A Fear of Clowns (The Greasepaint Chronicals) (20 page)

"That's actually pretty
accurate. Job wise. Right now I'm backstage, I have a set to do in a bit. Just
introducing another act. Um... There might be some problems? Your mother, is
she around?" He knew the answer, but sort of hoped that she was anyway.
True, part of him wouldn't mind if she were being killed by a psychopath that
much, but Alex needed her.

He thought so at least.

"Not for a while. The FBI
came by earlier, looking for her. She and Carl have gone missing. It isn't the
first time that they've just taken off though, so I'm not all that worried. Is
it something bad?" There was almost no concern in her voice about it. That
was a bit strange. Unless she'd changed a lot, she was a good girl, really. Not
callus or hard. Not angry enough to think that people missing was a good thing.

 "Possibly." He was
willing to leave it at that, but didn't know if she was in danger, where she
was. "It seems like one of Carl's deputies is a serial killer and might
have taken them? I know that's a shock, but he sort of suggested he had a plan
to do something before he drugged me, and left me duct taped in my room
here." It was the wrong thing to say, since she was just a kid. Jay waited
for the panic to set in, but got a considering sound instead.

"All right. So, don't trust
any Sheriff's Deputies. Got it. Which one is it? Richmond? He seems like the
type. The perv always grabs my ass every time Carl brings him around. He claims
he's playing, but if he does it again he's going to be sans equipment, you
know?" She went a bit hard then. Tougher than he remembered her being.
Also grown up sounding, using French in common speech like that. Jason felt a
surge of anger at the jerk for touching her, but had to set that aside for the
moment. There were other things to consider.

"No, Carl Mills. I know, I
sort of expected Richmond too, but it's definitely Mills. He admitted it. The
FBI are coming here to question me. Are you all right where you are? Do you
have a friend you can stay with, or something?" That he didn't know that
kind of thing... Well, bad fathers didn't, so he had an excuse.

"Nope. Or, I
do
, but
not until tomorrow. I'll be fine here. Like I said, mom has done this before.
It's good talking to you though! I sort of thought, you know, that you didn't
like me anymore. I understand that. What mom did. Her and Carl. I'd hate me
too, if I were you."

"Honey, I never hated you.
Not even for a moment. I... had some problems. Drinking mainly. I shouldn't
have let that happen, but things were a bit much for a while. It's taken some
time to climb back up. That isn't a very good excuse, but you know, random
parenting attempt number one; stay off the sauce, if you can help it. Also, as
a freebie, don't be a jerk and abandon the important people. See, now you won't
have to learn those things the hard way. I'm practically valuable to you already."

It wasn't enough, but she
chuckled a bit, not seeming half as worried as she should be. That was youth,
most likely. Maybe it was just that she'd been forced to grow up and adapt,
becoming her own person at too young of an age. Either way it was probably a
poor plan, since she needed to be a little scared at the moment. Enough to hide
and not be caught by Mills at least. Or Richmond, if he was around.

Then, as the parent, it was his
job to protect her, wasn't it?

"I don't know if I can come
tonight. I'll try, it might be late. I don't have a phone. Here, I'll give you
Carlos and Wendy's number. If you need to reach me, call them. They're friends
of mine. If they come for any reason... Well... Carlos is the dwarf, and Wendy
has dyed red hair. They make a distinctive couple. He's a magician, so ask
questions about that. You know, to keep some other dwarf from kidnapping
you."

She punched the number into her
phone, or claimed to, and didn't seem to want to get off the line. It had just
been so long since he'd talked to her. Finally he had to go, in order to
introduce Rhonda and the gang. It was hard to hang up, but he thought that Alex
understood.
Alexis
. She wasn't a little girl anymore, was she?

Greg, who'd been standing back,
handed him a slip of paper with the number for the girl written on it, and took
his cell back. The man was efficient, but didn't actually leave, even while he
was on stage. In fact he stayed with Jason himself, until the FBI got there.
They weren't inclined to let him keep working, thinking that a County Sheriff
being taken by a serial killing Deputy might be more important. They were
right, so he went with them to the security office. They got a room that looked
like a nicer version of what the police used for interrogations. Michelson didn't
volunteer to leave either.

That was because he had
information for them.

"We didn't find anything on
the tape of a clown coming in. No man matching the description either. What we
did find was this, if you'll watch the screen?"

It wasn't that hard to figure out
what he meant, since it was a series of camera shots, following a rather scary
looking masked clown in a mainly yellow outfit with bright red shoes in his
right hand. He had running shoes on his feet, but it was the same clown that
he'd seen before. With Jay's shoes. He pointed to them, gratefully sinking into
a chair offered by McNab.

 "That's the man that stole
my shoes, officer!" No one even cracked a smile at it. "Did he get in
during the blackout then?"

Greg nodded, "that's my best
guess right now. Someone just threw a breaker main, or whatever those things
are called, and cut the power to the whole building for ten minutes. There's
damage to the door into your room, indicating it was jimmied. Whoever did it
knows their stuff, since it's a magnetic lock, and when the power goes out,
everyone should have been locked in or out. We got enough complaints that I
know it worked on the rest of the rooms."

It made sense. Mills would want
the privacy to get in. Leaving wasn't a problem, since the man... Just didn't
care if he were caught? Not as long as he accomplished whatever it was he
wanted to do. Why. That part was the answer he needed.

"Why? Why drug and duct tape
me? He isn't averse to killing, so that was some kind of message, I think.
Leaving me alive. Maybe even getting me out of the way. He did point out that
he felt you two were being a little slow figuring out it was him. He also said
that he had bugs on me. I don't know where."

That got everyone in the room to
look at him, like it should have been the first thing he thought to say.

He understood and did a fake,
over exaggerated cringe for them.

"Well,
this
is
awkward."

Greg gave him a look that sent a
chill down his spine and then left, coming back with a tool box a few minutes
later. It was filled with scanning equipment, and he went all over Jay,
examining every beep or click the various things made.

"Nothing on you right now.
I'll have the room checked and go over your car. Next time, mention that first,
will you?"

"Sorry. You know how it
goes, I'm not used to having serial murderers bug me like this. Normally they
just send nasty letters. So I'm playing catch-up. Behind the curve and all
that." It hadn't been that big of an issue in academia, surprisingly.
Computer files being hacked could come up, to change grades, or to steal
sensitive e-mails if you were in climate research, but the History Department
didn't really have many problems that way. No one was ever
bugged
, at
least.

Not that he knew about.

Daniels nodded.

"I can see that. Let's go
over everything again? You told us on the phone, but we can't sleep without
hearing it twenty or thirty times."

Then, almost as if trying to
prove that what he said was true, and not an attempt at humor, the man sat and
had him go over everything nearly that many times. It was two in the morning by
the time he was done, and he yawned, feeling tired, but knowing that he should
go and see about Alexis before he slept. When he said this out loud, the FBI
men both blinked at him.

"Ms. Davies' daughter?"

He nodded.

"That's her. Remember, I
raised her as my own almost her entire life. She still has my last name even. I
can't let her end up in foster care or something now. So, I need to get there.
I'm probably not safe to drive. Drugs you know. Horrible habit, being kidnapped
by clowns." He considered calling Carlos, but he and Wendy would be
there
still, in Brickston, and not coming until later in the day.

For once the government was
helpful.

Daniels looked at his partner and
then back at Jay.

"We can take you. You'll need
to get your own ride back, but given the new information, it might be best if
we found a safe place for Miss Hadley. We can check into that when we get
there."

It wasn't lost on Jay that the
man clearly wasn't assuming that the "not-father" would have custody
of the girl. That was probably good thinking. Not that he'd be horrible at the
job. At least he used to do pretty well at it, he thought. Before everything
had gone sideways on him. She was still his little girl. It sounded horrible to
think, but if she'd been a pet, a dog or cat, no one would think twice about
him having grown attached to her. She wasn't, so everyone would think that how
he felt wouldn't matter.

That was one of the drawbacks of
being a clown. Everyone distrusted you, just a little.

He dozed on the ride back to
Brickston. His plan had been about not coming back, but it was a lot safer,
suddenly. Carl wasn't around and Mills couldn't pull him over. That left only
two bodies to do that kind of work, and the tracking device had been pulled off
his car. Richmond hated him, but that was fine. As long as he didn't have
current orders to make his life harder.

The FBI weren't nearly as
paranoid about being pulled over as he was, so drove the distance in about half
the time. Pushing the Sedan until it roared down the black strip of road. There
was a single yellow line in the middle and very few signs along it. If you
didn't need to be there, then you shouldn't be. That seemed like the message.
It could have also been him feeling nervous and a bit out of sorts. Being
drugged was harsh that way, but he knew enough about the idea to also get that
he could have done or said things to Mills and simply not remembered doing it.
It probably wouldn't have been sexual, thank God. Still, he'd known Lynn's
address. Had he been the one to tell the man that kind of information? If so,
he might be responsible for whatever happened to her. That would be a shame.

Honestly he just wanted that part
of his life to finally be over for good. Inside and out. Lynn hadn't bothered
with him in years, so it wasn't exactly like she'd been clinging to what they'd
had done him. Not even to his wallet. True, that had been empty almost the
whole time, since they'd divorced, and she'd gotten almost everything before
that, so maybe it was enough in her mind? She'd bled him so dry that even
someone like her wouldn't try for more. Regardless, Jay could use being done.
Really, if he got a change, he didn't want to stay in Brickston any longer than
was needed. As shallow as the reputation of Vegas was, it was a place that
people went to forget their own lives. It might be for only a while for most of
them, but it was the rule. When you were there, you didn't have to carry the
rest of your life with you.

He settled his behind again in
the back seat of the big car, which was firm under him. The seat was black,
which was a mistake in the desert, but the feds probably had a reason for why
they did it that way. Rules or regulations that mandated what color their ties
be and how shiny their shoes were. That was the real purpose of large groups
and organizations. To keep their parts, the people involved, in line. It didn't
always work, but the organization could afford to lose its parts, most of the
time. Unless they were too vital.

There was a slight spinning
sensation in his head, a disorienting thing that reminded him how drugs could
impact a body when you weren't used to them. The night moved past through the
back window, but he focused toward the front, at the two men who were talking
quietly. They were debating calling for reinforcements. McNab was all for it,
and so was Daniels, but he didn't have any place to steer them yet. Just a
person to target.

Carl Mills. The name still bugged
him. Why? What about it was so off? Was it that link to Carl Morse?

Not thinking about the fact that
he was still dressed like a clown, he asked a question. It was more academic
than anything, just words that didn't feel real to him. Distant and almost like
he hadn't spoken them himself.

"What did Mills do? In those
other places? Just kill women?"

To his shock, after a moment, the
senior Special Agent, Daniels, cleared his throat, but didn't look away from
the road.

"No. Men and women. He takes
them and tortures them, two at a time. The set-up is elaborate, but always a
little different. Like he's learning from each of them. Keeping them alive
longer every time, increasing the suffering. He uses abandoned properties,
generally isolated ones and keeps them going for days. If he sticks to that
pattern we still have one or two left. The looks fit. Kind of. Carl Morse is
big, as in chunky, compared to most of the men. He always took bodybuilding
types before. Fighters. Strong men. It was one of the things that stood out,
other than the costume he wears while doing it. It pretty much means that he's
extremely confident in a fight. Some kind of advanced training. We don't have
any real paperwork on him. His record is blank for the last ten years. The rest
fits, I think. We don't know how he did it exactly, but he was always known, if
for only a few months, by the people he took. Integrated into their lives
first, so that he could study them and gain their trust, then..."