allowed to deal laughy-gas in Little Bigtop. The Carnies had a monopoly on that market. If anyone else but Buggy saw this, it would've been enough to get Snuffy whacked.

Buggy turned to Snuffy and asked, “What the heck are you doing with this much laughy-gas anyway? I thought the only drug you did was glitter.”

“It's not for me. It's for my customers.”

“So you're dealing? Behind the boss's back? Are you nuts?”

Snuffy shook his head. “I'm not dealing it to customers. I use it for ambience.”

“What the heck do you mean by that?”

“Since the only comedians I can get to perform here are terrible, I usually have to flood the room with laughy-gas so that the customers enjoy themselves. It's the only way to get them to laugh at all the bad jokes.”

Buggy shook his head. “You're such an idiot, Snuffy. Do you know the street value of this stuff? No wonder your club's hemorrhaging money. You spend ten times more on laughy-gas than you make from customers.”

Snuffy's hands shook as he spoke, getting defensive. “But it's an investment. If people enjoy themselves, then they'll come back for more. Eventually, I'll be able to pack this place every night. Then I can raise the cost of admission. Then I can afford good comedians. Then I wouldn't need the laughy-gas.”

“Yeah, and how is your plan going for you so far?”

Snuffy responded with silence. He didn't want to admit the number of years he'd been attempting his scheme with no results.

“That's what I thought,” Buggy said. “You forget that this place is a complete dump. Nobody respectable would ever come in here. You're spending a fortune for nothing.”

The volume of Bobby Goldstein's laughter increased from a low chuckle to a mad roar.

“Turn that off. You're giving him too much.” Buggy pointed at the canister until Winky shut off the gas. “We don't want him to overdose on the stuff.”

“I once saw a guy OD on this,” Winky said, giggling at the thought. “He laughed so hard his head exploded.”

“That's just an urban legend,” Snuffy said. “It didn't actually happen.”

“It did!” Winky cried. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Cut the crap,” Buggy said, trying to speak over Goldstein's insane laughter. “Winky, I want you to find a doctor for the comedian.”

“Where am I going to find a doctor?” Winky asked.

“I don't care. Ask around. Get the boss's vet if you have to. You know, what's his name…that Jewish guy.”

“You mean Berryman?” Winky asked.

“He's Jewish?” Snuffy asked.

“Whatever, just find somebody. Goldstein needs to be able to perform next Friday.”

Winky said, “You got it, boss,” and left the club.

Buggy and Snuffy left the back room and locked Goldstein inside. The comedian's cackles could still be heard through the door.

“So how did you do today?” Buggy asked Snuffy. “Did you generate any interest for the show?”

Snuffy smiled and nodded. “Yeah, it went great. Everyone on that list you gave me seemed really interested to see Bobby Goldstein perform.”

“Even for a thousand bucks?”

Snuffy's face grew confused. “You're charging a thousand bucks a ticket?”

“Yeah, didn't you tell anyone that?”

Snuffy shrugged. “I assumed it was the same price as always.”

Buggy was about to collapse at Snuffy's words. “Tell me you didn't sell any tickets…”

Snuffy inched away. He didn't want to be within fist range when he answered. “Not many. Just a hundred or so.”

“A hundred or so! How many exactly?”

“A hundred and eighty-five.”

Buggy lunged at Snuffy, but the droopy-faced clown backed away before he could get him.

“You son of a bitch,” Buggy yelled. “I oughta chop you up and feed you to Mittens.”

Snuffy looked over at the bulldog in the corner and Mittens said, “Erff…”

“Look, I can make it right,” Snuffy said. “I'll tell them it was a mistake.”

Buggy stepped toward Snuffy, ready to break his face if he got close enough, but Snuffy stayed out of arm's reach. “You better make this right.”

“I will. I promise!”

When Buggy calmed down, he took a few deep breaths and thought of a plan. He knew Snuffy wouldn't be able to figure out a solution on his own.

“I want you to refund the money of each and every person you sold a ticket to,” Buggy said. “You apologize to them and tell them that the tickets are actually two thousand dollars. But, because of the mistake, you'll give them a half-off discount for only a thousand dollars a ticket. That way you
might
be able to actually sell a few.”

Before Buggy left, he said one last thing to the sniveling clown. “Whatever you do, make sure you get the tickets back from everyone you sold one to. I don't want a single seat filled for less than a thousand bucks.”

Snuffy didn't say anything. He just nodded. It was obvious that he'd sold at least a few tickets on the street that would be impossible to get back.