coincidence. There was somethin’ hinky about that carnie, and I wanted to know what—and I particularly wanted to know if it had anything to do with whoever was lookin’ into me’n Ramona both.
I coulda just settled in and waited for her to come home, of course, but that wouldn’ta gotten me a look at whatever was goin’ down out there. So, pleased as punch that I might finally be on the verge of some answers, I headed back for the parklands off the shores of Lake Michigan.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Had me some time to ruminate on the L, during my ride over, but I was still comin’ up empty. I just couldn’t figure why Shea—or his boss, Fleischer—would have much interest in a podunk carnival, leastaways not one so far south in enemy territory. And any ideas that seemed even vaguely possible didn’t explain Ramona’s interest. Nah, it hadda be something more occult than criminal, but what?
Yeah, I was about to find out, but I hate goin’ into a situation blind.
Was comin’ up on late afternoon by the time I finally made my way to the front gate, idly wondering if any of the Uptown Boys were back up on that hilltop, keepin’ a slant on the place. All the greasepaint and sweat and manure, helium and oil, sweets and slow rot, spun and twisted around each other like partners on the dance floor, mixing to create an atmosphere you just don’t find anywhere else. Balloons bobbed above the heads of the listless crowds, occasionally escapin’ to go drifting off to wherever they were destined to end up. (A small portion of ’em wouldn’t come back down to earth anywhere in
your
world.)
Kids skittered all around me, dressed for a day out, parents chasin’ after ’em with a lot less enthusiasm. Thankfully, whenever I almost got used to the shouting and screeching, the carnie’s pipe organ burst out with the shrieks of the damned cleverly disguised as music, just to make sure I couldn’t get too comfortable. My dogs stuck to the ground every fifth or sixth step, and I decided I was happier just assuming it was due to spilled soft drinks and lost tufts of cotton candy. The other possibilities didn’t bear much thinking on.
You know what, though? I’ll give the place this much: set up here, near some of Chicago’s less hoity-toity neighborhoods, the carnival was a lot more mixed than a lotta the city’s other entertainments. Children black, white, and various shades in between ran and played together without much care, and if some of the adults occasionally cast a few suspicious glances when they thought nobody’d notice, at least they were all civil about it.
Yeah. Welcome to “Rounser’s Remarkable Fun Fair and Excellent Exhibition.” I had no notion who Rounser was, but I gotta say he had a more generous definition of “remarkable” and “excellent” than I did.
I wandered through the gates, poured my handful of change into the waiting palm of a barker who was either too young for his beard or too old for the rest of his face, and just set my Oxfords to wandering. I didn’t really have anywhere specific to look, so I waded through a shallow ford in the stream of kids, dodged one kiosk where a perky brunette sold candy at a markup that woulda made Capone cry robbery, slipped beside another where they were takin’ song requests for the band organ, nearly socked a horrific and phantasmal face leering at me outta the shadows until I realized it was a clown (and then nearly socked him again because I’d realized it was a clown), and finally found myself in a tiny pocket of peace and relative quiet, beneath a heavy banner swayin’ gently in the lake-blown breeze.
At which point I looked up and actually
read
the banner.
“Aw, fuck.”
See, I’d never gotten anywhere near enough to see the signs on my first visit. I was too busy chattin’ with Nolan Shea, and also not having the slightest inkling the carnival mattered. And on my way in today? I’m sure they
had
banners up out front, since this was
I coulda just settled in and waited for her to come home, of course, but that wouldn’ta gotten me a look at whatever was goin’ down out there. So, pleased as punch that I might finally be on the verge of some answers, I headed back for the parklands off the shores of Lake Michigan.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Had me some time to ruminate on the L, during my ride over, but I was still comin’ up empty. I just couldn’t figure why Shea—or his boss, Fleischer—would have much interest in a podunk carnival, leastaways not one so far south in enemy territory. And any ideas that seemed even vaguely possible didn’t explain Ramona’s interest. Nah, it hadda be something more occult than criminal, but what?
Yeah, I was about to find out, but I hate goin’ into a situation blind.
Was comin’ up on late afternoon by the time I finally made my way to the front gate, idly wondering if any of the Uptown Boys were back up on that hilltop, keepin’ a slant on the place. All the greasepaint and sweat and manure, helium and oil, sweets and slow rot, spun and twisted around each other like partners on the dance floor, mixing to create an atmosphere you just don’t find anywhere else. Balloons bobbed above the heads of the listless crowds, occasionally escapin’ to go drifting off to wherever they were destined to end up. (A small portion of ’em wouldn’t come back down to earth anywhere in
your
world.)
Kids skittered all around me, dressed for a day out, parents chasin’ after ’em with a lot less enthusiasm. Thankfully, whenever I almost got used to the shouting and screeching, the carnie’s pipe organ burst out with the shrieks of the damned cleverly disguised as music, just to make sure I couldn’t get too comfortable. My dogs stuck to the ground every fifth or sixth step, and I decided I was happier just assuming it was due to spilled soft drinks and lost tufts of cotton candy. The other possibilities didn’t bear much thinking on.
You know what, though? I’ll give the place this much: set up here, near some of Chicago’s less hoity-toity neighborhoods, the carnival was a lot more mixed than a lotta the city’s other entertainments. Children black, white, and various shades in between ran and played together without much care, and if some of the adults occasionally cast a few suspicious glances when they thought nobody’d notice, at least they were all civil about it.
Yeah. Welcome to “Rounser’s Remarkable Fun Fair and Excellent Exhibition.” I had no notion who Rounser was, but I gotta say he had a more generous definition of “remarkable” and “excellent” than I did.
I wandered through the gates, poured my handful of change into the waiting palm of a barker who was either too young for his beard or too old for the rest of his face, and just set my Oxfords to wandering. I didn’t really have anywhere specific to look, so I waded through a shallow ford in the stream of kids, dodged one kiosk where a perky brunette sold candy at a markup that woulda made Capone cry robbery, slipped beside another where they were takin’ song requests for the band organ, nearly socked a horrific and phantasmal face leering at me outta the shadows until I realized it was a clown (and then nearly socked him again because I’d realized it was a clown), and finally found myself in a tiny pocket of peace and relative quiet, beneath a heavy banner swayin’ gently in the lake-blown breeze.
At which point I looked up and actually
read
the banner.
“Aw, fuck.”
See, I’d never gotten anywhere near enough to see the signs on my first visit. I was too busy chattin’ with Nolan Shea, and also not having the slightest inkling the carnival mattered. And on my way in today? I’m sure they
had
banners up out front, since this was
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