The Traveling Vampire Show (35 page)

“Stay. Y’gotta stay.”

“Bitsy, let go!”

“No!”

I wrenched my arm out of her grip, then whirled around on my hands and knees. Just as I was about to scurry off, a hand tugged at a seat pocket of my jeans and Bitsy said, “What about Lee?”

I stopped.

“You gotta find Lee, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Rusty said. “You left her a note and everything. You can’t just not show up.”

Bitsy gave my pocket a couple of pulls. “Slim’s just going back to the car, anyways. She doesn’t need you.”

I looked around at Bitsy. She was on her knees, leaning toward me, left arm bracing her up while her right arm was extended toward my rear end. Behind her, a few cars were moving slowly toward their parking places. People were walking toward the bleachers. I saw a couple of the black-shirt gang waving flashlights.

Nobody seemed to be aware of us.

“Take your hand out of my pocket,” I said.

She took it out. “Don’t go,” she whispered. “Please.”

“Rusty, you’re the one who’s so hot to see the show. Why don’t you and Bitsy go ahead? Keep an eye out for Lee. If you find her, stick with her. I’ve gotta make sure Slim’s okay.”

“Slim’s fine,” Bitsy insisted.

“I’ll know that when I see her.”

Rusty suddenly said, “I’m not gonna go to the vampire show with my sister. Screw that. I’m coming with you.”

“No,” Bitsy whined. “Never mind Slim. We gotta see the Vampire Show.”

“Forget it,” Rusty said.

Next thing I knew, all three of us were crawling through the forest away from Janks Field and the Traveling Vampire Show.

Fine, I thought. Now nobody gets to see it.

We never should’ve tried in the first place, I thought. The whole thing had been a rotten idea from the very start and we’d been in trouble of one kind or another all day long because of the stupid show.

I was glad we wouldn’t be seeing it.

When we were a safe distance from Janks Field, we stood up. I led the way, moving carefully though the dark woods. Bitsy walked close behind me and Rusty followed her.

“Hold up a minute,” Rusty said.

I stopped and turned around.

So did Bitsy.

Rusty said, “Here’s good.”

“Good for what?” I asked.

“This.” He leaped forward, grabbed Bitsy by the front of her dress with one hand and smashed her in the stomach with the other. The sound was like punching a raw steak. Her breath whooshed out and she started to fold over. “Nuffa you!” he blurted, and slugged her again.

“Rusty!”

“Stay outa this.”

Before I could make a move to help her, Rusty drove his fist into her belly again and again, very fast. Then he let go and staggered backward. Bitsy sank to her knees. Doubled over, she whined and sucked air. Her head was almost touching the ground.

“Jesus, Rusty,” I muttered.

“She had it coming.”

“God !”

“She asked for it. She’s been askin’ for it all day. Got no business messin’ with us.”

“You didn’t have to do that!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He stepped behind Bitsy, grabbed her hair and pulled. With a squeal, she struggled to her feet. She and Rusty looked vague in the darkness, but I could see that Bitsy’s dress was open, hanging off one shoulder. Her skin was a pale shade of gray, her nipple a black smudge. “Wanta take a swing at her?” Rusty asked me.

“Hell, no. Are you nuts?”

“Come on, man. She called Slim a dirty whore. You gonna let her get away with that?”

“I’m not gonna hit her.”

“Chicken,” he said.

“Leave her alone.”

“Sure. Soon as she leaves us alone.” He jerked her hair. She squeaked and went up on tiptoes. Mouth close to her ear, Rusty said, “You gonna leave?”

“Huh-uh.”

“Wanta bet?”

“Rusty,” I said.

“It’s okay, pal. She’s gonna go back to the car. Aren’t you, Bitsy?”

“No.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not.”

“You’re not coming with us.”

“Am, too.”

“You’re gettin’ one chance,” Rusty said. Turning her so she faced the general direction of Route 3, he let go of her hair and shoved her. She stumbled a few steps, then fell to her hands and knees. “Now go!”

She stayed there for a while, her head drooping toward the ground. Then she pushed herself up and turned around.

“I don’t see you leaving,” Rusty said.

“Dwiiiiiight.” Though she spoke my name, it sounded as if she were saying, “Why are you letting this happen to me?”

“You’d better go back and wait in the car,” I said.

“But I wanta ... come with.”

“It isn’t safe. That’s why Slim changed her mind.”

“You’re going.”

“We’re guys. It’s different.”

“Now get your fat ass outa here,” Rusty said, “or you’re really gonna get it.”

She slowly shook her head.

“That’s it,” Rusty muttered. He started toward her.

“Dwight!”

“Just go,” I told her.

“No.” She raised an arm and pointed straight at Rusty. “Better not,” she said. “I’m gonna tell.”

“Famous last words,” Rusty said.

“Dwight!”

I just stood there and let it happen. It was her own fault. We’d told her to leave. And told her and told her. So I just stood there. It made me feel a little sick, just standing there and watching, but she had it coming. On top of everything else, she’d called Slim a dirty whore.

When Rusty was done, Bitsy lay sprawled on her back, wheezing and sobbing.

He stood over her. Gasping for air, he said, “Want more?”

She didn’t answer. Probably couldn’t. He turned around and staggered toward me. “Let’s go, man.”

Side by side, we headed for Janks Field. I looked back a couple of times. The first time, Bitsy was still flat on the ground. The next time, she was propped up on her elbows, watching us.

“Don’t go ’n leave meeeeee,” she whined.

Stopping, I called, “Go back to the car.”

“I wanta come with!”

“No.”

“But Dwiiiiight!”

I kept going, and hurried to catch up with Rusty.

“Dwiiiiight, don’t leave me! Pleeeeese.”

I called over my shoulder, “Shut up!” and sounded a lot like Rusty.

“Bitch,” Rusty muttered.

I slugged him in the arm.

“OW!” He cringed away, clutching where I’d punched him. “What’d ya do that for?”

“Just felt like it,” I said.

“Jeez.”

“Bastard.”

“Got rid of her, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t have to beat her up.”

“Got the job done.”

“You’re gonna be in so much trouble. You and me both.”

“Yeah, well, screw it. She asked for it and I gave it to her.”

“There’s no way she’s gonna keep her mouth shut after that.”

“Let her tell. It’s what she’s good at. But you know what? Nobody’s gonna nail us for it tonight. By the time she blabs, we’ll already’ve seen the Vampire Show ... without her.”

As we came to Janks Field, I noticed that it didn’t seem as bright as before. I ducked behind a tree and peered around the trunk. In the few minutes we’d been away, so many cars and pickups had shown up that the field was almost packed. Soon, there would be no more space. The dirt road would end up jammed, maybe all the way out to Route 3. Just like the night of Fargus Durge’s boxing spectacular.

“Come on,” Rusty said and stepped out of the woods.

“Wait.”

He didn’t wait.

Nobody seemed to be nearby, so I went out after him and we rushed in among the parked vehicles. They were crowded close together. Staying low to avoid being spotted, we couldn’t see where we were going. I simply followed Rusty. He led us through a dark, narrow labyrinth, gravel and bits of broken glass crunching under our shoes.

When we came upon a pickup truck, I wondered if it might be Lee’s. It seemed to be a dark color, maybe red. But as I crept past the open passenger window of its cab, out came a reek of stale cigarettes.

Lee didn’t smoke. The cab of her pickup always smelled as good as she did.

At the rear of the truck, a VW van blocked our way. We cut to the left and climbed over some bumpers before coming to another straightaway.

Crouched low between a couple of cars, Rusty looked back at me. “We’re home free now,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Bitsy’ll never find us now. If she even tries.”

“You think she’d try?”

“Wouldn’t put nothin’ past her, the dumb twat.” He chuckled quietly, then moved on.

Every so often, we came upon pickup trucks. None seemed to be Lee’s, though. Which didn’t mean her truck wasn’t there. So far, we hadn’t even stumbled upon the red pickup that we knew had arrived. We saw nothing much except what was beside us and straight in front of us.

About halfway through the labyrinth, we came upon a big old black Cadillac.

Parked close behind some sort of boxy delivery truck, the Cadillac took us by surprise. There it suddenly was, its front bumper close enough to touch.

Rusty must’ve noticed it an instant before I did. He gasped and dropped to his knees. At first, I didn’t know what was wrong. I thought maybe someone had spotted us. Then I saw the hood ornament and felt as if my wind had been knocked out.

I hit the ground behind Rusty.

Twisting his head around, he whispered, “Is it it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Anyone in it?”

“I don’t know.”

Rusty moaned. “What if they’re in it?”

“Got your knife?” Even as I asked, I shoved a hand down the front pocket of my jeans and wrapped it around Slim’s folding knife.

Rusty reached back under the hanging tail of his shirt and pulled out Slim’s sheath knife.

I opened my blade. My hands were shaking. “They’re probably in the stands,” I whispered.

“They better be.”

I raised my head. The windshield had no glare. A pale glow from the grandstands lit up the rear window so I could see straight through the car.

If I’d found the twins staring back at me from the front seat, I probably would’ve dropped dead. Or at the very least filled my jeans. Instead, I let my breath out.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “They’re gone.”

Rusty took a look for himself. Then he muttered, “Thank God.”

We started forward again, moving through the narrow space between the side of the Cadillac and the station wagon beside it.

I suddenly got an idea. It sent a jolt of fear through me. Fear and excitement.

“Rusty, wait.”

He stopped and looked around at me. “Huh?”

“Think it’s really their car?” I whispered.

“Must be.”

“Yeah. Look. I’m gonna check it out. Maybe we can find out who they are.”

“But the show.”

“Screw the show. Anyway, it’s not gonna start for a while. Wait here.” I switched the knife to my left hand. With my right, I reached up for the handle of the passenger door.

“Are you nuts?”

“Shhh. Keep an eye out. Yell if anyone comes.”

The door wasn’t locked. I opened it. No lights came on. Cigarette stink filled my nostrils. When I climbed into the car, stuff slid and crunched under my feet. There seemed to be a lot of junk on the floor in front of the seat. Magazines or maps, bags, food wrappers, maybe some small boxes. I couldn’t see much in the darkness, but that was the impression I got.

I sat down and opened the glove compartment. It was full. I took out some cigarette packs, matches, maps, napkins, rubber gloves like my mom usually wore when she washed the dishes.

Rubber gloves.

I kept on searching, pausing to look at papers, hoping to find the car registration. There didn’t seem to be anything of the sort, but I found an ice pick with a wooden handle.

“Jeez,” I muttered.

“What?” Rusty asked through the door.

“An ice pick.”

“Let’s get outa here,” Rusty said.

I put Slim’s knife back into my pocket. Keeping the ice pick, I crawled out of the car. I eased its door shut and showed the pick to Rusty.

“Nasty,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Gonna keep it?”

“I don’t know.”

“These’ve gotta be our guys.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Find out who they are?”

I shook my head. “There’s probably something with their names on it, but ... too much crap in there. And it’s too dark to see anything. Maybe if we took everything with us ...”

“Forget it.”

“Anyway, that’d take a gunny sack.”

“Let’s just get going,” Rusty said.

“Wait.”

“Now what?”

“We can make sure it stays here. The car, everything in it.” I grinned. “Maybe them, too. The twins.”

“Huh?”

Instead of trying to explain, I scurried over to the right front tire and rammed the ice pick into its side. The point punched easily through the rubber. I shoved the shaft in deep, then jerked it free. Air chased it out, hissing.

“Terrific,” Rusty muttered.

At the front of the Cadillac, I checked for a license plate. There wasn’t one. I opened the hood and propped it up. Leaning inside, I poked holes in all the hoses I could find. And I removed the radiator cap and gave it a toss into the darkness. Silently, I shut the hood.

I crouched by the left front tire, jabbed it with the ice pick, then hurried to the rear tire and gave it the same treatment.

No back plate, either.

I stabbed the right rear tire.

Looking up, I saw Rusty shake his head. “Now can we go see the show?” he asked.

“Yeah, I guess so.” I rubbed the pick with my shirt tail to get my fingerprints off its handle, then tossed it under the Cadillac.

We moved on.

Rusty led the way, and I kept an eye out for Lee’s pickup. We made good progress. Everything went okay for a while. But as we were sneaking alongside a Volkswagen, I glimpsed pale movement in its driver’s seat. Couldn’t see what it was, but I blurted, “Watch out!”

Not knowing what the problem was, Rusty stopped and twisted around to look back at me. The twisting swept his face past the open window.

“No! Get... !”

But he kept turning, luckily. His right upper arm, not his face, caught the dog’s teeth. They clamped him through his shirt. He cried out in pain and lurched away.