Don't Sweat the Small Stuff (6 page)

Winston stood up, walked to the door, and pulled it open. He waited while I pushed back my chair and took three steps to the exit.

“You stop back again sometime.” He said it flatly, coldly.

“Or don’t.” Linda looked ready to fry
me
.

As I walked away I knew I’d overplayed my hand. What started out as a tell-all on the Moe Show turned out to be a chilly rebuff. My first act as an official Florida P.I. was a miserable failure.

The Dragon Tail was half full and shrill screams broke through the loud music, AC/DC playing “You Shook Me All Night Long.” The tight curl of the green and gold cars mounted on the tail, then the snap to the left in midair, a snap to the right, followed by that deadly drop. The tequila in my stomach burned, and I turned away from the smoke-breathing monster.

There was no sign of James or the girl as I approached the Bar-B-Que Pit trailer, with its cartoon drawing of a pig’s head smiling at me. Nothing like personalizing your food product. I thought about the kids feeding Winston Pugh’s pig, then stopping here and having the pig feed them. I’m sure the irony was lost on the public.

“What’ll you have?”

I looked up at the man’s grizzled face bearing three days’ growth. His stained apron gave credence to the small hand-lettered sign plastered on the glass window of his trailer.

We’ve got the thickest, tangiest, hottest,
messiest
barbecue sauce in the south. Guaranteed.

“What do you recommend?”

The man shrugged his shoulders, looking bored with the whole process.

“How about a sandwich?”

“Pickle?”

“Sure.”

“Extra fifty cents.”

“Fine. Sandwich and a pickle.”

He slopped the pork and sauce on a bun, laid the fifty-cent pickle spear on top and held out his hand.

“Six fifty.”

“Six fifty? For this sandwich?”

He pulled it back, and I felt the tequila burning deep in my gut. “I’ll take it. I’ll take it.”

The thickest, tangiest, hottest, messiest barbecue sauce in the south joined the tequila and helped stoke the fire down below.

Kids with faces full of cotton candy paraded by, and mothers with sun hats and strollers, along with fathers in shorts with diaper bags on their shoulders and babies in their arms, shepherded small children over the dusty ground.

He was staring at me from the rifle booth. The one where you shoot BBs at a paper target with an air rifle and have to punch out its center. It can’t be done, but stupid people keep trying. I know that for a fact. I spent thirty bucks one time with Em at a small fair.

I glanced at him and he honed in on me, his eyes searching mine. Not the kind of look a carnie gives you when he wants your business. Not like the guy who calls you over to guess your weight or age. There was more to it than that. Like he knew me from somewhere.

“Kid, come here. Try your luck.”

I stopped, tempted to take him up on his offer. I knew better, but as I said, stupid people keep trying.

“Nah, I’m no good at that game.”

“Come here.” He motioned and I walked over. “No one’s good at this game. Why the hell you think we keep it in the show? ’Cause we make all the money and the rubes walk away with nothin’.”

I never heard a carnie use the word rubes before.

The painfully thin man turned, grabbed a furry snake, and tossed it to me. “Here. Pretend you won.” He grinned and I could see several front teeth missing. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

Turning from him, I scanned the grounds looking for a trashcan where I could eventually throw the snake. Two teenagers stood at the booth to my right, trying to toss wooden rings onto bottle tops. To my left was a pint-sized train, the faded blue and yellow cars filled with bored children going round and round in a tight circle while the acne-scarred operator chewed his fingernails and stared into space.

“You’re part of the Show, right?” studying me with a quizzical look.

I wasn’t. At least no one was to know. As James had said earlier, I was just along for the ride.

“The Show?”

He ran a hand through his greasy black hair, the pale skin on his bony face stretched tight. His faded-blue wrinkled T-shirt was draped over his puny chest and shoulders and a pair of faded jeans hung loosely from his hips.

“This dung heap. You know what I mean.” He waved his hand in a sweeping gesture, alluding to the rides and assorted trailers.

“No. I’m just helping out a friend. James is going to be the new marketing director, and—”

“Don’t kid a kidder, son.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re a spy. Word’s gettin’ around.”

“A spy?” Had Moe gone out with a memo?

“You’re checkin’ out the players, tryin’ to see if any of us was involved in those accidents. Am I right?”

I tossed him the snake and took a step back. “Look, I don’t know anything about that.” The truth was, I knew very little. “What’s your name?”

“My name?”

“You’re accusing me of something. Of being a spy. At least I need to know your name. I’m considering going to Moe, and telling him that you were threatening me.” I needed to know how this guy knew we were investigating the Show.

“You watch your step, kid. There are people here who don’t take to outsiders. You never know what could happen to you.”

And there were outsiders who didn’t take kindly to carnies, speaking from personal experience.

“Give me your name.”

“Boy, don’t get yourself involved. Somethin’ may happen to you, and it might not be pretty. You got no stake in this game, so you and your friend should just mosey back to wherever it is you come from.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He stared across the grounds, then walked up to the counter and leaned over. I could smell strong alcohol on his breath. “Son, there are no friends here. We tolerate each other—some-times. You learn to never trust anyone here. However, I’m doin’ you a huge favor. I’m givin’ you a very friendly warning. Walk away.”

No friends. The same message I’d heard from Winston.

“Are you listening to me? This job could be your last.” There was almost a pleading in his voice.

“Look, I’m here to help my roommate this weekend. He’s
going to be marketing the …” I hesitated—may as well use the lingo—“Show. Marketing the Show. That’s it.”

He studied me, a thin trail of moisture on his upper lip. The skinny man wiped at it. “It’s your funeral.” He reached under the counter and pulled out a wooden-stocked air rifle, one that wasn’t chained to the counter. Casually aiming it at me, he pulled the trigger.

I felt my heart jump. Nothing happened.

“Go home, little boy. Go home. We’ll take care of our own problems.”

To be truthful, I was scared to death of this guy. But I hung in there. “What’s your name?”

“Kevin. Kevin Cross. You take that to Moe. I’m the most loyal employee he’s got and he knows it. I look out for him and the Show. And I know what’s going on here. You tell Moe, you hear me? I got it all figured out. You and your friend. Checkin’ up on us—well you be sure and let me know what you find out, okay?”

Walking away I heard him over my shoulder.

“Hey, kid, before you go, want to try one for free? One at no charge, okay? Maybe I’m wrong about this. Maybe this is your lucky day.”

And then again, maybe it wasn’t. I walked back to the trailer, past the little roller coaster, jerking over its tiny orange track of hills and valleys, by the brightly colored Fun House with amplified guffaws and belly laughs blaring from huge speakers, by the greasy smell of the chicken-on-a-stick trailer, the Bar-B-Que Pit, the Ferris wheel, and five other rides, half expecting to see James and Angie. There was no sign they’d been there.

Reaching our Airstream trailer, I grabbed a beer, plopped down on the sofa that would be James’s bed later on tonight, and I thought about the mission. What the hell had we been thinking?
We were so far out of our league. Private investigators? This wasn’t the kind of job we should have been involving ourselves in. I mean, these were some pretty rough characters, and people had been injured on those rides. Actually, someone had gotten killed at this show. Not only that, I’d pretty much been threatened by the air rifle guy. Maybe James and I should discuss this a little further.

I downed the beer and had a second before I ventured back out to the show. With a little liquid courage I wanted to see Winston and Linda work their magic, and I wanted to see the Dragon Tail close up. If we were putting our lives on the line, I needed to know what the rules were.

There was a line at the Dragon Tail, and a young guy with a striped, collared shirt and buzz cut took tickets and stuffed them into a wooden box. The second guy looked vaguely familiar. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Standing tall, hair hanging down over his forehead, he escorted the older couples, the teens, and youngsters into the gold-green cars and pulled down a shiny metal bar, locking it into place with the flick of a switch. There didn’t seem to be any way the bar could spring free while the Tail was going through its contortions, but then what did I know about carnival rides?

The cars spread out flat and when all of them had been bar-locked, the ticket taker walked back to his seat and pushed a button on a dull gunmetal gray control box. The dragon exhaled his smoke and the jointed, sectioned metal tail started wagging. It was that simple.

I approached the operator and he held up his right hand.

“Whatchuwant?”

“Hey, I’m Skip. My partner and I are going to learn the ride
tomorrow morning, and I just thought I’d see how you operate it.”

“Oh, you’re gonna learn the ride?” He tilted his head back with skepticism. As if he didn’t believe me.

“Yeah. In the morning.”

“Like hell.”

“What?”

“This is my ride, buddy. Charlie and me. This is ours.” He pointed his thumb to the other young man and for a minute I knew why he looked familiar. Charlie looked like James. Same build, hair—

“Don’t even think about messing with us, bud.”

I realized I was threatening his livelihood.

“No, not to run it full time. I mean, not to run it at all. Well, just for the morning. A couple of hours, you know. My partner is the new marketing manager and—”

“You?” He planted himself in front of me and I could tell from the start that I was not worthy. “You? You’re gonna learn the ride? So you could do it by yourself? Is that what you’re sayin’?” The tail rose in the air and whipped to the left. The riders screamed.

I knew how to address this situation. Whenever you’re not being understood you just speak louder, right? So I spoke louder, almost shouting. “No. I am not going to be operating the ride. I mean, maybe we’ll operate it for a couple of hours, but that’s all. We’re not permanent. Please understand that. I’m—we’re just supposed to be learning how it operates.”

He shook his head. “I seen this happen before. But never to me. I can make waves. Yes sir. Waves.”

AC/DC’s Brian Johnson screamed over the sound system,
You shook me all night long.

“Look—whoever you are—”

“Bo.”

Yeah you, shook me all night long.

“Look, Bo, please understand that I’m never going to run the ride by myself. I have a full time job.” Well, selling security systems wasn’t much of a job, but it was one hell of a lot better than being a carnie. Most of the time.

He paused, rubbing his right hand over his chin. The tail dropped like a ton of cement and once again the riders screamed, their shrieks and the music almost breaking my eardrums.

“You think you can just waltz in here and learn the ride in one morning?” This guy was pissed. “If Moe is thinking about replacing me, he’d better think real hard.”

Taking a deep breath, I tried again. “Listen, Moe isn’t thinking about replacing anyone, and no, I doubt if I’ll ever figure it all out. But with your help—you and Charlie, I’ll at least have an understanding of what it takes.”

He eyed me cautiously. “It’s not easy. Not easy at all, you understand?” Now the tail rose, whipping to the right, curling, then rising even higher.

“I’ll bet it’s not. What all is involved?”

He paused. “I shouldn’t tell you.”

“Just let me see the basics.”

Pursing his lips, he stared back at the Dragon Tail. “Well, for starters you push this button.” Motioning to a green button.

“Okay. Then what?”

“That starts it.” He pointed to three large plastic buttons mounted on that gunmetal gray pedestal. Green, yellow, and red.

“The red stops it?”

“Yeah.” He gave me a questioning look.

“And the yellow is?”

“The yellow is your panic button. If something goes wrong—say, have you done this before?”

He was serious. “No.”

“Just that you knew the buttons and all.”

“I was just guessing on the red button.” Carnies.

He frowned. “You know it takes some trainin’. It’s not like you can just come up and push the button. I’d have to show you precautions.”

“Precautions?”

“Who are you, anyway?”

I was tired of people asking me that. “I already told you. My partner and I are just trying to get a feel for how the ride works.”

He glanced up at the screaming riders as the tail snapped to the left.

“That’s got to strain some necks and backs.” It hurt just to watch the tail as it snapped back and forth.

“
This
takes care of
that
” Bo pushed the red button and the tail froze in midair. Gently swaying, it slowly came down, like a helicopter, gently floating to earth. As the cars softly landed on the ground, I saw the operator’s eyes getting bigger and bigger as he stared over my shoulder.

I spun around and there was Moe Bradley.

“Hey, Skip. Kevin said you were over at the rifle booth.”

That was quick.

Bradley put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me along as he walked away from the Dragon Tail.

“Everything okay?”

I was taken back. “Uh, yeah. I was a little confused when Kevin—”