“Open the door,” came the high clown voice. “Open up.”
“No,” I cried, trying to wake up, making the effort. I opened my eyes and found myself facing the grinning face. The voice came out of it, the clown voice.
“That’s right,” he said, leaning over me. “Open them up.”
Sheriff Mark Nelson of Mirador was kneeling next to my mattress, dressed in a white suit tapped with spots of sweat. Maybe he thought it was natty to wear sweat-spotted suits. His hat was in his hand, and his thumb was rubbing the dark sweatband. I looked around for Alex the deputy, and my mind was read.
“I told Alex to wait outside,” said Nelson. “I wanted to renew our acquaintanceship. Nice, crisp, brisk day outside,” he sighed. “Good air round here.”
“You want me to move to Mirador,” I said, trying to sit up.
“Have to spruce you up a bit if it came to that,” he said. “You smell like a Mex field hand.”
I was awake now and making no attempt to resist scratching my neck, face, and stomach. I was aware of the hole in my undershirt and the absence of my client.
“What can I do for you?” I said.
“Ah,” said Nelson, enjoying his moment before pouncing. “You could invest a few million dollars in Mirador real estate if you had it, but barring that, you can come for a little ride with me and Alex so we can talk over old times and the scrape you put on my car and Lope Obregon’s skull last night.”
There was a bowl of water in one corner of the wagon and a mirror over it. I moved the five steps to it, examined the bowl to determine if it was clean, came to no conclusion, and stuck my face into it. It was cold and tight. I dried myself on a towel that was definitely not clean and turned to grin in the mirror. I looked rotten.
“So I’m under arrest,” I said, reaching for my jacket, which had gotten kicked around by clowns or cops.
“No, no,” chuckled Nelson, advancing on me. He was a few inches shorter than me, and his teeth were clean. His breath smelled minty and sweet enough to make me feel like throwing up.
“Good,” I said. “I’ve got some work to do here. Been good to see you again.” I tried to step past him, and he moved out of the way.
“Alex is out there,” he said. “He’s not going to let you go. I told you never to come back to Mirador. Now I’m going to show you I mean what I say. I really do. If I don’t show people I mean what I say, pretty soon people are going to start testing, taking advantage. Can’t have that happen.”
“So we’re going for a little ride?” I guessed.
“Precisely,” he said, pointing to the door. “And at the end of that little ride I’m going to watch with great regret while Alex …”
“Teaches me that you mean what you say?” I supplied.
“Thank you,” he said politely. “I rather expect that it will be a singularly instructive lesson, and I cannot vouch for what remains of your nose.”
“Sheriff, did anyone ever tell you that you sweat like a hog?” I whispered.
Nelson’s grin dropped for a full half-second and then came back happier than ever.
“We have chatted long enough,” he said. “Now let us get to it.”
There were no windows I could go through, just the door. I stepped out into the morning. It was foggy, a gray fog that hid the tents and train and anything else not more than fifteen feet away, but it didn’t hide the sounds. Motors were churning, people calling, animals bellowing. Laughs, shouts. The spots of light that managed to make their way through the fog were like pinholes that showed nothing beyond themselves. Alex was clear and near in his denims and white cowboy hat. He was bulky and dark, not a beer bulky but a natural bulky, and I knew what he could do. There was no smile on his face, no sign of recognition.
“Good morning, Alex,” I said. “
Now that we were outside and within Alex’s reach, Nelson felt safe enough to violate my body. He put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently, as if he were a trainer preparing his fighter before the scheduled four- rounder.
“Alex isn’t much of a talker, as you may recall,” said Nelson. He fit his hat back on his head and played with it quickly to make it feel snug. “Car’s over there,” he said. “Fog is tempting, but Alex would catch you, and Alex gets mad if he has to run in the morning.”
“You still doing Alex’s talking for him?” I said. “He’s a big boy. Maybe he can tell me how he feels. Maybe Alex doesn’t want to march on my face.”
Some figures, I couldn’t tell how many, were moving toward us through the fog as Alex stepped forward to help guide me to the sheriff’s car.
“Alex will do what he must,” said Nelson piously. “Is that not right, Alex?”
Alex shrugged. I had no idea what Alex thought about me, whether he liked me, hated me, or didn’t give a damn either way. I did know from looking at him that he’d do what Nelson wanted, that times were still hard and money scarce in Mirador.
Nelson and Alex flanked me and moved forward two or three feet before two figures in the fog came in range. One of the figures was Emmett Kelly. The other was a sinewy man with a perfect thin, waxed mustache. He was wearing a gray windbreaker and had a serious look on his lined face. His head was totally bald and looked polished.
“Hold on,” said the bald man with Kelly.
“I mean to,” said Nelson. “I mean to hold real tight to this rascal. He has committed several crimes and must come to town to deal with his rash acts.”
“My name is Elder,” said the man with the mustache. “I’m one of the owners of this circus. We hired Mr. Peters last night. He is part of this organization.”
“And …” grinned Nelson, tightening the grip on my arm.
“And we expect charges to be stated and the employee to be released in good health when those charges are dealt with,” said the man. Kelly caught my eye and nodded knowingly. I winked. I didn’t know what we were communicating, but it beat being dragged into the fog by the two-man Mirador police force.
“In fact,” said Elder, stepping forward, “if the charges are not too grave, we would appreciate dealing with them now. Maybe we can settle this without recourse to a trip to town. We are a bit shorthanded. The war and … you understand, I hope.”
I think Nelson was about to say that he did not understand when more figures emerged from the fog. It looked like one of those patriotic movies I used to see in grade school with people out of American history stepping through mist to tell me to be a good American and support the war or the President, and they were just as silent as those silent images, but they weren’t Presidents. They were a dozen or more men of all ages whose muscles were outlined under their work shirts and jackets.
“I mean to take this man,” said Nelson, his voice cracking rather like Jean Alvero, the prostitute of the night before, but there was nothing charming in Nelson’s statement, nor was there anything forceful. I looked at Alex, who showed only a twitch of annoyance. There was no backing down in Alex, but he and I and everyone including Nelson could tell that Nelson meant the opposite of what he was saying.
Alex, Nelson, and I were now circled by the circus chorus, and Elder kept getting more and more polite. Nelson’s hat came off, and the sheriff found that it needed immediate attention and cleaning with a soggy handkerchief.
“The charges are?” said Elder.
“Assault, disorderly conduct, damage to public vehicle, drunk and disorderly,” said Nelson, whose grin was gone.
Elder advanced to within three feet of Nelson and showed an incredibly lined, weatherbeaten face over his mustache. “I’d really like to know who brought the charges.”
“A respected member of our community,” screeched the sheriff.
“Well,” said Elder, looking evenly at Alex and then at the sheriff. “We are shorthanded, and I’m afraid if you take our man here it might mean we couldn’t do our show tonight, might have to pack right up and not play our second night in Mirador. Now, I understand some important people in this country plan to bring their kids tonight, you know, take their minds off the war. I think they need a little entertainment, and they’d be awfully damned angry if the circus pulled up and left. They’d like to know who was responsible, and I’m afraid we’d have to tell them about this.”
Nelson’s eyes went around the circle of faces and came to me. I choked on a smile.
