A Fear of Clowns (The Greasepaint Chronicals) (6 page)

There was a sigh from the device
that was pressed against his ear, standing in the mainly darkened room. Only the
one light, the lamp that was connected to the switch by the front door, was on,
leaving inky shadows along the edges of the space.

"Oh? Good, I was hoping I
could get you to bring us those? I have a list of what I need, if you're
willing. Also, my friend, Max? The manager here, he wants to know if you'll do
some work too. It won't be each night probably, but that works for me, since
you can run back and forth like my little minion.
Joseph
. What do you
say?"

"What? Sure. What does he
want me to do? I could deal cards, or... sweep up, whatever. Work is
work." No dignity. That's for people with money. He practically chanted it
to himself.

"He actually wants you to
perform. Joey the Clown, the Clown of a Thousand Faces has an offer for a stage
gig. Really, he's pretty desperate to get something booked for the next two or
three days. Longer possibly, depending on how you do. We can work something up
for you, if you're willing. Heck, even balloon animals would be better than not
having anything going on at all. Losing that many performers at once is a huge
problem. He'd probably pay you to go on stage and talk about your life as a
history professor." There was a male voice in the distance, over the
phone, that sounded like he was agreeing to that. Like it was real.

He nearly refused, but then
forced himself to nod. What had he just been thinking earlier? If you got a
chance, you needed to take it. Grab on with both hands and hold tight. No
matter how awkward it left him feeling in the moment.

"Right. An act for
adults?" He knew the answer to that, given that the average age of a
casino patron was about fifty-three million years. Jay didn't wait for
confirmation, knowing that he'd have to scramble to get something together in
time. "Get me that list and I'll head that way directly. Do I get a place
to stay?" Even a closet, or the floor of someone else's room would work,
but when Carlos asked Max, whoever that was, there was no answer. He figured
that he'd be in the van then, which beat the street, but when his buddy spoke,
things changed a lot. It suddenly all seemed real.

"He wants to know if you
need a suite." There was no sense of humor or teasing to it, or outrage
from the other man at all.

"Heh, not really. Just
whatever is open, as long as it has a shower and a real bed." He nearly
felt bad about saying that, since he didn't have that there, with Carlos, but
it just got relayed.

Then he had to run and get a pen
and paper and make the list out, reading it back and asking questions about
where everything was,
exactly
. There were complete areas of the house
that he'd never been in. Like the manufacturing workshop, where Carlos made his
tricks. Their bedroom too. The amount of materials needed wasn't that great,
but he had to bring some basic equipment along that normally didn't travel with
them. The molds for the bottles, and the printer used for the labels, as well
as their special blanks. It filled most of the backseat of his bug, the whole
thing dangerously lacking in rear window vision when it was finally loaded,
about seven.

He grabbed half a bagel from his
stash in the shed, and ate it before he drove off into the morning light. Jay
knew better than to try and snack and drive. Not with Carl and his... The word
that Carlos had used came to him, seeming to fit better than employees.
Minions.

That worked. The deputies all had
that feeling about them, didn't they? Like the creepy guards that followed
their feudal lord's orders, on pain of death. The only problem there was that
they were, with the possible exception of Deputy Richmond, with his horrible
little black mustache and constant case of ass face, all just human. Or looked
it. Even Carl was just an ordinary seeming person, as long as he didn't speak.
Then he came across like a bully that hadn't been spanked enough as a child. He
was a bit too loud, and more than a little too confident. It had worked to get
and keep a nice position for years, but made him a pretty poor leader.
Everything had to be all about him, all of the time. In real life that always
led to problems, in the long run. Kingdoms fell when the leader was too into
himself.

Driving perfectly, watching his mirrors
the whole time, Jay prayed, if without words, that he wouldn't be stopped
trying to leave with his car full, since there had to be some kind of traffic
violation in what he was doing. It made for a tense trip, even when he stopped
for gas, not knowing if he was out of the County yet or not. Vegas was,
thankfully, outside the other man's control. Once he was there, he only had to worry
about regular police. Ones that didn't know he wasn't there as a tourist,
looking to lose some money and spur on the local economy. Even having a Nevada
plate didn't mean he might not be there for that reason, since he was
registered as living a few hours away. So they'd play nice, unless he really
did something egregious.

It wouldn't be too hard to avoid
murder or mayhem, he didn't think, so he should be fine. Even having lived
there for a year, on the streets, he'd never been arrested. Even as a drunk. He
should be able to manage it now.

It wasn't hard to find the Placemont,
and it was still early when he got there, having avoided all the traffic that
the city was normally famous for. It was late enough that all the drunks had
gone home, and the taxis were put away for their brief daily naps, and still
too early for the whole thing to start over again. Ten in the morning, almost
exactly. That would all go away, after a bit, as the city woke up, and a new
day began. He pulled around the back, noticing that there were cameras set up
about every fifty feet.

It made him nervous, but he'd
been invited there, so tried not to let it show. Even a medium sized casino had
too much cash on hand not to be protective of it. That meant they'd watch
everything, and probably have security out to greet him, if he didn't get out
of the car almost instantly. He was in the right spot, he thought, section G,
yellow, which was a plot of ground actually painted with parking stripes in
that color, so that you didn't get confused. He ended up right next to the blue
and silver van that Carlos and Wendy used.

After that he was a bit lost.
They, being sensible people, who knew that the next day would bring more work,
would be asleep. It was early enough that no one was there to greet him, and
just walking in, from behind the building, would probably set off alarms. If
he'd had a number, and phone, he could have just called in that he'd arrived,
but didn't. When he stood up, climbing out slowly, blinking in the bright light
of the sun, the door banged open and a portly fellow who looked like he hadn't
shaved in three days, with a loose red tie and a white button up shirt,
practically ran at him. He had a black and wrinkled jacket on, that flapped a
bit as he scurried.

The voice that came out of the
man was gruff with exhaustion, and started in, even before he could explain
that he was there for a reason, not just a confused guest.

"You Joy the Clown?"

"Joey." He smiled,
since the man nodded, and then waved his mistake away.

"Freaking brilliant. Thanks
for coming on short notice like this. Can you get in there now? We don't need a
full stage show, just, I don't know, juggle or something, tell bad jokes...
Sing off key. This is the morning crowd, so they'll hate you even if you're
good. Walk the main floor, and I'll be your new boyfriend. Here, I'll help you
get set, what do you need?"

He thought for a moment and then
looked into the car. Some of the props, like those sugar glass bottles probably
needed refrigeration. That was the main thing, he thought. Not letting those
and a few wax bits, melt in the back of his little car.

Saying that out loud got the man
to tuck the prop cigar in between his thick lips and do his best to act like a
nineteen fifties gangster.

"I can do that. What else you
need? A dressing room? Some cocaine? Booze? Loose women to tell you how pretty
you are?" The man glanced around a bit, but didn't crack a smile. He was
dead serious in fact.

Jay could see part of that, when
he bothered to think about it. The offer of drugs. He was skinny. The kind of
thing that you had to really work for to achieve, if you weren't a tweeker or
starving for some other reason. Anorexia or something. A thousand funny things
came to mind to say, and a few polite ones did too, but he shrugged and just
told the truth. It wasn't like Carlos wouldn't have mentioned it.

"Just a place to change,
that and an act that's fit for a casino. I normally do kids parties. As for the
drugs... I have a drinking problem, so if you see me about to put anything to
my lips stronger than water, slap it out of my hand, will you?"

The fellow, who looked like he
hadn't seen sleep for a while, his eyes red rimmed and a bit blurry, just
nodded.

"Got it. I'll put the word
out. You won't see anything closer than ten feet from you. That might mean a
few waitresses tackling you, but we can only do what we can." Again, it
came out so dead panned that it seemed simply real. "Oh, Max, by the way.
Max Gringer. Talent manager here. If you need anything else, just let me know.
Can you do four hours on the floor? Just walk around, or whatever. Burp the
alphabet, or, well you know. Anything to let the public know that we actually
have more than cheap eats. It isn't strictly the performer's job... Carlos said
that you'd be great. I saw him be wrong before.
Once
. If he says you've
got the chops, then you do. A clown is a hard sell here, but screw it, right?
Just be colorful and steer people toward the buffets and gambling rooms. We
have great slots here, real loose. That kind of thing."

"Got it. Jason Hadley, by
the way. Joey if that's easier to remember."

"Perfect, easy to work with,
I love it. Come on. This way." They had to find refrigerator space that
would be safe first, but he was assured that no one would touch the bottles,
knowing all about that kind of thing. Then, with very little time to prepare, or
ceremony, the man practically pushed him out into the main floor. It wasn't the
main stage, at least, since no one was expecting a show until mid-afternoon,
but he walked around, making balloon animals, and passing out coupons for the
buffet, which sounded good, to tell the truth. His half bagel wasn't really
cutting it anymore. All you could eat for five bucks? Only in America.

He took time to talk to anyone
that smiled at him, and made jokes, running through gags constantly, as if his
life were actually one strange seeming event after another. His scarf didn't
end, and he played with it, not even looking at the people that bothered to
watch, until he finally conquered the thing and got it under control. It was on
a spool that was in his breast pocket, or had been. That would have to be
rewound before he tried that one again.

While he did all this, he tried
to notice what got people's attention, earned a chuckle or got smiles. A plan
for his later show coming to him, as he noticed what people liked, and more
importantly, what these partially drunk and very distracted people didn't
notice at all. They found him failing to be funny, even when he was pretending
that it was really happening and not part of an act. More than normal people
would have. So, with that feedback, he planned out what to try on stage,
knowing that it would be risky going on without practice. That meant trying
things out there first. It was all he had, so needed to work.

Jay was in what he liked to think
of as his bozo costume. It had a bright red wig, and an all blue outfit that
was loose all over, but had a big ruffled collar to it, in white, with blue
highlights. Like a giant dyed carnation. His face was all white and his nose a
red foam ball. He used a high pitched voice, and suddenly called out to a
passerby.

"You ma'am, look like you
have a most discerning eye! You can no doubt see that the Placemont has the
loosest slots and the least watered down drinks in town! But did you know, that
we also have complimentary magic coins? They work in the slot machines, here,
let me show you!" Gamblers loved free things, especially money, so a small
crowd gathered.

The gimmick wasn't that big of a
deal, since he just palmed a quarter, and made a big show about putting it in
the machine, after "magically" producing it. It was the kind of thing
that uncles all over America did for little kids at family gatherings every
day. The only difference here was that the woman that he'd stopped had two
female friends with her, and they all looked far too pleased that there was a
funny looking clown there.

That meant screaming, when he had
the woman, who looked to be near fifty and a little chubby, pull the lever of
the machine he'd picked. That was mainly because it won. It wasn't a big
payout, only five dollars, but the people watching all clapped, as if it had
been on purpose. He'd planned to make fake noises and act like the magic win
was invisible, actually, but changed up easily enough.

A large man, his huge gut hanging
over the top of his belt enough to obscure any buckle that might be there,
called out, a drink in his hand.

"Hey can I get a magic thing
too? My luck's been crud all day!" There was a grim laugh, and Joey the
Clown hung his head.

"No can do, no how, no
when... that was my last one. They don't
pay
me to be here, you know. I
have to work for tips. The last one I got was 'don't bet on horses'. Say, I
don't suppose anyone needs their bags put up in their room? Reasonable
rates..." He danced around and made merry for a while longer, getting a
few chuckles and making more balloon animals. Occasionally he threw in some
tricks, testing the waters a bit. A few prat falls and some simple magic that
Carlos had taught him.