Mystery Walk

reached out, her fingers rippling through the currents of smoke. Then she was down on her knees, reaching for the audience, on her side, writhing with lust and desire. She stretched like a beautiful cat, then lay on her back and lifted her legs, slowly scissoring them. The drumbeats hammered at Billy's head, and he knew he couldn't stand much more of this. She curled her knees up toward her chin, and suddenly the G-string fell away and there was a liquid wink between her thighs. And then the lights went out.

Breath burst from several sets of lungs. A harsh white light came on, showing all the rips and seams in the painted backdrop, and the barker said, 'That's all, gentlemen! Y'all come back now, hear?'

There were a few shouts of 'More!' and assorted catcalls, but the show was over. Billy couldn't move for a few minutes, because he was as big as a railroad spike and he knew he'd either split his pants or burst his balls if he tried to stagger out. When he finally did stand up, the place was empty. He could just imagine what his folks would say if they knew where he was right now. He limped toward the exit.

'I thought that you was out there. Hey, Choctaw!'

Billy turned. Santha was onstage again, wrapped up in her black robe. His heart almost stuttered to a stop.

'How'd you like it?'

'It was . . . okay, I guess.'

'Okay? Jeez, we worked our asses off for you boys! And all you have to say is 'okay'? I saw you out there, but sometimes it's hard to make out faces in that damned light. How'd you like Leona? You know, the lion-girl.'

'Uh ... she was fine.'

'She just joined the show at the first of June. She had a disease when she was a little girl that made her hair fall out.' She smiled when she saw the bewildered look in his eyes. 'Not all her hair, dope! She shaves that part.'

'Oh.'

The bulky platinum-blond barker came out, coiling up the microphone cord. She was smoking a cheroot and scowling with an expression that might've shattered a mirror. 'Christ! Did you ever see such a bunch of losers? Cheap bastards, too! Fuckers wouldn't even buy one set of ticklers! You goin' to Barbie's birthday party!'

'I don't know,' Santha said. 'Maybe.' She glanced over at Billy. 'Want to go to a party, Choctaw?'

'I . . . guess I'd better be getting back to—'

'Oh, come on! Besides, I need somebody to help me carry my makeup case and my wardrobe to my trailer. And I feel bad about jumping your case this afternoon.'

'Better take it while you can,' the barker said, not looking at Billy but rather examining something up in the lights. 'Santha's never fucked an Indian before.'

'Just a party,' Santha told him. She laughed softly. 'Come on, I won't bite.'

'Are you . . . gonna get dressed?'

'Sure. I'll put on my chastity belt and my suit of armor. How about that?'

Billy smiled. 'Okay, I'll go.'

'You mean you don't have to sign out for that old ghost nut you work for?'

'Nope.'

'Good. You can be my date, and get me past all the local horny old men who'll be waiting outside. Come on back to the dressing room.'

Billy paused just for a few seconds, then followed her back behind the stage. His head was reeling with possibilities, and he thought how wonderful love felt.

The barker muttered, 'Another one bites the dust . . .' and then she switched off the lights.

37

Being drunk, Billy thought as he staggered down the midway, was a lot like being in love. Your head spun like a top, your stomach lurched, and you knew you'd done crazy things but you couldn't quite remember what they were. The last couple of hours were all blurred in his mind; he recalled leaving with Santha, carrying her makeup case to her trailer for her, and then going with her to somebody else's trailer where there were a lot of people laughing loud and drinking. Santha had introduced him as Choctaw, somebody had put a beer in his hand, and an hour after that he was seriously contemplating Leona's bald pate while she told him her life story. The trailer had overflowed with people, music blared into the night, and after his sixth beer Billy had found himself on the wrong end of a stubby cigarette that had set fire to his lungs and, strangely, reminded him of the pipe he'd smoked with his old grandmother. Only this time, instead of seeing visions, he'd giggled like an ape and told ghost stories that he invented off the top of his ripped-open head. He remembered feeling a green burn of jealousy as he saw Santha being embraced by another man; he thought that the man and Santha had left the party together, but now it didn't matter. In the morning, it might. When he'd finally left, Barbie the black contortionist had hugged him and thanked him for coming, and now he was trying to keep from walking in circles and right angles.

He was not so drunk that he didn't take a long detour around the Octopus. A pale mist lay close to the earth along the midway. He wondered vaguely if he was a fool for being in love with a woman like Santha, older than he was and more experienced by a country mile. Was she playing with him, laughing behind his back? Hell, he thought, I hardly even know her! But she sure is pretty, even with all that glop on her face. Tomorrow he might just wander by her trailer to see what she looked like palefaced. Never fucked an Indian. He had to stop thinking like this now, or even the beers wouldn't help him sleep.

'Boy?' someone said quietly.

Billy stopped and looked around; he thought he'd heard a voice, but . . .

'I'm over here.'

Billy still couldn't see anyone. The Ghost Show tent was just a few yards away. If he could make his legs cross the midway without folding on him, he'd be okay. 'Huh? Where?'

'Right here.' And the entrance to the Killer Snakes sideshow slowly opened, as if the painted reptile had yawned its jaws wide for him.

'I can't see you. Turn on a light.'

There was a pause. Then, 'You're afraid, aren't you?'

'Hell, no! I'm Billy Creekmore and I'm a Choctaw Indian and know what? I can see ghosts!'

'That's very good. You must be like me. I enjoy the night.'

'Uh-huh.' Billy looked across the midway at the Ghost Show tent. 'Gotta get to sleep. ...'

'Where have you been?'

'Party. Somebody's birthday.'

'Well, isn't that nice. Why don't you step inside, and we'll talk.'

He stared at the dark entrance, his vision going in and out of focus. 'No. I don't like snakes. They give me the creeps.'

There was a soft little laugh. 'Oh, snakes are wonderful creatures. They're very good at catching rats.'

'Yeah. Well'—he ran a hand through his tousled hair and started to walk away—'been nice talkin' to you.'

'Wait! Please. We can talk about . . . about Santha, if you like.'

'Santha? What about her?'

'Oh, about how lovely she is. And innocent really, deep in her heart. She and I are very close; she tells me all her secrets.'

'She does?'

'Yes.' The voice was a silken whisper. 'Come in, and we'll talk.'

'What kind of secrets?'

'She's told me things about you, Billy. Step in, and then I'll turn on the lights and we'll have a nice long talk.'

'I . . . can only stay a minute.' He was afraid of crossing that threshold, but he wanted to know who this man was and what Santha might've told him. 'Are any of those snakes loose?'