The Traveling Vampire Show

I glanced at him, then looked back at Slim. “He wore a black shirt....”

“They all wore black shirts, numbnuts,” Rusty reminded me.

Ignoring the remark, I said to Slim, “He had long, black hair. He was ... I guess women would probably think he was really handsome.”

“Gorgeous?” Slim asked.

“I didn’t think so, but...”

“Was he carrying a spear?” Rusty asked.

I glared at him.

“Did he wear silver spurs?” Slim asked.

“Yeah.”

“That’s him,” she said.

“Knew it,” said Rusty.

Me, too. But I asked, “The guy who ... picked up the dog and took it to the hearse?”

Slim nodded.

“Oh, man,” I muttered.

“What?”

“We asked him about you and Rusty.”

“What’d he say?”

“That he hadn’t seen you.”

“Wait’ll you hear the good part,” Rusty said, a strange smile on his face.

“Lee bought tickets from him,” I explained. “Four tickets for tonight’s performance of the Traveling Vampire Show. One for each of us.”

Chapter Twenty

Slim stared at me. She looked a little stunned. “You’re kidding,” she said.

“They cost her forty bucks,” I said.

“But nobody under eighteen’s allowed.”

“Julian made an exception for us.”

“He’s got the hots for Lee,” Rusty explained.

Slim’s upper lip lifted slightly. Eyes turning toward Rusty, she said, “Maybe that’s why. Or maybe he did see us. Me, anyway. If he saw me running away—if any of them did—he might figure I watched them kill the dog. Maybe he wants to get me.”

A touch of scorn in his voice, Rusty said, “Why would he want to get you?”

“To stop me from telling what I saw.”

I could think of other reasons he might want Slim. They made me feel cold and tight inside. I decided not to mention them.

A grin on his face, Rusty said, “Maybe he wants to stick a spear up your ass.”

“Real funny,” Slim muttered.

I punched him. My fist smacked his soft upper arm through the sleeve of his shirt.

Face going red, he gasped, “Ah!” and grabbed his arm and gazed at me with shocked, accusing eyes. As I watched, his eyes filled with tears. “Real nice,” he said.

I turned to Slim. She looked as if she wished I hadn’t hit him, but she didn’t seem angry at me. More as if she thought the punch had probably not been the most terrific idea.

Though tears shimmered in Rusty’s eyes, he wasn’t exactly crying. They weren’t streaming down his face or anything. Frowning at me, he rubbed his arm.

“I didn’t hit you that hard,” I said.

“Hard enough. It hurt, man.”

“You shouldn’t have said what you did.”

“I was just being funny.”

“You weren’t being funny,” Slim assured him. “And you wouldn’t be making cracks like that if you’d watched them with the dog.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, still rubbing his arm.

“And as a matter of fact,” Slim said, “that guy really might want to stick a spear up my ass. Or up yours. Anyone who’ll do a thing like that to a dog ... he wouldn’t think twice about doing it to a person.”

“Maybe we’d better forget about going to the show tonight,” I said.