Patrolman Isaac Deeks wandered over to the fax machine. FBI wanted flyers. He gathered them up and wandered back to the counter, sighing.
3 pm. Sheriff Biggins would still be humping Nolene at the Cathouse. It was a Wednesday. The cells were all empty and would remain so until Friday and Saturday night. Nothing much happened in Grunton, CA.
Deeks was studying the fliers. It wasn’t April Fools and it wasn’t Halloween. The faces depicted on the fax sheets were hardly inconspicuous. Was this some kind of FBI test? He kept looking at the Most Wanted sheet.
The door to the Police Station opened. Footsteps clicked across the floor , to the counter. Deeks registered the pointed toecaps of a pair of black cowboy boots.
‘Can I help you, S…’
The policeman’s gaze had travelled up the visitor’s body. When it reached the face, the eyes darted back to the flyer. Then to the face. Flyer. Face.
Deeks stepped back slowly, mouth working silently.
The visitor removed his top hat, and placed it carefully on the counter.
‘Good afternoon, Officer,’ he said to Deeks. ’My name is Doctor Dementer. I believe that the Federal Bureau Of Investigation are looking for me. I’ve come to give myself up.’
Deeks’ mind raced.
‘Sure thing, Mister. Step this way.’
He walked out from behind the counter grabbing a large bunch of keys, and led the way out back to the cells. He opened the door of the nearest cell, and waved the visitor inside.
‘If you please, Mister. Just a precaution. Until we can check your story out.’
‘Of course. I understand perfectly. You’re actions are a credit to the force, Officer.’
Dementer meekly entered the cell, and sat down on the small wooden bench. He leaned back against the whitewashed wall and closed his eyes.
Deeks shut the door, and locked it. He walked back to the counter and checked the fax. Sure looked like him. Shit. What now? Disturb Biggins or call the FBI himself? Deeks found he was sweating.
‘********************
Waylon Biggins was Casanova, John Holmes, Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson. He was giving Nolene the fuck of her life.
Nolene studied the ceiling and hoped the fat, sweaty bastard would get a frigging move on so she could get on with her accounts.
The ’phone rang. Nolene languidly reached and picked it up.
‘Grunton Cathouse. Our Pleasure Is Your Service.’ She sighed. ’Waylon, honey, it’s for you.’
‘Huh? Who the..?’
‘Isaac. Says it’s important. FBI Business.’
‘Shit.’ Biggins had lost his impetus and erection. ’Deeks? This had better be good.’
‘*************************************
Special Agent Johnson walked into meeting room G1 on the first floor of the Arizona FBI Office. Ranged around the table were Special Agents Ronson, Jones, Lorelei, Smith, Robinson and Jablonski.
Johnson nodded to them.
‘Agents. Just to fill you in. The mission in our home state has been considered a success. Aside from the recovery of 36 offenders with only the loss of 37 peace officers, the discovery of between 150 and 200 currently unidentified bodies within the Ghost Train and Tunnel Of Love edifices has given us carte blanche in the apprehension, or termination, of Dementer and his remaining accomplices. We should also go a long way to clearing up the State missing persons backlog once identification of the deceased has been accomplished.
In front of you are the photo fits of Dementer and accomplices. These were wired to all field offices three days ago, and have subsequently been released to the media. If the current adverse publicity being directed at the Bureau as a result of the appearance of these fugitives is continued, we will give out details of the mass murders perpetrated by these offenders.’
Ronson coughed.
‘Any truth in the rumour that the Wiz is on the case?’
Johnson grinned.
‘He is. We should have his thoughts any moment.’
There was a knock at the door.
‘Enter.’
A rotund, grey-haired man wearing half-moon glasses and clutching a sheaf of papers bustled in to the room.
‘Lady and gentlemen, Mr Michael O’Shea aka The Wiz.’
‘Thanks, Special Agent Johnson.’
Michael O’Shea was a legendary figure within the FBI. He’d joined when Hoover was in charge, and swiftly became the Bureau’s foremost Data Collator. He had a sixth sense when sifting information, as to what was useful and what wasn’t. Even though most of the collation was performed by computers nowadays, retired O’Shea was kept on a retainer and liked to be called in on what he called ’the weird ones.’ Originally dubbed ‘the Wizard’, the faster pace of life had led to The Wiz.
Johnson and Ronson hummed ‘Git On Down, Git On Down The Road’ in tribute.
O’Shea raised a hand for silence.
‘Thank you gentlemen. And lady. As you are no doubt aware, I’ve been blastin’ through the muleshit for the last couple of days. Since the good Doctor’s visage has been transmitted into America’s homes, the devil has been popping up everywhere, from Alaska to Texas. His favourite pastime it would seem, is to peer into old ladies’ bedrooms, or even gain entry to their bathrooms. Needless to say, he’s long gone by the time an officer of the law arrives. Incidentally, he’s also been spotted surfing with Elvis in Hawaii, and riding the Runaway Train at all three Disney parks with Mr Presley. Some what disrespectfully, he’s been urinating outside Graceland, he’s taken the White House tour, and, most ambitiously of all, he’s converting the image of Abe Lincoln on Mount Rushmore to that of his own.’
O’Shea took most of his sheaf of papers and dumped them into the trash bin.
‘None of his cohorts, despite their…unusual…appearance have been seen. So, what does that leave us?’
O’Shea glanced around the table. He had everyone’s undivided attention.
‘I’ve come up with three items of interest. Although one is probably only of interest to me, I’ll share it with you. It’s an uncanny coincidence, but of periphal importance to this case.’
O’Shea smiled, then picked up a piece of paper and became serious.
‘Item One. Three days ago, Patrolman Isaac Deeks of Grunton, California reported that a person answering Dementer’s description had voluntarily given himself up. He is currently in custody in Grunton Jail. It’s tempting to think that this is just some whacko in a Halloween costume crying for attention, but this guy walked in ten minutes after Deeks had received our flyers, long before any media publicity. Deeks is sending us a picture. Says the guy’s just been sat in his cell. Not eating, not drinking, not even going to the bathroom.
Item Two. When our information reached the Sunshine State, our Florida office was besieged by calls from one P T Jiption, saying that he told us about this guy, and I quote ’Doctor Demented’ ten years ago, and would subsequently be suing the FBI for ten million dollars. A million bucks for each year we’d ignored him. Oh, and he wanted to sue ’Demented’ for ten million bucks, too.
Mr Jiption owned one of the last travelling carnival ’freak-shows’ in the US, before most states closed them down, or the PC brigade educated the ’unusual people’ as to their rights as physically challenged.
Jiption claims Demented, as he calls him, turned up one night ten years ago, waving a pistol and yelling that he was ’Spartacus, come to free the Oddities.’ The sideshow attractions at Jiptions carny fell for this Doctor’s spiel and turned on Jiption and his roustabouts. Beat ’em up pretty bad. Apparently Jiption’s in a wheelchair. Then the Doc and these Oddities took off into the night.
Item Three.Irrelevant, but I like it. All our nationwide alerts also go to Interpol. There’s a guy who does what I do over in England. Sid Fabian. Works for Scotland Yard. They’re looking into some strange cult murders at present, with the help of a Professor of the Occult. This Prof was with Sid when the fax arrived. Saw the picture and the name Dementer and flipped. Disappeared for a while, then came back and told Sid a tale.
16th September 1620. The Pilgrim Fathers are setting sail from England to help establish this great country of ours. As The Mayflower slips away from the dock in Plymouth, a Pilgrim Father who got up late comes charging down the pier, clutching his stovepipe hat, frock coat flapping. He leaps from the dockside, and manages to grab one of the lines being hauled up onto the ship.
Whoever this guy was he causes no trouble on the voyage, isn’t on the manifest, and disappears when the Mayflower reaches Cape Cod.
Back in England there’s a most unholy row. There are claims that the stowaway was none other than Doctor Devereux Delacroix Dementer, wanted for practition of Black Sorcery, surrounding himself with people of unusual shape, and crymes against the soul.
The Prof even dug up a woodcut that’s supposed to be this Doc. Faxed it across.’
O’Shea laid a piece of paper on the table next to the photo fit of Doctor Dementer. The agents leaned forward.
There was a knock at the door.
‘Enter,’ barked Johnson.
An embarrassed looking young man poked his head round the door.
‘’Scuse me, Sir. Fax from Grunton. Picture of the guy incarcerated there.’
The paper was handed to Johnson, who laid it on the table next to the photo fit and the woodcut.
‘Well, well, well,’ said O'Shea. 'What do you get for three in a row?'
*************************************************************************************
Johnson and O’Shea walked into Grunton Police Station. Deeks and Biggins were waiting for them behind the counter.
‘What have we here?’
O’Shea reached out for the top hat sitting on top of the desk.
‘DON’T TOUCH IT!’ shouted Deeks and Biggins in unison, holding out their hands in warning. O’Shea studied the bandaged extremities.
‘It’s a trap!’
‘It’s full of electricity!’
‘It shocks you!’
‘It hurts!’
‘It burns!’
Gabbled the policemen.
O’Shea plucked a pencil from a God Bless America mug and gingerly tapped the hat with it. Nothing happened. He stared at the officers.
Johnson sighed in exasperation.
‘Give me that.’
A blue-white flash illuminated the area, followed by a sharp CRACK! Johnson was hurled across the room, to hit the opposite wall. He groaned and held up his hand. It was seared red and smoking.
Deeks grabbed a fire bucket, filled it with cold water and plunged Johnson’s hand in. Biggins handed the younger officer a first aid kit and said to O’Shea, ‘We warned him.’
O’Shea looked at the hat. It sat smugly on the counter, a wisp of smoke curling from the brim, a smell of ozone permeating the air around it.
‘Where’s Dementer?’ he asked the Sheriff.
‘This way,’ replied Biggins, reluctantly.
‘*******************
Special Agent Ronson looked out of the car window at the Greenfields Rest Home. It reminded him of an old plantation house. Spanish moss was growing on the walls. The Everglades were evidently trying to reclaim it.
Ronson left the car and lightly ran up the steps. He entered the building. A small desk sat at the bottom of a huge staircase. A middle-aged woman in a nurse’s uniform sat behind the desk. She looked up angrily at Ronson’s entry, then beamed him a smile.
‘Hell-o, Handsome! What brings you to this Happy House?’
Ronson flashed his ID card.
‘Special Agent Ronson. FBI. Can I speak to Mizz Mildred Etheridge , please? She is aware of my visit.’
‘You got it, Handsome. I’ll let her know you’re here. Coffee?’
‘Thanks.’
The Nurse buzzed through on an intercom, then led Ronson up the stairs. There was a low rumble of thunder outside. As they gained the landing, the first door on the left opened, and a sour-looking woman with a page-boy haircut and a pin-stripe jacket/skirt suit on, looked out.
‘Agent Ronson? In here please?’
Ronson followed her into a large room. Mizz Etheridge stationed herself behind an equally large desk, and indicated a leather armchair.
As Ronson seated himself, Etheridge plunged straight in.
‘You’re here to see Mr. Jiption? And you want to talk to him about his past involvement in Carnivals and Sideshows?’ she said with some distaste.
‘Indeed.’
‘Agent Ronson, Mr Jiption is in a very parlous state. We have spent a decade trying to give him some form of normal existence, and your organization has more or less undone all that work in a matter of days..’
‘Mizz Etheridge..’
‘Call me Millie, please.’ An unexpected smile.
‘Millie..’
The Nurse entered with a tray of cups and a coffee pot. After a sip of coffee. Ronson returned to the fray.
‘Millie, I do apologise for any distress this visit may cause yourself, your staff or Mr Jiption, but it appears that we are investigating the worst case of serial killing in American history. Anything I can glean from Mr Jiption may help us apprehend the perpetrators, and , I’m sure you’ll agree, a speedy resolution to this matter is best for everybody.’
Millie Etheridge sighed. ‘He’s downstairs on the verandah. I’ll take you to him. Please, be careful.’
‘***************
O’Shea glanced into the cell. Dementer was sat on a wooden bench, back to the wall, eyes closed, hands on his lap.
‘He’s been like that for days,’ hissed Biggins. ‘Sometimes I can’t tell if he’s even breathing.’
‘Let me into the cell, please, Sheriff,’ requested O’Shea.
Biggins stared at him.
‘You sure?’
‘Sure I’m sure. I’ll take responsibility.’
‘Well, OK,’ grumbled Biggins. ‘I’ll stay here. Any funny business…’
‘I suggest you keep your gun in its holster, Sheriff. It shouldn’t come to that.’
Biggins unlocked the cell door, and O’Shea stepped in.
Biggins closed the door.
‘Lock it,’ advised O’Shea.
‘Hey, you can’t…’
‘Lock it, Sheriff.’
‘Your funeral,’ muttered Biggins, locking the door.
O’Shea leaned against the opposite wall to the bench and prepared to study Dementer.
The Doctor’s eyes sprang open.
‘Mike! Good to see you! If the Wizard has been called in, I know the Bureau is taking this seriously!’
‘I’m known as The Wiz these days, Doctor,’ replied O’Shea, trying to keep surprise out of his voice.
Dementer grinned and hummed ‘Git On Down, Git On Down The Road.’
O’Shea felt a trickle of sweat on his neck.
‘You’ve come on since Dallas in ’63,’ smiled Dementer. He reached behind him, and proffered a furled umbrella to O’Shea. ‘You missed this in all the excitement.’
‘Put that down!’ bellowed Biggins, his pistol aimed through the bars. ‘Don’t touch it! It could be a booby trap like that fuckin’ hat.’
‘I’m fine Sheriff,’ said O’Shea, trying to maintain a façade of calm. ‘Please put the gun away.’
Deeks and a partly-recovered Johnson were watching from the counter.
‘What they on about?’ asked Deeks.’ He didn’t have that umbrella with him when he came in.’
‘The Wiz was part of the Dallas investigation, you know, the Kennedy Assassination,’ breathed Johnson. ‘It was a hot day but several witnesses saw some guy open an umbrella as the motorcade was passing. Mike was put on that. It was one of his first assignments. They were looking for a white-haired guy.’ Johnson sounded almost in awe.
‘How was your trip on The Mayflower, Doctor?’ asked O’Shea.
Dementer roared with laughter. ‘Long and boring, Wiz, long and boring. All those sermons. Was never one for that stuff.’
‘How about P T Jiption then?’ supplied O’Shea, changing tack. ‘He remembers you. We’ve got a guy seeing him right about now.’
Dementer smiled a cracked smile at the collator.
‘Don’t I know it?’ he sneered.
‘*************
Millie Etheridge walked out onto the verandah at the rear of the Rest Home. Darkness was beginning to fall, and the storm was still rumbling toward them. Lightning flashed and illuminated a hunched figure in a wheelchair, staring out at the water backing on to the house.
‘Mr. Jiption?’ Millie whispered. ‘There’s someone to see you.’ She nodded at Ronson and withdrew.
Ronson held his badge under Jiption’s nose. Watery bloodshot eyes stared at the Agent.
‘About fuckin’ time.’
Ronson sat in a wicker chair next to the invalid. Despite the humidity, Jiption’s lower half was wrapped in a tartan blanket. He was bald, and wore huge shades, which covered most of his face. Ronson could still make out a faint net work of scars decorating his cheeks.
‘Look out there. What do you see, son?’
Ronson looked out. The water was covered with a white mist. Just visible in the mist were pairs of small yellow lights. Lots of them.
‘ ‘Gators,’ said Jiption. He turned to Ronson. ‘They’re waitin’ for me. Demented sends ‘em. To warn me. Now, you’re here, my time’s up.’
A weird roar came from the water. Ronson stared. An alligator’s broad head had risen above the mist, it’s jaws open. Then another. Another. Hordes of alligators were appearing from the mist, the noise deafening. Lightning flashed, thunder rumbled, adding to the cacophony. A teeming downpour began.
‘My God!’
Ronson turned to see Millie Etheridge and the nurse staring in shock at the alligator choir. A space had been left in the middle of the mist. A snout, twice the size of the others, rose majestically from the white fog. Alligators singing between the monster snout and the verandah parted like a reptilian red sea, and the giant ‘gator began to cruise toward Jiption.
The two women were struggling to move the invalid. Jiption had locked his wheels and was holding fast.
‘You can’t change fate,’ he screamed.
The women shrieked and retreated as the huge alligator hurled itself through the light balustrade between water and verandah. The wheelchair overturned and Jiption sprawled in front of the reptile.
Ronson drew his revolver and fired. The bullet bounced of the ‘gator’s inch-thick hide. The gigantic maw opened. The beast hissed and roared. Ronson fired again, to no avail. Jiption’s lower half was seized by the mighty jaws. The alligator twisted its head and ripped Jiption’s legs off. They, and the blanket, flew over the balustrade. The nearest ‘gators stopped singing long enough to fight over the scraps.
Ronson watched mesmerised as the reptile turned back to Jiption. A skeletal hand clawed at his trouser leg. The half-man was still alive!
‘Don’t let it get me,’ begged the upside-down face.
Ronson pointed his pistol at Jiption’s head and fired. The rain stopped. The alligators in the water stopped singing, and disappeared into the mist. The monster ‘gator nudged Jiption’s upper half, then raised its head to face Ronson. It opened its jaws, roared, then flung itself from the verandah into the water.
Ronson was shaking. The women were crying. He looked down at Jiption’s shattered skull. You’re sent all this way to interview a witness and then you kill him? he thought. Thank God Etheridge and the nurse had seen this.
Ronson holstered his gun, and turned to help the women.
********************************************************************************************************
The heat in Grunton Jailhouse was becoming oppressive. Sheriff Biggins sweated as he watched the war of nerves in the cell.
O’Shea had taken a break, and then returned to the cell with a chair. He and Dementer had discussed all manner of things, O’Shea relentlessly circling, trying to find a chink in the Doctor’s armour. Dementer sly, verbose, garrulous, then clamming up.
O’Shea was beginning to look tired, Dementer still seemed as fresh as a daisy. How could he with three days of starvation? He didn’t even smell rank.
Biggins was distracted by the return of Deeks and Johnson from the hospital.
‘Any news?’ asked the FBI Special Agent, nervously tugging at his new bandage.
‘Nope,’ said the Sheriff. ‘ The Wiz is getting’ no place. That freaky Doc just sits there, smilin’.’
‘We’ll have to take him to Washington,’ said Johnson. ‘Get the head guys onto him at HQ. Never known Wiz so subdued.’
O’Shea mopped his brow with his handkerchief.
‘What of your associates, Doctor? The ones you fled Peaceville with?’
‘The ones your licensed murderers ain’t killed yet? Wouldn’t you like to know?’
Music floated in through the high barred window from a car radio. Buddy Holly. Something about his love being bigger than a Cadillac.
Dementer’s hand began tapping to the beat on the bench.
Mesmerised by the heat, the humidity, the frustration, Biggins, Deeks, Johnson and O’Shea stared helplessly as the Doc slowly began to disappear.
‘He’s getting’ away,’ wailed Biggins drawing his revolver, but realising that there was almost nothing left to shoot at.
In fact, all that was left was a grin of large, white gravestone teeth between two thin, white lips, two eyeballs which revolved in time to the music, and the Doc’s two hands, one still pounding out the beat, the other waving a fond farewell.
‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ said the teeth. The eyes closed and vanished. The waving hand flipped the officers of the law the finger, then was gone. The beating hand stopped and went. A large red forked tongue protruded between the teeth, blew O’Shea a raspberry and then the floating mouth parts skedaddled.
O’Shea stared at the blank wall. Biggins opened the door and walked in, still staring at the space recently occupied by the Doctor.
‘Christ, Mike,’ wheezed Johnson. ‘We’re in a shitload of trouble.’
‘******
The Doctor had slowly materialised in the Thunderbird waiting outside the cell window.
‘You took your time, Doc’ said the driver. ‘I was beginning to think you’d never appear.’
The Doctor stared, partly aghast, partly amused, at what looked like a flexible mobile mannequin sitting in the driver’s seat.
‘Leopold? What in hell happened to you?’
The Thunderbird moved away from the sidewalk.
‘We bin to see that plastic surgeon, Merriwether. He’s just about removed all of Wade’s scales. Left him a bit raw, but when he’s recovered, they got these aerosols, full of SpraySkin. Told us to cover ol’ Wade in it when his ornery skin has healed. Well, while Hester was waitin’ for her liposuction, she done shaved her beard off. So I decided to rid myself of my fuzz. My skin is kinda mottled underneath. You know, like a hound’s belly? So I covered myself in SpraySkin, to cover up the all-over five o’clock shadow, and to reassure pore ol’ Wade that it’ll be OK. How do I look?’
Dementer guffawed.
‘Like the Pink Panther. On acid.’
Leopold sniffed.
‘It ain’t that bad. When Merriwether’s separated the twins, he sez he’ll dock my tail. How ‘bout that, Doc? I’ll be near as dammit a real person.’
Doctor Dementer remained silent. He didn’t like this at all. He’d wanted the surviving Oddities to visit Merriwether to assist in covering up their obvious differences. Not to get complete makeovers, or to try to be what they weren’t. The words Are We Not Men? popped into his head. Two legs good, everything else bad. Creatures walking amongst us.
He glanced at Leopold. The SpraySkin was already cracking around the eyes and mouth. Dementer smiled, more at ease. It wouldn’t be long before the Lion-Man burst out of his artificial shell in all his former glory.
Hester would soon be a relatively normal looking woman. That wouldn’t be a bad thing. He could live with that. The twins and Wade were another matter. His smile grew broader. And Dick and Claude would never change.
‘******
‘I’ve never, never seen anything like that.’ Michael O’Shea was still in a daze. He and Johnson were riding back to Arizona.
‘That Dementer’s something all right. Mike, what are we gonna do?’
‘We’ll have to call on the Bureau Occult Division, Johnson. Special Agent Lorelei is one of ‘em, ain’t she?’
‘That’s why she was at the meeting, Mike. Do you think they can help?’
‘If they can’t, no-one can. This is worse than I thought. This ain’t no penny-ante serial killer. This guy is…’
‘Is what?’
‘I don’t know,’ finished O’Shea, defeatedly.
*****************************************************************************************
Wilford Merriwether walked out of the back door of his surgery carrying a paper bag. He lifted the lid of his trash can, and jumped back with a shout. Like a malevolent jack-in-the-box, Doctor Dementer leaped out.
‘Merriwether, you traitorous dog! What’s in the bag?’
‘Jeez, Doc, but you give me a scare. Didn’t expect you back so soon…’
Dementer growled ’Obviously’ and seized the bag. Merriwether held on, and the paper ripped. Wade’s scales tumbled to the ground.
Dementer glared at the plastic surgeon.
‘Now, hold on, Doc…’
‘Put ’em back.’
‘What? Do you know how..’
‘I don’t and I don’t care. Put ’em back.’
‘I can’t! It’s…’
‘Doc!’
Klin (or was it Klang?) emerged from the back door. He held out his arms toward Dementer and staggered woozily across the yard.
Dementer caught him as he fell.
‘What have you done, Wilford?’
‘They asked me to! They said you wanted ‘em to ..to…blend into society! I thought you guys were on the lam. You wouldn’t last five minutes the way they were.'
Dementer hefted the single twin in his arms.
‘Pick the scales up and come inside. We’ve got a lot to talk about.’
‘*************************
O’Shea and Johnson made a few telephone calls. They flew from Phoenix down to Baton Rouge, and then had a car and driver take them across Louisiana toward Sulphur. Before they arrived in the small town, the car turned off down a dirt track. Part way through a small forest, they found themselves approaching a Renaissance castle.
‘What the heck?’ began Special Agent Johnson.
‘The Bureau Occult Division,’ exclaimed O’Shea.
The limousine swept up to the drawbridge. Special Agent Lorelei was waiting.
At the meeting, her black streaked with white hair had been loose, cascading across her shoulders. Here it was drawn back in a kind of beehive, transforming her into a cross between the Bride of Frankenstein and Amy Winehouse. She was wearing a smart black suit jacket with a matching skirt so small O’Shea wondered if she were wearing one at all. Black stockings and black boots completed the ensemble.
Johnson and O’Shea alighted from their car, which moved off immediately.
‘This way, Gennelmen,; said the female Agent, haughtily.
‘What’s this doing out here, Laurie?’ asked Johnson.
‘It’s the B O D headquarters, Johnson,’ she sneered. ‘Based on Himmler’s Wewelsburg. You know, the Nazi.’
Johnson and O’Shea looked at one another. Failing to come up with any other Himmlers, they shrugged and followed the girl under the portcullis and into the castle.
‘How does the Bureau justify all this?’ wondered O’Shea aloud, as they transversed the green marbled hall with inlaid golden sun wheel.
‘We deal with all kindsa nutjobs, weirdos, loons, devil-worshippers, freak-outs, Right-Wing assholes, Commie fruit loops and general fuckwits that claim to be into ’the Occult’ (she mimed inverted commas) . If we bring ’em out here, they’re convinced we’re serious and often spill. Or agree to work with us.’
A long-haired bearded benevolent looking young man in a kaftan wandered past. He flashed a two fingered peace sign at the Agents. Lorlei returned it.
‘You let these creeps wander around?’ marvelled Johnson.
‘Oh, that’s Special Agent Carpenter, our regional director,’ said the female Agent. ’We call him J Edgar Groover. In here, guys.’
She opened an arched wooden door, and waved her two companions through.
‘*********
The Oddities hung their heads in shame. Wilford Merriwether wondered how long he had left to live.
Doctor Dementer, arms folded across his chest, foot tapping in the embarrassed silence, shook his head.
‘I can’t leave you for five minutes, can I? What did you think you were doing? What did you hope to achieve? After all we’ve been through together. After all I’ve taught you. What were you gonna do in your brave new world? Pick on some weird lookin’ guys? Laugh at ‘em? Spit on ‘em? Beat’em up? Just like Real people did to you?’
‘We didn’t mean nothing’, Doc,’ said Leopold. ‘We just wanted to lay low. Blend in. Take the heat off.’
‘What then? What if you liked being ‘normal’? Your buddies died back in Peaceville, and you’re trying to turn yourselves into the people who did it. Well, I got news for you.’
Dementer walked toward the twins, who cowered together in an imitation of their previous combined shape. He ran his hands over them. They tried to move independently, but couldn‘t . They were conjoined again. They looked gratefully at The Doc. He smiled, and walked over to the couch.
Wade, trussed up in bandages like an economy size mummy, said, ‘I’m sorry, Doc.’
‘It’s OK, Wade. I know you was led astray by the others.’
Dementer began to unwrap the small figure. As the bandages peeled off, Wade’s scales were revealed in all their glory.
Merriwether frowned and looked in the torn paper bag. It was empty.
The Doc turned to Leopold and Hester.
‘You two got some growin’ to do.’
‘Sure, Doc,’ pleaded the former bearded lady, ‘but can I at least keep the weight off? Please?’
‘We’ll see,’ said the Doctor, reluctantly. ‘Leopold, we’ll give it a coupla days, then we’ll pull you outa your skin. What say?’
‘OK, Doc. It’s beginnin’ to get a bit itchy in here, anyways.’
‘My Oddities,’ sighed the Doc, brushing a tear from his eye.
‘**********************************
Special Agent Lorelei closed the door, turned to Special Agent Johnson, and slapped him across the face, hard.
‘You chauvinist pig! Had to have your token woman on the committee, didn’t you? Well, shit, you shoulda taken me to Grunton. Looks like you made a first-class hash of it.’
‘Calm down, Laurie! That’s unfair! You know I respect……Ow!’ Johnson gingerly touched his stinging jaw.
‘How’d it go down there, Wiz?’
‘Bad, Lorelei. Bad. We had him sitting in a cell in front of us. And he just…disappeared. Like that.’
O’Shea clicked his fingers.
Lorelei turned away .
‘He’s a prime bastard. If that asshole,’ She indicated Johnson, ’had brought me in, we coulda taken care of him. The B O D wants him destroyed. He’s been making mischief for too long. Now he’s been flushed out, we’ve got to nail him. We’ve got to. I’m working on orders from Special Agent Ipsissimus. He’s head of the B O D. Dementer’s his nemesis. He was getting all fired up to get down to Grunton when you two fucked up.’
‘Be fair, Lorelei. If you knew all this, why didn’t you speak up at the meeting?’ said O’Shea.
‘Orders,’ sighed Lorelei. ‘’Sides, I’ve met up with Dementer before.’
‘You have?’ gasped Johnson.
‘Sure. By accident. I was posing as a stripper down in N’Orleans prior to a vice bust. Dementer was scouring the area looking for God knows what.’ She shuddered. ‘We hooked up.’
‘You didn’t’ ejaculated Johnson. ‘Laurie, you…’
‘He was all man,’ sighed Lorelei. ‘And a half. I wonder if he’d remember ol’ Kandy Kane?’
She smiled, and O’Shea saw something in her eyes he didn’t like one bit.
*************************************************************************************
The only words exchanged between Johnson and O’Shea in the B O D car on the way back to Baton Rouge were ;
‘Special Agent Johnson, what’s your first name? Ron?’
‘Ray.’
‘Oh.’
When they were safely ensconced in their motel, the conversation picked up.
‘Ray, do you think we should leave this in the hands of the B O D?’
‘No way. I’ve got Jones, Robinson and Jablonski down here. They should be watching the castle now. If Laurie makes a move, we’ll know.’
'What about Smith?'
'He's on standby. He's my secret weapon. He's a properly ordained priest. Kosher. Not one of your send away for a certificate sky-pilots.'
O’Shea wasn’t quite sure how to broach the next subject, but decided to plough ahead.
‘Are you carrying a torch for her?’
Johnson squirmed.
‘Yeah. Goes back to the Academy. We were just getting acquainted when she was plucked from our class to be specially trained up for the B O D.’
‘You realise that she seems to be carrying a torch for Dementer?’
Johnson strode to the window, hands in pockets, and looked out.
‘I think that may have been for my benefit, Mike.’ He paused. ‘Do you know anything about Ipsissimus?’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘*******
Lorelei climbed the crumbling stone steps of the North Tower. She removed her jacket, and stopped to open a window. Warm rain was blown in, soaking her white shirt and black tie. She looked down. The white material had become see-through. He would like that.
She closed the window, and carried on up to the top.
A dark oak door faced her. She knocked, gently.
‘Come.’ The voice was deep. She entered.
It was very dark inside. She could hardly see the enormous four-poster bed surrounded by black muslin laying at the far end of the room. She sashayed across the wooden floor boards, twirling her jacket, then throwing it behind her. She began to unbutton the shirt.
‘Come closer.’
She turned her back to the bed, and slipped off the shirt, keeping the tie on. Arms folded across her chest, she glided closer. The muslin twitched.
‘Closer.’ There was a hint of desperation in the voice now.
She undid the slip of a skirt and slid it over her hips.
She pulled her boots off and stood beside the bed. The muslin parted and an enormous three-fingered hand emerged to completely cover her stomach.
‘Leave the stockings on.’
‘Yes, father.’
The claws hooked onto her black panties, and tore them off. She parted the muslin, lifted the covers, and climbed into the bed. It should have been warm. But it was so, so cold.
‘*********
Doctor Dementer, hair now black, mooched around the seedier end of Baja, California in a powder blue zoot suit, and black-and-white co-respondent shoes.
He’d had to get away for a while. His mind was in turmoil. Everything was almost back on track. He and the Oddities just had to find a new place to hide in plain sight. Then they could start to build up the carnival again. But something was preying on his mind. Some deep, cobweb-infested, dark, rancid corner of his thought process had screamed Get out in the sun! Get away and think! Leave your flock! Have some me time!
So here he was. Checking out bars, strip joints, whorehouses, ….for what?
He came to a halt in front of the Sleezarama. A huge blown up photograph of a terpsichorean ecdysiast with the most amazing flame-red hair covering her essentials drew the Doctor’s attention. There was something familiar about this particular exotic.
Dementer moved into the entranceway. The obligatory gorilla asked him for his membership fee and found himself pressed up against the wall with his windpipe rapidly constricting. Apart from the fact he couldn’t breathe, the bouncer found it disconcerting that the oddball hadn’t laid a finger on him.
Released and gasping for breath, he decided that he wouldn’t pursue the matter.
Dementer walked through the club. A bored looking young lady was half-heartedly gyrating to an over-amplified instrumental. The Doctor walked down the side of the milk crate stage and into a sticky corridor. He opened the first door he came to. Red was combing her amazing tresses whilst studying her reflection in a fly blown mirror. As a concession to showbiz, there were lightbulbs arranged around the frame. One of them worked.
The combing slowed as Dementer materialised in the mirror. She turned to face him.
‘Doc?’
Realisation hit him like a truck.
‘Kandy?’
She launched herself into his arms. They tore at one anothers clothes. It’s been too long, thought the Doc. He paused the frenzy to jam her chair under the doorknob, and they resumed relations.
Afterward, lying on the hard , grimy floor, the Doc tried to think past the post-coital ennui. Everything was for a reason. What was happening here?
Kandy Kane’s baby blues opened.
‘Doc?’
‘Yeah?’
‘You’re a real Doc, aincha?’
He frowned . ‘Yeah. You wanna talk about your operation?’
‘No. It’s …it’s my pop. He’s bad sick. Written off. Could you take a look?’
The Doc grinned. A trap. He’d have to walk into it.
‘Sure, honey.’
She choked back a sob.
‘Meet me at Pier 49. In an hour. He’s dying, Doc.’
‘We’ll see.’
The Doc dressed quickly. He left the club dressed in his black ensemble, top hat stashed in a plastic bag. He made a telephone call to Merriwether’s, then made his way to the Pier, settling himself in a café looking out on to the water.
‘*****
Johnson and O’Shea were now in another motel. This time in Baja.
‘Jablonski’s at Pier 49. He’s got Dementer in his sights. The guy’s waiting.’
Johnson paced the room, agitatedly.
O’Shea sighed. ‘Looks like Lorelei’s got him where she wants him.’
‘*****************
Kandy Kane’s hair looked magnificent in the sunshine.
‘Doc, thanks for coming. Let’s go. Time is of the essence.’
They walked along the pier and climbed down a wooden ladder into a small boat. Kandy started the outboard, and the craft moved out into the bay, sunlight sparkling on the blue water.
Down on the left, a small fishing boat chugged away from its moorings. Up on the right, a motor cruiser slipped away from the dock.
‘***********
After about fifteen minutes, the Doc realised that they were heading for the rusting hulk of an abandoned oil rig.
‘Your pop live out here?’ he mused.
Kandy/Lorelei attempted a smile, but it came out as a grimace.
‘He values his privacy.’
A short while later, she tied up at a small docking station, beside one of the mighty supporting legs. Dementer followed her up the iron rungs, enjoying the view.
They caught their breath on the platform, and looked towards the main building.
‘He’s in there. C’mon, Doc.’
She hurried off. Dementer noted the two boats, each approaching a different support leg.
Into the fire, he thought, and followed the girl.
Once through the door, they were plunged into darkness. Dementer followed the clicking of the high heels. Once inside the next room, it was even darker. The clicking stopped. Dementer could hear phlegmatic breathing. He strained his eyes.
‘Welcome, Doctor.’ The voice came from the far wall. Dementer slowly approached its source, aware that the girl was now holding a pistol.
Whatever it was, it was big. It seemed human, but not quite. The rasping breaths were beginning to unsettle the Doctor. He made out the vast head, bald, with pointed ears. Faint red lights glowed where the eyes should be. The odd shaft of sunlight eased between buckled metal sheets. The skin was sallow, yellow even. Two long arms ending in three-fingered talons supported the bulk of the upper body. Below the vast waist, everything ran into a bulbous, amorphous mass, tapering off into a gigantic tadpole-like tail that undulated slowly..
The Doc nodded.
‘Anton Krolok. You old fraud. You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to bring me here. What’s on your mind.’
‘Your demise, Dementer. I’ve dreamed of this for years. You will die in screaming pain, slowly. And I will prove that my mind is superior to yours. And the only witness will be my daughter.’
‘She’s a nice piece of ass, Anton…’
‘I know.’
The ooze that was Krolock grunted, closed his cat-like red eyes and moved his claw-like hand up to his temples. A golden circle of light appeared in the centre of his forehead.
Dementer performed the same actions, and a green circle of light appeared before him.
Lorelei aimed her pistol at the Doctor. It wavered as a shape appeared in the door. A slim woman with a nicely shaped goatee, toting a Colt .45 stepped into the room.
The two women surveyed one another, then fired at the same time. The luck was with Hester. Lorelei clutched her stomach, groaned and fell to the floor.
The golden ball of fire wavered, then launched a stream of light toward Dementer. His green ball retaliated holding back the yellow light with green.
‘What’s happening?’ Leopold, his pink skin crumbling, short, stubby tufts of red-gold hair poking through the cracks, walked up behind Hester.
‘The Doc’s fightin’ a duel.’ She whispered. ‘A duel of the mind.’
Slowly, silently, Wade, the twins, Dick and Claude crept in to watch the struggle of light. The dark room was lit by the energy streams, and they gasped at the hideousness of Krolok.
A triangle of white light appeared at the opposite end of the room, as a group of dark suited armed men burst in.
‘Freeze!’ bellowed Johnson. ‘What the f…’
O’Shea, Jones, Jablonski and Robinson stood in awe of the sorcerors’ struggle. Smith, clad in the outfit of a Protestant priest walked calmly out from behind them, swinging an incense censer. He whirled the receptacle round, as though throwing the hammer in the Olympics. Three circuits, and he released the chain. The censer fell between the two streams of light. The greem flew off toward the ceiling, the gold refracted back toward the massive and revolting Krolok. Bathed in a golden light, Krolok screamed. The censer flew into his open mouth. Smith knelt and prayed. Krolok exploded in a welter of yellow skin and black bile. Everyone got soaked. As the bang receded, an agonised voice called ‘Pa!’
‘Laurie?’
Johnson ran forward, straight into a bullet from the girl’s pistol. An involuntary death spasm caused his finger to jerk the trigger of his own weapon, and the girl’s red hair got redder.
Doctor Dementer wiped gunk from his face and stared at the priest.
‘Reverend Smithy?’
‘Hi, Doc. How’s tricks?’
‘Not bad. I had him on the ropes, there.’
‘Two wrongs don’t make a right, Doc. Two big piles of evil are just more evil. It takes good to destroy evil.’
‘And you’re good?’
‘I’m the best,’ laughed the Reverend.
‘I still haven’t forgiven you for punching me in the nose.’
The two conversants became aware of the FBI men, and the Oddities pointing their guns one another.
After a minutes silence, O’Shea exhaled loudly and pointed his automatic at the floor.
‘Let it go, boys. We’re outgunned.’
‘Peace through superior firepower! Just the way I like it’, crowed the Doc.
‘Hell of a Mexican standoff,’ wheezed the Wiz.
The Doc clicked his fingers. ‘Mexico! Hell, it ain’t far from here! We can sail down the coast.’
‘Better than Canada,’ agreed Hester.
‘It’ll sure be warmer. And there’s no bears. Heck, there’s desert. And jungle. We can be ourselves.’
‘Get goin’,’ rasped O’Shea.
‘You lettin’ ‘em go?’ queried Jones.
‘Lesser of two evils,’ said the Reverend Smith. ‘We’ve got enough cleaning up to do here.’
O’Shea saw the fanatical look in his eye.
‘The B O D can be absorbed into my new section, the Bureau Division of Christianity,’ he gloated.
‘See you around,’ said the Doc, herding the Oddities toward the door.
‘We’ll be comin’ after you,’ shouted Smith.
Dementer turned and grinned.
‘You got no jurisdiction in Mexico.’
‘Since when has that stopped us?’ laughed O’Shea. He gave them five minutes then wandered out onto the platform. Smith was directing the others in the clear up.
The Wiz leaned on a metal barrier and watched the Oddities preparing the fishing boat. He could hear their yells of delight and excitement.
Like Eagle Scouts going on their first camp away from home. Wish you were going with them, you old galoot? he thought.
Monday, 26 January 2015
The Doctor Is In (Part One)
The Doctor Is In – Franklin Marsh
Peaceville was a small, quiet town in Arizona. Rick Rumfeld couldn’t wait to get away from it. Steven Spielberg’s comments on China’s Human Rights record had provided him with an unexpected opportunity.
Rick was a second string photographer affiliated to a large circulation Phoenix newspaper. The movie director’s comments had led to the main right-on shutterbug pulling out of a trip to the Olympics. Rick, heavily in debt to his landlord and his dealer, had stepped in.
It would be very basic accommodation, and if he didn’t produce shots of American medal winners he wouldn’t get paid. But heck, it was a chance to get away, and make a new start far away from Peaceville when he returned to the States.
In fact, Rick had been so overjoyed to hear the news that he was going, he used up the last of his credit on a drugs and girls binge. All that had got him was deeper in debt, and a dose.
Which was why he was heading just out of town to the Peaceville Medical Facility. At least his medical insurance was paid up. A photographer’s life could be a dangerous one.
He drove past the old Carney grounds and was surprised to see them filled with mobile homes, caravans, trucks and Winnebagos. That hadn’t been an honest-to-goodness fair in Peaceville for years.
He pulled into the Medical Facility parking lot and headed for the entrance. On reception was the most stunning blonde babe he’d ever seen. His mouth hung open.
‘Yes?’
His mouth closed.
‘I need an appointment. When can I see a Doc?’
‘We’re booked up ‘till later, but this is a 24 hour facility.’
‘How ‘bout midnight?’
‘Fine. I’ll put you in with Dr Gresk. What is the nature of the problem?’
Shit!
‘Erm…’ Rick coughed. ‘Sore throat…keepin’ me awake.’
‘OK’
She sounded like she didn’t believe him. Was it his imagination or did she keep looking at his groin?
She handed him a card.
‘Midnight. Dr Gresk.’
‘Thanks Honey. See you later.’
The receptionist had returned her gaze to The National Enquirer.
Hmm, thought Rick, dumb too. If the Doc could fix his lean, mean, humping machine, he’d maybe pay Miss America a call before he left.
On the return journey, Rick glanced at the Carney wagons. They didn’t seem to be setting up. Funny, he hadn’t seen any posters advertising a fair. He felt a vague sense of disappointment, then mentally kicked himself. Lame,lame,lame! Rumfeld, you’ve got to lose this small-town mentality! You’re about to travel the world. And check out those Oriental honeys. See if half-remembered stories he’d overheard his pop rattling on about with his Vietnam buddies were true.
‘**************
Midnight. The Peaceville Medical Facility. All was quiet. I made the right choice, thought Rick, gliding into the parking lot. The only other vehicle in sight was a battered, dust-covered hearse.
There’s always someone worse off than yourself, thought Rick. He moved through the entrance doors and stared in shock. Instead of Miss America, he saw a 250 pound woman struggling with the doors of a small cupboard.
‘Damn’ you,’ she muttered, finally forcing the doors shut. She turned and jumped slightly at the sight of Rick.
Rick’s shock escalated at the sight of the woman’s bushy beard. She clicked the mouse beside the PC and squinted at the screen. Her glare turned on Rick.
‘Rumsfeld?’
‘Er…yeah…’
‘The Doctor is in. Go right on through.’
‘…Thank you…’
Rick walked through the waiting room in a daze, and knocked on the door marked Dr Gresk.
He thought he could hear grunting, then everything went quiet.
‘Enter!’
Rick opened the door and walked into the room. At first he thought it was empty, then realised a screen had been pulled across the far corner. A tiny trickle of red fluid seeped out past one of the castors.
‘Righty! Sore throat?’
The Doctor emerged from behind the screen. Rick went back into shock. He was six foot plus, but the Doc towered over him. A skull-like face under long, thin, white hair. Eyes set deep back in cavernous sockets. A hideous grin that The Joker would have been proud of.
The white coat and stethoscope partly reassured Rick, but the black jeans, dust-covered cowboy boots, frilled shirt with bootlace necktie held in a silver cow-skull clasp, didn’t.
Rick scratched his head.
‘Yeah..er..no..no. It’s a bit more personal than that, Doc, but I didn’t wanna say anything in front of the lady on reception. Not the one here now..’
‘The blonde piece? Hot diggeddy!’
Rick relaxed slightly. The Doc was eccentric but appeared human.
‘I think I picked up a dose, Doc.’
The Doctor nodded sagely.
‘Unnerstand why you wouldn’t wanna bring that up in front of Blondie, boy. Drop your pants, hop up on the trolley and we’ll get to it.’
As Rick unbuckled his belt, the Doc disappeared back behind the screen. Rick’s shorts and pants descended to his ankles, and he hopped up onto a trolley by the wall.
The Doctor re-emerged toting an enormous hypodermic filled with yellow liquid,
‘This’ll help us along,’ he beamed, squirting liquid over the ceiling. He then plunged the needle into Rick’s neck without warning, and depressed the plunger.
‘How’s that feel, boy?’
Rick couldn’t move. Well, his eyes could. He could see and hear, but that was it. Total paralysis.
‘Looky here, Leopold,’ grinned the Doc.
Rick’s eyes tried to bulge as an even more bizarre figure emerged from behind the screen. Human in shape, but covered in long, reddish brown hair. A white orderly’s coat soaked in blood. Odd sackcloth trousers. Each hand (paw?) was curled into a fist, and scalpel blades protruded between the fingers.
‘Hey, Doc, can I keep these? They’re.. Hot damn!’
‘Ain’t a pretty sight , is it Leopold? But I think he’d go better with Blondie in the Tunnel than ol’ Methuselah back there.’
Leopold eased back the screen, and Rick could just make out some bloody rags.
‘Tell the truth, Doc, I…er…got a little carried away back here. There ain’t too much of Gresk left.’
‘Never mind, Leopold. This here feller will do fine. I’ll jest solve his problem, and we can be on our way.’
‘You gonna cure him? That’s a bit of a waste of time, ain’t it, Doc? ‘Specially if we’re gonna..’
‘Gotta keep my hand in, Leopold. I think ol’ Gresk has some antiques back here…’
The white-haired Doctor rummaged around in the drawers of an ancient desk.
‘You a real Doc?’ said Leopold, in awe.
The Doc paused.
‘You know I am, Leopold.’
Leopold shuffled his furry feet.
‘You bein’ with us guys all the time, I figured you was an animal doctor, or somethin’.’
The Doc grinned.
‘Don’t put yourself down. I am medically qualified. Ah!’
The Doc raised a small rod of metal with a loop at the end.
‘Here’s the feller. Now watch, Leopold. This is how they did it in the old days.’
The Doctor removed his white coat, and threw it over the remains of Dr Gresk. The stethoscope followed.
He pulled a Zippo lighter out of his black frock coat, lit it and placed it on the desk. Rick noted the Rolling Stones mouth and tongue logo, adorned with vampire fangs. Leopold stared into the flame, fascinated. The Doc began to heat the wire. When it was glowing red, he advanced toward the helpless Rick. Leopold hurried over.
‘Here we go. You jest grab the end, squeeze it to open him up, and then…’
‘MMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!’
‘Jeez, Doc. That’s one fuckin’ mess.’
‘Why Leopold, that’s a good one.’
‘Huh?’
‘Never mind.’
The door burst open. It was the bearded woman, with the unconscious blonde slung over her shoulder.
‘Let’s git, Doc. There’s some asshole who’s wife’s about to give birth on the way.’ She sniffed.
‘Somethin’ burnin?’
‘Let’s go,’ said Dr Dementer.
‘**************
Rick had passed out with the pain. He regained consciousness, to find himself still paralysed bodily, but able to see, hear and move his eyes slightly. He was sitting at the front of a small wagon, almost like something from a fairground ride. His eyes began to adjust to the near darkness. There was someone next to him! His eyes moved to the right and made out the outline of a magnificent bust. Moving upward he realised that it was the blonde receptionist from the Medical Facility. He felt a twinge in his groin, and bolts of pain coursed through him. Look away.
Bright red letters spelling out ‘TUNNEL OF LOVE’ were flickeringly illuminated in front of him. An incredibly scratchy recording of ‘Love Is A Many Splendoured Thing’ began to blare out from hidden speakers, and the small wagon lurched forward, crashing through double doors.
An illuminated tableau was on the right. Rick chanced a glance and realised that Miss America was unconscious. The tableau depicted a young woman in medieval clothing reaching down from a balcony, toward a similarly-attired young man hanging on to some ivy below. A large card in front of the display read ‘Romeo And Juliet.’
Rick winced as he felt a blast of heat. The wax skin on the two figures melted, releasing their glass eyes, and ruining their clothes. Under the wax coating were human skeletons, discoloured by strips of ancient flesh clinging to them.
The next scene featured ‘Antony And Cleopatra’. Again the heat, and the melting skin. The tiny asp in Cleo’s grasp transformed into a six foot Black Mamba, that struck at the little vehicle as it rattled past. Rick winced, and discovered that his bladder wasn’t paralysed. He shifted ever so slightly in his seat and realised that the paralysis was wearing off!
As he and his slumbering companion rolled on down the rails, past Bonnie And Clyde, Starkweather and Fugate, Kit And Holly, Mickey And Mallory, Rick struggled to move. The tips of his fingers and toes were tingling. He thought he heard laughter and whooping above him in the blackness, as though a crowd were following their serpentine path through the obsidian gloom.
The red letters kept appearing. TUNNEL OF LIVE. TUNNEL OF LIVER. TUNNEL OF HEAVE. FUNNEL OF LOVE.
The wagon was speeding up. The music had become much harsher. Love Me Like A Reptile? As the wagon careered round a bend, Rick stared ahead to see railway buffers. Above them was a large board at a 45 degree angle away from him. It was covered in nine inch nails. A brightly lit viewing gallery was away to his right. It was full of….indescribable Oddities, swigging from bottles of liquor. At the front were the strange Doctor, the lion-man, the bearded lady.
The receptionist regained consciousness just before the wagon hit the buffers.
‘Oh, my….’ The horrified comment mutated into a shriek as Rick and Miss America were somersaulted through the air to land on their backs on the board – on the nails.
The Oddities reacted as if their team had scored a touchdown in the dying seconds of the Superbowl. They hollered, they cheered, they danced.
Miss America was dead. Just before Rick succumbed, he felt the board slowly move downward, to lay flat. He saw two giant bottles of a milky white fluid above them. The Doctor pulled strings to de-stopper the bottles, and the liquid gushed over the late couple.
More celebrations from the gallery. As the Oddities high-sixed and cavorted with glee, a morose looking young man covered in reptilian scales entered the area and made his way to the front. He tugged on the sleeve of the Doc’s frock coat.
‘What is it, Wade?’
‘Doc, it’s the cops!’
‘************
Sheriff Eugene Hopper sat on the hood ,and Patrol(wo)man Janine Burns leaned against the door of the Arizona State patrol car. They watched as Doctor Dementer, Leopold the Lion-Man, Wade the Alligator-Boy, Hester the Bearded Lady, Dick the Midget with Claude the Monster on his leash, followed by Klin and Klang, the Siamese twins, exited the rickety Tunnel Of Love, blinking in the bright sunshine.
It was approaching noon, and Hopper was beginning to sweat. That damn’ fool girl had thrown up at the sight of Doc Gresk’s remains. Things like that didn’t happen in Peaceville.
Doctor Dementer paced forward as members of his flock stopped by the doors. Hopper could see there were more of them things inside the temporary building, but was glad they’d stayed put.
Janine watched the Doc approach, and shivered. The heat didn’t seem to bother him despite his black attire.
‘Sheeit.’ Hopper spat tobacco juice into the dust. This Dementer dude riled him. That ridiculous get up. The black nail varnish. HATE tattooed on his left hand fingers. HATE tattooed on his right hand fingers. The top hat with the black silk band, an Ace Of Spades tucked in at the left, a Death card from a tarot deck tucked into the right side. On his black silk lapel, a tiny button badge with the word ‘FEAR’ on it. Hopper would have loved to put a .357 slug right between his eyes. Or at least pistol-whipped him. Sonofabitch.
‘Trouble, Sheriff?’ issued from the pale lips.
‘Might say,’ agreed the Sheriff.
Janine’s hand was on the butt of her pistol. She was shaking as Dementer ran his eyes over her. Her flesh crawled as though covered in bugs.
‘Care to step into my trailer to discuss it?’
‘No!’
Janine flushed. She hadn’t meant to speak aloud, but she would not go into a confined space with that man (if that’s what he was), Sheriff Hopper or no Sheriff Hopper.
Dementer grinned broadly.
‘Easy, Janine,’ muttered Hopper. He turned to Dementer. ‘You familiar with the Peaceville Medical Facility?’
Dementer thought for a while.
‘I believe we passed it on the way in from the desert.’
‘When did you get here?’
‘Yesterday. ‘Bout this time.’
‘Any of you …you guys go up to the Facility yesterday?’
Dementer turned to his flock. There were muttered Nope’s, No way’s, Naw’s and massed head-shaking.
‘Thought not,’ said Hopper.
‘What’s your interest, Sheriff?’ purred Dementer. ‘You ill?’
‘Nope. I’m fine. It’s Doc Gresk that’s none too well.’
‘Oh, dear, ‘ sympathised Dementer, watching Janine retch. ‘Nothing serious, I hope.’
‘Don’t get much more serious than death,’ supplied the Sheriff. ‘Looked like he’d been put through a shredder. Sure none of your folks been up there?’
Hopper noticed Leopold lick his lips.
‘They said no,’ replied Dementer, his tone hardening.
‘Well, I’ll leave you in peace then,’ said Hopper, prising himself up from the car bonnet.
Janine gratefully slipped into the passenger seat.
As Hopper walked around the car, he put his hands on his hips and stopped in front of Dementer, a big smile turning up the ends of his mustache.
‘ Course this is a bigger case than us hicks can handle . The Eff Bee Aye are on their way. They got all kindsa technology that can establish what happened, and who done it. See you later,’ his forefinger and thumb touched the rim of his Stetson as he glanced at Wade. ‘Alligator.’
He laughed as he got behind the wheel, and started the engine.
‘You gonna let that pass, Doc?’ said an enraged Wade.
‘Nope,’ said Dementer. ‘They insult one of us, they insult all of us. I have a feeling Sheriff Hopper may regret that remark. ‘
He turned back to the Tunnel Of Love.
‘Let’s get our new exhibit sorted out, then I think we’ll take a trip into town.’
********************************
The Lucky Star Saloon in Peaceville was doing a brisk trade. Cowboys, cowgirls, rednecks, shitkickers and good ol’boys whooped it up. ‘Don’t take your guns to town’ thundered Johnny Cash from the juke box.
Janine Burns had recovered enough from her bad morning to eat a bowl of chili, and knock back a few beers. She patted Hopper on the back and headed off to the Mares room.
Bartender Slim Grindle poked the Sheriff in the chest.
‘C’mon ‘Gene, when you gonna run them freaks outa town? What do we pay you for?’
‘Listen, Slim, they ain’t exactly in town. I tole you, I’m waitin’ for the Feebs. Let them take care of it.’
‘Jeez, ‘Gene, days gone by you wouldna let this happen. You’da…’
Johnny Cash’s voice dropped several octaves, slurred, then stopped altogether. Patrons of the saloon gazed angrily at the Juke.
Sheriff Hopper felt the hairs on his neck stand up. He swung around on his barstool, and looked out of the batswing doors.
‘Sheeit.’
A tall man wearing a top hat was silhouetted at the bar’s entrance. He clicked his fingers and the Juke Box started up again, several times louder. The Stones’ The Last Time.
Doctor Dementer pushed his way through the half doors and approached the bar. The light from the door disappeared. The doors were smashed off their hinges and had people diving for cover. Claude, who resembled nothing so much as a huge hairless gorilla, loped into the bar, Dick the midget perched on his shoulder. Dick undid the leash from the collar around Claude’s neck, flipped the leather strap over a roof beam, and pulled himself out of harm’s way. Claude surveyed the terrified clientele, growling.
‘Shit, ‘Gene, get that thing outta here! It’s droolin’ all over my floor!’ roared Slim, picking up a sawn off double-barrelled shotgun from under the bar.
Hopper drew his revolver, trying to keep an eye on Dementer, who was moving behind the bar, and Claude, who was angrily gesturing at several cowboys hidden underneath a table.
‘Get back!’ Slim thrust the shotgun at Dementer. The Doc reached forward and poked two black-finger nailed digits into the barrels of the shotgun. Slim pulled the triggers. The hammers fell and the back of the shotgun exploded, taking off most of Slim’s head. Dementer pulled his smoking fingers from the metal tubes and blew on them.
Claude let out an earth-shaking growl and hurled the table across the saloon. He tore into the quaking cowboys, ripping them limb from limb. Both huge windows either side of the door shattered. Hester filled one, firing an Ingram submachine gun from the hip. Klin and Klang the other, joined back to back, swirling and swivelling as they leaped across the broken glass, a Glock in each of their four hands, pumping round after round into any non-Oddity that crossed their path. One brave soul made it to the shattered doorway, to be cut in half by a blast from Wade’s pump shotgun.
Hopper aimed his .357 Magnum at Dementer’s head. ’Stop ’em! Now!’
The Doc rang up No Sale on the ancient till, and began to stuff various denomination dollar bills into the inside pockets of his frock coat.
Hopper narrowed his eyes and pulled the trigger. There was a dull click. Hopper pulled again. And again. Yelling in frustration he hurled the useless weapon at Dementer.
The Doc caught it one handed, twirled it around his index finger by the trigger guard, then aimed at Hopper’s forehead.
‘See you later..’
‘NO!’
The .357 shell burrowed through Hopper’s skin, bone and brains, taking off the entire back of his head.
‘…Legislator.’
The Doctor laid the pistol on the bar. Claude was seated on the floor, gently chewing on an arm. Dick hopped down from the eaves and reattached the leash. The Siamese twins leaped back through the window. The room was filled with smoke, and the stench of cordite and blood.
Dementer waved Wade and Hester away.
‘Back to the car!’
Claude and Dick left via the door, Claude gnawing on a bone.
Dementer turned to survey the corpse-strewn bullet-riddled bar. He pivoted, stretched his arms wide and was about to laugh in celebration of the chaos, when he saw a sweat-soaked, shaking Janine Burns emerge slowly from behind the Mares door, pointing her Smith & Wesson .38 at his chest.
‘You move a fuckin’ muscle, you fuckin’ asshole, and, swear to God, I’ll fuckin’ shoot you where you stand.’
****************************************
The Doctor slowly turned to face Janine, arms still outstretched. Sunshine through the broken windows lit up the drifting smoke. The sudden silence was broken by the revving of the hearse outside, and a shout of ‘C’mon Doc!’
‘Kill me,’ he whispered to Janine.
Shaking, crying, she pulled the trigger
A black puffball followed by a black stalk emerged painfully slowly from the barrel of Janine’s gun. It floated towards Dementer inch by inch. He reached out ever so slowly and caught it. He placed the ebony chrysanthemum in the buttonhole of the non-badge bearing lapel of his frock coat, and bowed to Janine.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘Motherfucker!’ she screamed, and pulled the trigger again, this time rewarded with a satisfying roar, flash of orange flame and recoil.
The bullet hit Dementer in his silver waistcoat. Red oozed from the hole. The Doctor, horrified, reached down and touched the wound. He brought the red stained fingers to his mouth. His elongated tongue flicked out and touched the red. He grinned like a madman and extended the stained fingers toward the trembling policewoman.
‘Mmmmm. Strawberry jelly. Want some?’
Janine screamed and fired again. Another hit. Green fluid. Touched by the fingers. Tasted. Dementer pulled a face.
‘Crème De Menthe. Eurgh.’
Another shot. Yellow liquid.
‘Banana daiquiri. That’s better.’
Janine screamed and screamed. She placed the hot .38 barrel against her temple.
‘You OK, Doc? What’s going on?’
‘Yeah, I’m…’
Dementer jerked back as the pistol roared for the last time.
He cursed and marched through the doorway. Hester was standing outside, Ingram at the ready. The Doctor touched the mini-rocket launcher housed under the barrel.
‘Let ‘em have it, Hester. Then we’re gone.’
‘Sure thing, Doc.’
She aimed and fired. The little rocket sped into the bar. The Doctor and Hester clambered aboard the hearse.Leopold spun them around in a U-Turn and hit the gas as the front of the Lucky Star Saloon disintegrated.
The hearse rocketed out of Peaceville. The Oddities discussed kills and injuries at the tops of their voices, delighted with the outcome.
‘Pull over, Leopold.’
‘Sure. What’s up, Doc?’
Dementer opened the glove compartment and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He climbed out of the hearse and wandered towards a low butte.
‘Shit, what’s that?’
The occupants of the car became silent as they spotted the column of black smoke, rising from the horizon into the endless blue desert sky. A couple of helicopters hovered above the source of the smoke, like vultures rising on thermals, pinpointing a steer corpse.
It was unnecessary, but Wade said it.
‘Ain’t that the Carney grounds?’
The Doc walked back and got in.
‘Turn her round, Leopold.’
‘But Doc, we can’t…’
‘There’s nothing we can do for ‘em now.’
‘They’re our friends,’ protested Hester.
‘Were our friends. They’ll either be fried, or full of lead. Turn her round, Leopold.’
Reluctantly, Leopold turned the hearse around and headed back through Peaceville. A few gunshots greeted them, but they replied in kind and were soon headed out across more desert.
‘Where we goin’?’
‘Californ- I –ay.’
Leopold and the Doc took turns in driving. The others slept or stared glumly out of the windows. In the middle of the dark night, the Doc managed to fill up at a roadside gas station.
‘You wanna watch yoreself dressed like that, Mister,’ gloated the hayseed behind the till. ‘It’s open season on freaks.’ He pointed to the TV, which was rerunning footage of the Carney Ground siege.
The remaining Oddities travelled on through the night.
Dawn was breaking and the Doc was behind the wheel when he spied the Sleepaway Motel lights. He coasted the hearse in to the parking lot.
‘You guys wait here.’
In the Sleepaway reception, a mute TV was still replying the ‘Freak Massacre.’ Receptionist Marv Hinman was much more interested in a piece of literature he had recently acquired. ‘She Took It Hard’ by Clint Thrust. He admired the heroine of the story, Ima Lovinette. She kept getting into all kinds of trouble but still came up smiling, so to speak. She was currently wrestling with a no-good called Studs Ramrod, who…
‘Excuse me.’
Marv jumped and swiftly tossed the book under the desk.
‘Howdy, I..’
His effusive greeting died away at the sight of painfully thin, exceptionally tall man with long white hair who towered above the desk.
‘Them’s some fancy duds, Mister. You in Show Biz?’
‘They’ve seen better days, Marv’ said the Doctor noting the nameplate, ‘and no, I’m not but wish I was. Would cabin number 35 be for rent?’
‘Sure would, Mister…’
Dementer stretched across the desk and grabbed the key (to Cabin 36).
‘Don’t trouble yourself, Marv. I’ll be here a couple a days, and I’d like to pay in advance. Cash.’
‘That’s OK by me.’
A price was offered, and dollar bills changed hands.
‘Thanks, Marv. You’re a gent. What time does the mini-mart next door open?’
‘Should be open now. You might have to wake old Louis up. Gets kinda slow this early in the mornin’.’
‘Thanks for your help, Marv. ‘Preciate it.’
Marv watched the door swing closed. Funny lookin’ fella. Polite tho’. That said somethin’. Better than some of the lowlife trash that showed up. He returned to the adventures of Ms Lovinette.
The Doc woke up Louis and obtained burgers, doughnuts, coffee, two cases of beer, and two bottles of Jack, which he ferried out to the hearse himself.
The Oddity mobile ran down to Cabin 36, the most secluded and private. The Doc kept an eye out, while the remains of his flock entered the cabin. They drew the curtains and tried to eat and drink as the watched the TV. All stations carried the news, the same stuff repeated every twenty minutes. The most heartbreaking scene was a quick pan down a line of blankets covering unidentified bumps. An odd foot, claw or tail poked out.
Every twenty minutes Special Agent Johnson, a craggy, tanned man with a smart haircut and mirror shades would tell America of the success of the mission, that some renegades had escaped, and ordinary decent clean-living citizens should watch out and report anything suspicious.
‘We shoulda gone back,’ said Wade.
‘What good would that have done?’ asked the Doc. ‘We’re here, we’re free and we can fight back.’
‘Against the FBI?’ sighed Hester. ‘This is countrywide now, Doc. We ain’t just fartin’ around in Arizona no more.’
‘They ain’t posted our descriptions’, said the Doc.
‘They’ll get ‘em in Peaceville,’ countered Leopold.
‘I ain’t givin’ up,’ whispered Dementer. ‘It ain’t over ‘till it’s over.’
Peaceville was a small, quiet town in Arizona. Rick Rumfeld couldn’t wait to get away from it. Steven Spielberg’s comments on China’s Human Rights record had provided him with an unexpected opportunity.
Rick was a second string photographer affiliated to a large circulation Phoenix newspaper. The movie director’s comments had led to the main right-on shutterbug pulling out of a trip to the Olympics. Rick, heavily in debt to his landlord and his dealer, had stepped in.
It would be very basic accommodation, and if he didn’t produce shots of American medal winners he wouldn’t get paid. But heck, it was a chance to get away, and make a new start far away from Peaceville when he returned to the States.
In fact, Rick had been so overjoyed to hear the news that he was going, he used up the last of his credit on a drugs and girls binge. All that had got him was deeper in debt, and a dose.
Which was why he was heading just out of town to the Peaceville Medical Facility. At least his medical insurance was paid up. A photographer’s life could be a dangerous one.
He drove past the old Carney grounds and was surprised to see them filled with mobile homes, caravans, trucks and Winnebagos. That hadn’t been an honest-to-goodness fair in Peaceville for years.
He pulled into the Medical Facility parking lot and headed for the entrance. On reception was the most stunning blonde babe he’d ever seen. His mouth hung open.
‘Yes?’
His mouth closed.
‘I need an appointment. When can I see a Doc?’
‘We’re booked up ‘till later, but this is a 24 hour facility.’
‘How ‘bout midnight?’
‘Fine. I’ll put you in with Dr Gresk. What is the nature of the problem?’
Shit!
‘Erm…’ Rick coughed. ‘Sore throat…keepin’ me awake.’
‘OK’
She sounded like she didn’t believe him. Was it his imagination or did she keep looking at his groin?
She handed him a card.
‘Midnight. Dr Gresk.’
‘Thanks Honey. See you later.’
The receptionist had returned her gaze to The National Enquirer.
Hmm, thought Rick, dumb too. If the Doc could fix his lean, mean, humping machine, he’d maybe pay Miss America a call before he left.
On the return journey, Rick glanced at the Carney wagons. They didn’t seem to be setting up. Funny, he hadn’t seen any posters advertising a fair. He felt a vague sense of disappointment, then mentally kicked himself. Lame,lame,lame! Rumfeld, you’ve got to lose this small-town mentality! You’re about to travel the world. And check out those Oriental honeys. See if half-remembered stories he’d overheard his pop rattling on about with his Vietnam buddies were true.
‘**************
Midnight. The Peaceville Medical Facility. All was quiet. I made the right choice, thought Rick, gliding into the parking lot. The only other vehicle in sight was a battered, dust-covered hearse.
There’s always someone worse off than yourself, thought Rick. He moved through the entrance doors and stared in shock. Instead of Miss America, he saw a 250 pound woman struggling with the doors of a small cupboard.
‘Damn’ you,’ she muttered, finally forcing the doors shut. She turned and jumped slightly at the sight of Rick.
Rick’s shock escalated at the sight of the woman’s bushy beard. She clicked the mouse beside the PC and squinted at the screen. Her glare turned on Rick.
‘Rumsfeld?’
‘Er…yeah…’
‘The Doctor is in. Go right on through.’
‘…Thank you…’
Rick walked through the waiting room in a daze, and knocked on the door marked Dr Gresk.
He thought he could hear grunting, then everything went quiet.
‘Enter!’
Rick opened the door and walked into the room. At first he thought it was empty, then realised a screen had been pulled across the far corner. A tiny trickle of red fluid seeped out past one of the castors.
‘Righty! Sore throat?’
The Doctor emerged from behind the screen. Rick went back into shock. He was six foot plus, but the Doc towered over him. A skull-like face under long, thin, white hair. Eyes set deep back in cavernous sockets. A hideous grin that The Joker would have been proud of.
The white coat and stethoscope partly reassured Rick, but the black jeans, dust-covered cowboy boots, frilled shirt with bootlace necktie held in a silver cow-skull clasp, didn’t.
Rick scratched his head.
‘Yeah..er..no..no. It’s a bit more personal than that, Doc, but I didn’t wanna say anything in front of the lady on reception. Not the one here now..’
‘The blonde piece? Hot diggeddy!’
Rick relaxed slightly. The Doc was eccentric but appeared human.
‘I think I picked up a dose, Doc.’
The Doctor nodded sagely.
‘Unnerstand why you wouldn’t wanna bring that up in front of Blondie, boy. Drop your pants, hop up on the trolley and we’ll get to it.’
As Rick unbuckled his belt, the Doc disappeared back behind the screen. Rick’s shorts and pants descended to his ankles, and he hopped up onto a trolley by the wall.
The Doctor re-emerged toting an enormous hypodermic filled with yellow liquid,
‘This’ll help us along,’ he beamed, squirting liquid over the ceiling. He then plunged the needle into Rick’s neck without warning, and depressed the plunger.
‘How’s that feel, boy?’
Rick couldn’t move. Well, his eyes could. He could see and hear, but that was it. Total paralysis.
‘Looky here, Leopold,’ grinned the Doc.
Rick’s eyes tried to bulge as an even more bizarre figure emerged from behind the screen. Human in shape, but covered in long, reddish brown hair. A white orderly’s coat soaked in blood. Odd sackcloth trousers. Each hand (paw?) was curled into a fist, and scalpel blades protruded between the fingers.
‘Hey, Doc, can I keep these? They’re.. Hot damn!’
‘Ain’t a pretty sight , is it Leopold? But I think he’d go better with Blondie in the Tunnel than ol’ Methuselah back there.’
Leopold eased back the screen, and Rick could just make out some bloody rags.
‘Tell the truth, Doc, I…er…got a little carried away back here. There ain’t too much of Gresk left.’
‘Never mind, Leopold. This here feller will do fine. I’ll jest solve his problem, and we can be on our way.’
‘You gonna cure him? That’s a bit of a waste of time, ain’t it, Doc? ‘Specially if we’re gonna..’
‘Gotta keep my hand in, Leopold. I think ol’ Gresk has some antiques back here…’
The white-haired Doctor rummaged around in the drawers of an ancient desk.
‘You a real Doc?’ said Leopold, in awe.
The Doc paused.
‘You know I am, Leopold.’
Leopold shuffled his furry feet.
‘You bein’ with us guys all the time, I figured you was an animal doctor, or somethin’.’
The Doc grinned.
‘Don’t put yourself down. I am medically qualified. Ah!’
The Doc raised a small rod of metal with a loop at the end.
‘Here’s the feller. Now watch, Leopold. This is how they did it in the old days.’
The Doctor removed his white coat, and threw it over the remains of Dr Gresk. The stethoscope followed.
He pulled a Zippo lighter out of his black frock coat, lit it and placed it on the desk. Rick noted the Rolling Stones mouth and tongue logo, adorned with vampire fangs. Leopold stared into the flame, fascinated. The Doc began to heat the wire. When it was glowing red, he advanced toward the helpless Rick. Leopold hurried over.
‘Here we go. You jest grab the end, squeeze it to open him up, and then…’
‘MMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!’
‘Jeez, Doc. That’s one fuckin’ mess.’
‘Why Leopold, that’s a good one.’
‘Huh?’
‘Never mind.’
The door burst open. It was the bearded woman, with the unconscious blonde slung over her shoulder.
‘Let’s git, Doc. There’s some asshole who’s wife’s about to give birth on the way.’ She sniffed.
‘Somethin’ burnin?’
‘Let’s go,’ said Dr Dementer.
‘**************
Rick had passed out with the pain. He regained consciousness, to find himself still paralysed bodily, but able to see, hear and move his eyes slightly. He was sitting at the front of a small wagon, almost like something from a fairground ride. His eyes began to adjust to the near darkness. There was someone next to him! His eyes moved to the right and made out the outline of a magnificent bust. Moving upward he realised that it was the blonde receptionist from the Medical Facility. He felt a twinge in his groin, and bolts of pain coursed through him. Look away.
Bright red letters spelling out ‘TUNNEL OF LOVE’ were flickeringly illuminated in front of him. An incredibly scratchy recording of ‘Love Is A Many Splendoured Thing’ began to blare out from hidden speakers, and the small wagon lurched forward, crashing through double doors.
An illuminated tableau was on the right. Rick chanced a glance and realised that Miss America was unconscious. The tableau depicted a young woman in medieval clothing reaching down from a balcony, toward a similarly-attired young man hanging on to some ivy below. A large card in front of the display read ‘Romeo And Juliet.’
Rick winced as he felt a blast of heat. The wax skin on the two figures melted, releasing their glass eyes, and ruining their clothes. Under the wax coating were human skeletons, discoloured by strips of ancient flesh clinging to them.
The next scene featured ‘Antony And Cleopatra’. Again the heat, and the melting skin. The tiny asp in Cleo’s grasp transformed into a six foot Black Mamba, that struck at the little vehicle as it rattled past. Rick winced, and discovered that his bladder wasn’t paralysed. He shifted ever so slightly in his seat and realised that the paralysis was wearing off!
As he and his slumbering companion rolled on down the rails, past Bonnie And Clyde, Starkweather and Fugate, Kit And Holly, Mickey And Mallory, Rick struggled to move. The tips of his fingers and toes were tingling. He thought he heard laughter and whooping above him in the blackness, as though a crowd were following their serpentine path through the obsidian gloom.
The red letters kept appearing. TUNNEL OF LIVE. TUNNEL OF LIVER. TUNNEL OF HEAVE. FUNNEL OF LOVE.
The wagon was speeding up. The music had become much harsher. Love Me Like A Reptile? As the wagon careered round a bend, Rick stared ahead to see railway buffers. Above them was a large board at a 45 degree angle away from him. It was covered in nine inch nails. A brightly lit viewing gallery was away to his right. It was full of….indescribable Oddities, swigging from bottles of liquor. At the front were the strange Doctor, the lion-man, the bearded lady.
The receptionist regained consciousness just before the wagon hit the buffers.
‘Oh, my….’ The horrified comment mutated into a shriek as Rick and Miss America were somersaulted through the air to land on their backs on the board – on the nails.
The Oddities reacted as if their team had scored a touchdown in the dying seconds of the Superbowl. They hollered, they cheered, they danced.
Miss America was dead. Just before Rick succumbed, he felt the board slowly move downward, to lay flat. He saw two giant bottles of a milky white fluid above them. The Doctor pulled strings to de-stopper the bottles, and the liquid gushed over the late couple.
More celebrations from the gallery. As the Oddities high-sixed and cavorted with glee, a morose looking young man covered in reptilian scales entered the area and made his way to the front. He tugged on the sleeve of the Doc’s frock coat.
‘What is it, Wade?’
‘Doc, it’s the cops!’
‘************
Sheriff Eugene Hopper sat on the hood ,and Patrol(wo)man Janine Burns leaned against the door of the Arizona State patrol car. They watched as Doctor Dementer, Leopold the Lion-Man, Wade the Alligator-Boy, Hester the Bearded Lady, Dick the Midget with Claude the Monster on his leash, followed by Klin and Klang, the Siamese twins, exited the rickety Tunnel Of Love, blinking in the bright sunshine.
It was approaching noon, and Hopper was beginning to sweat. That damn’ fool girl had thrown up at the sight of Doc Gresk’s remains. Things like that didn’t happen in Peaceville.
Doctor Dementer paced forward as members of his flock stopped by the doors. Hopper could see there were more of them things inside the temporary building, but was glad they’d stayed put.
Janine watched the Doc approach, and shivered. The heat didn’t seem to bother him despite his black attire.
‘Sheeit.’ Hopper spat tobacco juice into the dust. This Dementer dude riled him. That ridiculous get up. The black nail varnish. HATE tattooed on his left hand fingers. HATE tattooed on his right hand fingers. The top hat with the black silk band, an Ace Of Spades tucked in at the left, a Death card from a tarot deck tucked into the right side. On his black silk lapel, a tiny button badge with the word ‘FEAR’ on it. Hopper would have loved to put a .357 slug right between his eyes. Or at least pistol-whipped him. Sonofabitch.
‘Trouble, Sheriff?’ issued from the pale lips.
‘Might say,’ agreed the Sheriff.
Janine’s hand was on the butt of her pistol. She was shaking as Dementer ran his eyes over her. Her flesh crawled as though covered in bugs.
‘Care to step into my trailer to discuss it?’
‘No!’
Janine flushed. She hadn’t meant to speak aloud, but she would not go into a confined space with that man (if that’s what he was), Sheriff Hopper or no Sheriff Hopper.
Dementer grinned broadly.
‘Easy, Janine,’ muttered Hopper. He turned to Dementer. ‘You familiar with the Peaceville Medical Facility?’
Dementer thought for a while.
‘I believe we passed it on the way in from the desert.’
‘When did you get here?’
‘Yesterday. ‘Bout this time.’
‘Any of you …you guys go up to the Facility yesterday?’
Dementer turned to his flock. There were muttered Nope’s, No way’s, Naw’s and massed head-shaking.
‘Thought not,’ said Hopper.
‘What’s your interest, Sheriff?’ purred Dementer. ‘You ill?’
‘Nope. I’m fine. It’s Doc Gresk that’s none too well.’
‘Oh, dear, ‘ sympathised Dementer, watching Janine retch. ‘Nothing serious, I hope.’
‘Don’t get much more serious than death,’ supplied the Sheriff. ‘Looked like he’d been put through a shredder. Sure none of your folks been up there?’
Hopper noticed Leopold lick his lips.
‘They said no,’ replied Dementer, his tone hardening.
‘Well, I’ll leave you in peace then,’ said Hopper, prising himself up from the car bonnet.
Janine gratefully slipped into the passenger seat.
As Hopper walked around the car, he put his hands on his hips and stopped in front of Dementer, a big smile turning up the ends of his mustache.
‘ Course this is a bigger case than us hicks can handle . The Eff Bee Aye are on their way. They got all kindsa technology that can establish what happened, and who done it. See you later,’ his forefinger and thumb touched the rim of his Stetson as he glanced at Wade. ‘Alligator.’
He laughed as he got behind the wheel, and started the engine.
‘You gonna let that pass, Doc?’ said an enraged Wade.
‘Nope,’ said Dementer. ‘They insult one of us, they insult all of us. I have a feeling Sheriff Hopper may regret that remark. ‘
He turned back to the Tunnel Of Love.
‘Let’s get our new exhibit sorted out, then I think we’ll take a trip into town.’
********************************
The Lucky Star Saloon in Peaceville was doing a brisk trade. Cowboys, cowgirls, rednecks, shitkickers and good ol’boys whooped it up. ‘Don’t take your guns to town’ thundered Johnny Cash from the juke box.
Janine Burns had recovered enough from her bad morning to eat a bowl of chili, and knock back a few beers. She patted Hopper on the back and headed off to the Mares room.
Bartender Slim Grindle poked the Sheriff in the chest.
‘C’mon ‘Gene, when you gonna run them freaks outa town? What do we pay you for?’
‘Listen, Slim, they ain’t exactly in town. I tole you, I’m waitin’ for the Feebs. Let them take care of it.’
‘Jeez, ‘Gene, days gone by you wouldna let this happen. You’da…’
Johnny Cash’s voice dropped several octaves, slurred, then stopped altogether. Patrons of the saloon gazed angrily at the Juke.
Sheriff Hopper felt the hairs on his neck stand up. He swung around on his barstool, and looked out of the batswing doors.
‘Sheeit.’
A tall man wearing a top hat was silhouetted at the bar’s entrance. He clicked his fingers and the Juke Box started up again, several times louder. The Stones’ The Last Time.
Doctor Dementer pushed his way through the half doors and approached the bar. The light from the door disappeared. The doors were smashed off their hinges and had people diving for cover. Claude, who resembled nothing so much as a huge hairless gorilla, loped into the bar, Dick the midget perched on his shoulder. Dick undid the leash from the collar around Claude’s neck, flipped the leather strap over a roof beam, and pulled himself out of harm’s way. Claude surveyed the terrified clientele, growling.
‘Shit, ‘Gene, get that thing outta here! It’s droolin’ all over my floor!’ roared Slim, picking up a sawn off double-barrelled shotgun from under the bar.
Hopper drew his revolver, trying to keep an eye on Dementer, who was moving behind the bar, and Claude, who was angrily gesturing at several cowboys hidden underneath a table.
‘Get back!’ Slim thrust the shotgun at Dementer. The Doc reached forward and poked two black-finger nailed digits into the barrels of the shotgun. Slim pulled the triggers. The hammers fell and the back of the shotgun exploded, taking off most of Slim’s head. Dementer pulled his smoking fingers from the metal tubes and blew on them.
Claude let out an earth-shaking growl and hurled the table across the saloon. He tore into the quaking cowboys, ripping them limb from limb. Both huge windows either side of the door shattered. Hester filled one, firing an Ingram submachine gun from the hip. Klin and Klang the other, joined back to back, swirling and swivelling as they leaped across the broken glass, a Glock in each of their four hands, pumping round after round into any non-Oddity that crossed their path. One brave soul made it to the shattered doorway, to be cut in half by a blast from Wade’s pump shotgun.
Hopper aimed his .357 Magnum at Dementer’s head. ’Stop ’em! Now!’
The Doc rang up No Sale on the ancient till, and began to stuff various denomination dollar bills into the inside pockets of his frock coat.
Hopper narrowed his eyes and pulled the trigger. There was a dull click. Hopper pulled again. And again. Yelling in frustration he hurled the useless weapon at Dementer.
The Doc caught it one handed, twirled it around his index finger by the trigger guard, then aimed at Hopper’s forehead.
‘See you later..’
‘NO!’
The .357 shell burrowed through Hopper’s skin, bone and brains, taking off the entire back of his head.
‘…Legislator.’
The Doctor laid the pistol on the bar. Claude was seated on the floor, gently chewing on an arm. Dick hopped down from the eaves and reattached the leash. The Siamese twins leaped back through the window. The room was filled with smoke, and the stench of cordite and blood.
Dementer waved Wade and Hester away.
‘Back to the car!’
Claude and Dick left via the door, Claude gnawing on a bone.
Dementer turned to survey the corpse-strewn bullet-riddled bar. He pivoted, stretched his arms wide and was about to laugh in celebration of the chaos, when he saw a sweat-soaked, shaking Janine Burns emerge slowly from behind the Mares door, pointing her Smith & Wesson .38 at his chest.
‘You move a fuckin’ muscle, you fuckin’ asshole, and, swear to God, I’ll fuckin’ shoot you where you stand.’
****************************************
The Doctor slowly turned to face Janine, arms still outstretched. Sunshine through the broken windows lit up the drifting smoke. The sudden silence was broken by the revving of the hearse outside, and a shout of ‘C’mon Doc!’
‘Kill me,’ he whispered to Janine.
Shaking, crying, she pulled the trigger
A black puffball followed by a black stalk emerged painfully slowly from the barrel of Janine’s gun. It floated towards Dementer inch by inch. He reached out ever so slowly and caught it. He placed the ebony chrysanthemum in the buttonhole of the non-badge bearing lapel of his frock coat, and bowed to Janine.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘Motherfucker!’ she screamed, and pulled the trigger again, this time rewarded with a satisfying roar, flash of orange flame and recoil.
The bullet hit Dementer in his silver waistcoat. Red oozed from the hole. The Doctor, horrified, reached down and touched the wound. He brought the red stained fingers to his mouth. His elongated tongue flicked out and touched the red. He grinned like a madman and extended the stained fingers toward the trembling policewoman.
‘Mmmmm. Strawberry jelly. Want some?’
Janine screamed and fired again. Another hit. Green fluid. Touched by the fingers. Tasted. Dementer pulled a face.
‘Crème De Menthe. Eurgh.’
Another shot. Yellow liquid.
‘Banana daiquiri. That’s better.’
Janine screamed and screamed. She placed the hot .38 barrel against her temple.
‘You OK, Doc? What’s going on?’
‘Yeah, I’m…’
Dementer jerked back as the pistol roared for the last time.
He cursed and marched through the doorway. Hester was standing outside, Ingram at the ready. The Doctor touched the mini-rocket launcher housed under the barrel.
‘Let ‘em have it, Hester. Then we’re gone.’
‘Sure thing, Doc.’
She aimed and fired. The little rocket sped into the bar. The Doctor and Hester clambered aboard the hearse.Leopold spun them around in a U-Turn and hit the gas as the front of the Lucky Star Saloon disintegrated.
The hearse rocketed out of Peaceville. The Oddities discussed kills and injuries at the tops of their voices, delighted with the outcome.
‘Pull over, Leopold.’
‘Sure. What’s up, Doc?’
Dementer opened the glove compartment and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He climbed out of the hearse and wandered towards a low butte.
‘Shit, what’s that?’
The occupants of the car became silent as they spotted the column of black smoke, rising from the horizon into the endless blue desert sky. A couple of helicopters hovered above the source of the smoke, like vultures rising on thermals, pinpointing a steer corpse.
It was unnecessary, but Wade said it.
‘Ain’t that the Carney grounds?’
The Doc walked back and got in.
‘Turn her round, Leopold.’
‘But Doc, we can’t…’
‘There’s nothing we can do for ‘em now.’
‘They’re our friends,’ protested Hester.
‘Were our friends. They’ll either be fried, or full of lead. Turn her round, Leopold.’
Reluctantly, Leopold turned the hearse around and headed back through Peaceville. A few gunshots greeted them, but they replied in kind and were soon headed out across more desert.
‘Where we goin’?’
‘Californ- I –ay.’
Leopold and the Doc took turns in driving. The others slept or stared glumly out of the windows. In the middle of the dark night, the Doc managed to fill up at a roadside gas station.
‘You wanna watch yoreself dressed like that, Mister,’ gloated the hayseed behind the till. ‘It’s open season on freaks.’ He pointed to the TV, which was rerunning footage of the Carney Ground siege.
The remaining Oddities travelled on through the night.
Dawn was breaking and the Doc was behind the wheel when he spied the Sleepaway Motel lights. He coasted the hearse in to the parking lot.
‘You guys wait here.’
In the Sleepaway reception, a mute TV was still replying the ‘Freak Massacre.’ Receptionist Marv Hinman was much more interested in a piece of literature he had recently acquired. ‘She Took It Hard’ by Clint Thrust. He admired the heroine of the story, Ima Lovinette. She kept getting into all kinds of trouble but still came up smiling, so to speak. She was currently wrestling with a no-good called Studs Ramrod, who…
‘Excuse me.’
Marv jumped and swiftly tossed the book under the desk.
‘Howdy, I..’
His effusive greeting died away at the sight of painfully thin, exceptionally tall man with long white hair who towered above the desk.
‘Them’s some fancy duds, Mister. You in Show Biz?’
‘They’ve seen better days, Marv’ said the Doctor noting the nameplate, ‘and no, I’m not but wish I was. Would cabin number 35 be for rent?’
‘Sure would, Mister…’
Dementer stretched across the desk and grabbed the key (to Cabin 36).
‘Don’t trouble yourself, Marv. I’ll be here a couple a days, and I’d like to pay in advance. Cash.’
‘That’s OK by me.’
A price was offered, and dollar bills changed hands.
‘Thanks, Marv. You’re a gent. What time does the mini-mart next door open?’
‘Should be open now. You might have to wake old Louis up. Gets kinda slow this early in the mornin’.’
‘Thanks for your help, Marv. ‘Preciate it.’
Marv watched the door swing closed. Funny lookin’ fella. Polite tho’. That said somethin’. Better than some of the lowlife trash that showed up. He returned to the adventures of Ms Lovinette.
The Doc woke up Louis and obtained burgers, doughnuts, coffee, two cases of beer, and two bottles of Jack, which he ferried out to the hearse himself.
The Oddity mobile ran down to Cabin 36, the most secluded and private. The Doc kept an eye out, while the remains of his flock entered the cabin. They drew the curtains and tried to eat and drink as the watched the TV. All stations carried the news, the same stuff repeated every twenty minutes. The most heartbreaking scene was a quick pan down a line of blankets covering unidentified bumps. An odd foot, claw or tail poked out.
Every twenty minutes Special Agent Johnson, a craggy, tanned man with a smart haircut and mirror shades would tell America of the success of the mission, that some renegades had escaped, and ordinary decent clean-living citizens should watch out and report anything suspicious.
‘We shoulda gone back,’ said Wade.
‘What good would that have done?’ asked the Doc. ‘We’re here, we’re free and we can fight back.’
‘Against the FBI?’ sighed Hester. ‘This is countrywide now, Doc. We ain’t just fartin’ around in Arizona no more.’
‘They ain’t posted our descriptions’, said the Doc.
‘They’ll get ‘em in Peaceville,’ countered Leopold.
‘I ain’t givin’ up,’ whispered Dementer. ‘It ain’t over ‘till it’s over.’
Lost In America
Lost In America – Franklin Marsh
Adrian was beginning to feel tired. He’d been driving through the desert for nearly twelve hours and the pick-me-ups were beginning to wear off. If he didn’t find a diner or a motel, somewhere, anywhere to rest up soon, things could get dangerous. All he’d seen were flattened off road areas with smashed portable toilets and bullet-holed signs requesting that drivers leave their firearms in their vehicles.
The sun was beginning to hide behind the mountains ahead. The black horizon sprouted yellow which gradually became red via orange. Red sky at night, thought the Englishman, smiling. You’re a long way from home.
The air was so warm that Adrian’s drowsiness was increasing. To take another tablet was out of the question. Come on! Where’s that restaurant?
Lights appeared at the side of the road ahead. Adrian’s sigh of relief was replaced by apprehension. He’d seen some odd people in Arizona – most mercifully from a distance. He wasn’t armed unlike most of the good folks in this desert state. Tread carefully.
As the lights grew nearer, Adrian could make out a long, low, single-storey building with the legend Chico’s Diner – Good Eatin’! gracing a sign by the road. The car park was packed with a conglomeration of huge caravans, trailers, mobile homes and Winnebagos.
As Adrian drove in he could just read a faded paint job proclaiming Dr Dementer’s Carnival Of Oddities on the side of the nearest one. Great, he thought. I just want a meal and a drink and I’ve pitched up in the middle of a freak show. Only in America…
He parked the car and headed for the entrance. The only sound he could hear was the wind, softly blowing sand across the parking lot. Until he pushed the door open and his ears were assaulted by a tortured country and Western chanteuse bemoaning the fact that her man had done her wrong. It was dark inside, and given the amount of vehicles outside, he was surprised that were only four people visible within.
An elderly looking man with grey hair and a beard sat at the bar. He had on a baseball cap with ‘I’m A Part Of Cat Plus’ on the crown. A young but looking old girl was behind the bar.
‘Howdy, Stranger!’ she called. ‘What can I getcha?’
Adrian noted the two young cowboy types playing pool over to his right, but they didn’t seem a threat.
‘A cup of coffee, please.’
The girl paused, smiled and cooed ‘Comin’ up!’ She disappeared through a beaded curtain behind her.
One of the pool players whispered something to his opponent and harsh laughter echoed across the room.
‘ Y’ain’t from around these parts, are ya?’ said Cat Plus, staring at Adrian.
‘No, I’m from England,’ replied Adrian easing himself on to a bar stool and beginning to relax.
The beaded curtain shook, and the girl reappeared with a mug, and a glass container of coffee. A generous slug slurped into the mug, which was banged down on the bar in front of Adrian.
‘Cream? Milk? Sugar?’ she enquired.
‘Just sugar, please. Are you doing food?’
‘Sure thing honey. What ya fancy?’
‘Pancakes?’
The girl looked dumbstruck.
Adrian racked his brains.
‘I’m sorry. What do you call them? Erm…flapjacks?’
The girl brightened considerably. ‘Sure!’ She disappeared again.
Adrian smiled at himself. You’re in America, Ade. Biscuits are crackers. Lorries are trucks. Lifts are elevators, a car bonnet is a hood, and the boot is a trunk. And never, ever call cigarettes ‘fags’.
‘What brings you the heck out here?’ asked Cat Plus. The juke box clicked, and a more up tempo beat was drawled over.
The pool players finished their game and left, tipping their Stetsons to the old man.
‘Just passing through,’ said Adrian.
The girl appeared again with a plate piled high with flapjacks and a jug of maple syrup.
‘Here y’go Mister,’ she gasped. ‘Hope you like ‘em.’
‘I’m sure I will.’
Adrian had noticed that Cat Plus was nursing a virtually empty glass.
‘Beer?’ offered the younger man, reaching for his wallet.
‘That’s right neighbourly of you, Mister. Coors, Julia. If’n you please.’
‘How about you?’ Adrian turned to the girl.
‘Gee thanks! I’ll have a Coke. If that’s OK?’
‘That’s fine.’ Adrian paid for everything, and raised his coffee mug.
‘Cheers, all.’
‘Cheers!’ squeaked the girl.
‘Bottoms up!’ growled Cat Plus, raising his glass and taking a long gulp.
‘So,’ began the Englishman, tucking into his flapjacks, ‘what’s with the Freak Show caravans outside?’
The juke box clicked off. Adrian looked up. The girl was frozen in the act of putting the bottle of fizzy drink to her lips. Her eyes were wide open and her mouth an O. He glanced at Cat Plus. The oldster was twisted on his stool and looking behind Adrian. He licked his lips nervously.
Chewing, Adrian swivelled slowly on his stool. The front door was open and a figure was silhouetted against a glorious sunset. Sand had been blown across the threshold. Black cowboy boots crunched on it as they moved forward. As the figure moved into the light, Adrian held his breath.
A battered top hat crowned long flowing white locks. The man’s face was painfully thin. The eyes were receded in the sockets, and a twisted grin revealed huge even teeth, giving the face a skull like appearance. The thin neck disappeared into a frilled white shirt held together at the collar by a bootlace tie with a cow skull clasp. A fancy silver waistcoat adorned the midriff, and a dust mottled black frock coat hung from the shoulders. Black skin-tight jeans hugged the stick-thin legs.
One skeletal black-gloved hand removed the top hat, the other beat dust from it.
The sunken eyes seemed to move forward to survey Adrian.
‘Good evening,’ purred a deep baritone. ‘I am Doctor Dementer.’
Glass shattered.
The Coke bottle had fallen from Julia’s hand.
‘Sheeit!’
Cat Plus was fumbling at his belt. Adrian was shocked to realise that he was wearing a sidearm. The younger man’s eyes were drawn back to Dementer, who had produced a bullwhip from under his frock coat. The black rawhide lashed out and wrapped around the old man’s wrist, jerking it upward. The revolver went off, the bullet whining off the ceiling and smashing a bottle behind Julia. The girl screamed and threw herself across the bar, clutching hold of Adrian. The entwined couple fell backwards off the barstool and watched from the floor in horror as Dementer slowly drew Cat Plus toward him with the whip.
Silently a black-gloved hand reached out and seized the old man’s throat. He gurgled as the hand squeezed. Julia sobbed into Adrian’s shoulder as they heard the neck bones cracking. Cat Plus vomited blood.
‘Charming’, grinned the apparition as he let the old man fall to the floor. The door opened behind him. The shape of a man entered. His face and arms were covered in long red hair, and he was dressed in a jerkin and trousers apparently made from sacking.
‘Behold!’ smirked Dementer, flourishing his top hat, ‘Leopold, the Lion Man!’
A much smaller figure followed, wearing the same crude clothing. Adrian gasped at the scales on the creature’s face and arms. Dementer waved the hat again.
‘Wade, the Alligator Boy!’
Adrian felt Julia's hands squeezing his flesh. He looked into her tear-stained eyes.
‘Make it stop,’ she pleaded.
‘I can’t,’ he replied, helplessly.
Dementer stretched out a hand.
‘Allow me to assist you’, he purred.
His gloved extremity seized Adrian’s hand, and the Englishman felt himself pulled upward. The girl shrieked and clung on for dear life, burying her face in Adrian’s chest.
‘That’s better,’ said the Doctor, his eyes crawling over the couple.
‘What do you want?’ asked Adrian, his voice cracking with strain.
Leopold barked a laugh.
‘What kinda candy-ass talk is that?’
‘He’s from England,’ said Dementer.
‘Faggot,’ said the Lion Man.
‘Now look here…’
‘No, YOU look here,’ spat Dementer. ‘Freak show, eh?’
Leopold growled, and Wade hissed.
‘I didn’t mean…’
‘No, you never do, do you?’
The door opened again. A huge woman with a huge beard looked in.
‘We’re ready, Doc.’
‘Coming, Hester,’ sang Dementer. ‘This way.’
Leopold moved behind the couple. Adrian started to shuffle toward the door, dragging Julia with him.
‘Come on, come on,’ said the Doctor. ‘This won’t take a minute.’
He led the way outside. Julia whimpered as they passed close to Wade. He glowered at them. Adrian blinked. The sky was now a glorious red. In front of the diner was a large glass tank, with what looked like a swimming pool ladder attached to it. All around were what Adrian supposed were Dementer’s carnival oddities. He didn’t look too closely at them.
‘Up the ladder, quickly now,’ urged the Doctor.
The size of the crowd gathered around dissuaded Adrian from trying anything.
‘Come on, Julia’, he encouraged. ’It’ll be alright.’
She clung tightly to him. They struggled up the ladder and dropped into the tank. Without a word between them, they sat down and clutched one another even more tightly.
What looked like Siamese twins staggered forward pushing an enormous glass bottle on a tall wagon. The lip of the bottle protruded over the edge of the tank. The bottle was filled with an opalescent liquid. Tears stung Adrians eyes.
‘Soon be over,’ said Dementer lightly as he scaled the ladder and pulled on a rope, releasing the bottle stopper.
The liquid poured over the embracing couple. The oddities oohed and aahed as the two bodies began to smoulder, and liquesce and bubble.
‘What’s in that stuff, Doc?’ asked Leopold.
‘A concoction of my own design,’ replied Dementer, watching the bones begin to poke through the flesh. ‘There’s a lot in it. It takes off the hide ‘n’ hair, dissolves the organs, tissues and muscles.’ He smiled. ‘But leaves the bones. A bit of acid...some lime…’
‘He’ll like that,’
‘Who?’
‘The Limey.’
Dementer turned to the Lion Man with an expression of surprised delight on his face.
‘Why Leopold, I do believe you cracked a joke.’ Leopold wagged his tail.
‘Shit, that stuff works fast.’
The oddities surveyed the smouldering ruins of Adrian and Julia, locked together forever.
‘What you gonna do with ’em Doc?’ asked Hester. ’Put ’em in the Ghost Train like the others?’
‘No, my dear, I think these two herald the beginning of something new. A Tunnel…Of Love.’
The oddities cheered and squawked and grunted.
Dementer cracked his whip above their heads. They fell silent.
‘Listen up, Children,’ he cried, losing his veneer of gentility. ‘That joint’s chock fulla booze! Before we get back on the Highway to Hell I want you all to get in there and have a good time! And remember - money and guns go in my trailer!’
The oddities whooped and hollered, and began to walk, crawl, slither and ooze towards the entrance to Chico’s.
‘Dick!’
‘Yes, Doc?’
The midget was hanging on to a leash attached to a collar around the neck of a hideous, squat beast covered in warts.
‘Fire up the barbeque! There’s an old galoot on the floor in there. You and Claude may as well enjoy some of the special stuff.’
‘Gee thanks Doc! C’mon feller!’
Soon there was only the Doctor, the Lion Man and the Alligator Boy left outside. They could hear the shouts, screams, the smashing of bottles, the occasional gunshot and the wailing of some Good Ol’ Boys from the juke box.
‘Comin’ in, Wade?’
‘No thanks Doc. I’ll stay out here on watch.’
‘Good man.’
Leopold muttered ‘Faggot.’
‘Hey Doc?’ asked Wade ‘Where we goin’ next?’
Dementer grinned. ‘To whatever piss-ant burg gets in our way.’
‘Can I get the map?’
‘Sure.’
Wade scrambled into Dementer’s trailer.
‘You humour that boy too much. Sometimes I think he ain’t really one of us,’ grumbled Leopold.
Dementer knew Wade was inordinately proud of the fact that he was one of the few oddities who could read.
‘He’s sure one of us, Leopold. How could he be anything else?’
The Doctor and The Lion Man stared out at the empty road.
‘How much longer can we keep goin’?’ mused Leopold.
‘To the end of the road,’ replied the Doc. ‘It’s a big country, Leopold and this is a big state.’
Wade leaped down from the trailer clutching a road map. Dementer carried on.
‘Enough desert to hide us forever. And we don’t really need to hide. Folks see us, they look away. They don’t really want to see us. Gives us a kinda….licence, don’t you think?’
‘Hey Doc! You ain’t gonna believe this! The next town’s called Peaceville!’
‘You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’, Wade?’
‘No Sir! Says right here.’
‘Shit, whaddaya know? Listen boy, me and Leopold, we’re gonna join the party. You stay here and keep a good lookout.’
‘Sure thing, Doc.’
Wade was glad he had the Doc’s approval. He wasn’t much for drinking, or for the other things they got up to on nights like this. Sometimes, the oddities were too much like real folks.
‘What’s the plan, Doc?' muttered Leopold as they moved toward the diner.
‘Let’s have a few drinks, then burn this fuckin’ dump to the ground and get on to Peaceville. C’mon, Leopold, let’s see if that music machine has any Goddamned rock ‘n’ roll on it. I’m sick to death of this hillbilly crap.’
******************
Wade sat in the trailer. He read the map. He pretended to drive. He counted stars. He curled up on the front seat and fell asleep. Lights swept across the trailer, waking him. He peeked through the windscreen. A battered Ford Pinto had pulled into the parking lot. Four teenagers emerged.
‘Hey, some party going on in there, guys! Let’s join ’em.’
‘Ew! What’s that in the tank?’
Wade’s eyes popped at the girls’ short shorts and skimpy tops. He ducked out of sight as the blonde, bespectacled car driver looked around.
‘Dr Dementer’s Carnival Of Oddities , ’ he read.
‘Yeah!’ said the other boy, ‘Lets go party with the freaks!’
Wade’s lip curled. They’d pay for that. He risked a glance. The two boys and two girls were facing the diner. He reached up and slipped a shotgun from the rack above the seats. The passenger boy was imitating a limp and slobbering. Wade slid from the trailer. The two girls held on to one another as they approached the tank.
‘Ew!’
‘Gross!’
‘Come on, guys, let’s go.’
The driver, impatient to leave, turned back to the car.
‘Shit!’
‘What’s up, Lyle?’
His friends rejoined him, and they all stared at Wade.
‘What is it?’
‘Is it one of the freaks?’
‘Come on, that’s gotta be make up! No -one could be that…’
It was a struggle, but Wade managed to pull back the slide and jack a shell into the breech.
‘Come on, Toad Boy, get away from my car!’
Wade pulled the trigger. The shell blew the left hand front tyre to shreds. He staggered back from the recoil, but stayed upright and managed to pump the action again.
‘Shit! Fuck! My car! You fuckin’ FREAK!’
‘You’re the freaks,’ muttered Wade.
‘Now, that wasn’t very nice.’
The youngsters turned to see Doctor Dementer exit the diner.
‘Look what he did to my car!’
‘Oh dear.’ Dementer giggled. ‘Good shot, Wade.’
The girls screamed as Leopold appeared behind Dementer.
‘A werewolf!’
‘All part of the show,’ said the other boy.
‘If it’s a show, what about the car, numbnuts?’ said the driver.
‘Looks like your Tunnel Of Love’s shapin’ up, Doc,’ slurred Leopold.
Dementer’s whip curled out and lashed around the driver’s neck. The Doctor began to haul him in as Leopold led other oddities out of the diner, to surround the teens.
‘Seeing as you kids aren’t going anywhere soon,’ smiled Dementer, ‘why not join the party?’
Adrian was beginning to feel tired. He’d been driving through the desert for nearly twelve hours and the pick-me-ups were beginning to wear off. If he didn’t find a diner or a motel, somewhere, anywhere to rest up soon, things could get dangerous. All he’d seen were flattened off road areas with smashed portable toilets and bullet-holed signs requesting that drivers leave their firearms in their vehicles.
The sun was beginning to hide behind the mountains ahead. The black horizon sprouted yellow which gradually became red via orange. Red sky at night, thought the Englishman, smiling. You’re a long way from home.
The air was so warm that Adrian’s drowsiness was increasing. To take another tablet was out of the question. Come on! Where’s that restaurant?
Lights appeared at the side of the road ahead. Adrian’s sigh of relief was replaced by apprehension. He’d seen some odd people in Arizona – most mercifully from a distance. He wasn’t armed unlike most of the good folks in this desert state. Tread carefully.
As the lights grew nearer, Adrian could make out a long, low, single-storey building with the legend Chico’s Diner – Good Eatin’! gracing a sign by the road. The car park was packed with a conglomeration of huge caravans, trailers, mobile homes and Winnebagos.
As Adrian drove in he could just read a faded paint job proclaiming Dr Dementer’s Carnival Of Oddities on the side of the nearest one. Great, he thought. I just want a meal and a drink and I’ve pitched up in the middle of a freak show. Only in America…
He parked the car and headed for the entrance. The only sound he could hear was the wind, softly blowing sand across the parking lot. Until he pushed the door open and his ears were assaulted by a tortured country and Western chanteuse bemoaning the fact that her man had done her wrong. It was dark inside, and given the amount of vehicles outside, he was surprised that were only four people visible within.
An elderly looking man with grey hair and a beard sat at the bar. He had on a baseball cap with ‘I’m A Part Of Cat Plus’ on the crown. A young but looking old girl was behind the bar.
‘Howdy, Stranger!’ she called. ‘What can I getcha?’
Adrian noted the two young cowboy types playing pool over to his right, but they didn’t seem a threat.
‘A cup of coffee, please.’
The girl paused, smiled and cooed ‘Comin’ up!’ She disappeared through a beaded curtain behind her.
One of the pool players whispered something to his opponent and harsh laughter echoed across the room.
‘ Y’ain’t from around these parts, are ya?’ said Cat Plus, staring at Adrian.
‘No, I’m from England,’ replied Adrian easing himself on to a bar stool and beginning to relax.
The beaded curtain shook, and the girl reappeared with a mug, and a glass container of coffee. A generous slug slurped into the mug, which was banged down on the bar in front of Adrian.
‘Cream? Milk? Sugar?’ she enquired.
‘Just sugar, please. Are you doing food?’
‘Sure thing honey. What ya fancy?’
‘Pancakes?’
The girl looked dumbstruck.
Adrian racked his brains.
‘I’m sorry. What do you call them? Erm…flapjacks?’
The girl brightened considerably. ‘Sure!’ She disappeared again.
Adrian smiled at himself. You’re in America, Ade. Biscuits are crackers. Lorries are trucks. Lifts are elevators, a car bonnet is a hood, and the boot is a trunk. And never, ever call cigarettes ‘fags’.
‘What brings you the heck out here?’ asked Cat Plus. The juke box clicked, and a more up tempo beat was drawled over.
The pool players finished their game and left, tipping their Stetsons to the old man.
‘Just passing through,’ said Adrian.
The girl appeared again with a plate piled high with flapjacks and a jug of maple syrup.
‘Here y’go Mister,’ she gasped. ‘Hope you like ‘em.’
‘I’m sure I will.’
Adrian had noticed that Cat Plus was nursing a virtually empty glass.
‘Beer?’ offered the younger man, reaching for his wallet.
‘That’s right neighbourly of you, Mister. Coors, Julia. If’n you please.’
‘How about you?’ Adrian turned to the girl.
‘Gee thanks! I’ll have a Coke. If that’s OK?’
‘That’s fine.’ Adrian paid for everything, and raised his coffee mug.
‘Cheers, all.’
‘Cheers!’ squeaked the girl.
‘Bottoms up!’ growled Cat Plus, raising his glass and taking a long gulp.
‘So,’ began the Englishman, tucking into his flapjacks, ‘what’s with the Freak Show caravans outside?’
The juke box clicked off. Adrian looked up. The girl was frozen in the act of putting the bottle of fizzy drink to her lips. Her eyes were wide open and her mouth an O. He glanced at Cat Plus. The oldster was twisted on his stool and looking behind Adrian. He licked his lips nervously.
Chewing, Adrian swivelled slowly on his stool. The front door was open and a figure was silhouetted against a glorious sunset. Sand had been blown across the threshold. Black cowboy boots crunched on it as they moved forward. As the figure moved into the light, Adrian held his breath.
A battered top hat crowned long flowing white locks. The man’s face was painfully thin. The eyes were receded in the sockets, and a twisted grin revealed huge even teeth, giving the face a skull like appearance. The thin neck disappeared into a frilled white shirt held together at the collar by a bootlace tie with a cow skull clasp. A fancy silver waistcoat adorned the midriff, and a dust mottled black frock coat hung from the shoulders. Black skin-tight jeans hugged the stick-thin legs.
One skeletal black-gloved hand removed the top hat, the other beat dust from it.
The sunken eyes seemed to move forward to survey Adrian.
‘Good evening,’ purred a deep baritone. ‘I am Doctor Dementer.’
Glass shattered.
The Coke bottle had fallen from Julia’s hand.
‘Sheeit!’
Cat Plus was fumbling at his belt. Adrian was shocked to realise that he was wearing a sidearm. The younger man’s eyes were drawn back to Dementer, who had produced a bullwhip from under his frock coat. The black rawhide lashed out and wrapped around the old man’s wrist, jerking it upward. The revolver went off, the bullet whining off the ceiling and smashing a bottle behind Julia. The girl screamed and threw herself across the bar, clutching hold of Adrian. The entwined couple fell backwards off the barstool and watched from the floor in horror as Dementer slowly drew Cat Plus toward him with the whip.
Silently a black-gloved hand reached out and seized the old man’s throat. He gurgled as the hand squeezed. Julia sobbed into Adrian’s shoulder as they heard the neck bones cracking. Cat Plus vomited blood.
‘Charming’, grinned the apparition as he let the old man fall to the floor. The door opened behind him. The shape of a man entered. His face and arms were covered in long red hair, and he was dressed in a jerkin and trousers apparently made from sacking.
‘Behold!’ smirked Dementer, flourishing his top hat, ‘Leopold, the Lion Man!’
A much smaller figure followed, wearing the same crude clothing. Adrian gasped at the scales on the creature’s face and arms. Dementer waved the hat again.
‘Wade, the Alligator Boy!’
Adrian felt Julia's hands squeezing his flesh. He looked into her tear-stained eyes.
‘Make it stop,’ she pleaded.
‘I can’t,’ he replied, helplessly.
Dementer stretched out a hand.
‘Allow me to assist you’, he purred.
His gloved extremity seized Adrian’s hand, and the Englishman felt himself pulled upward. The girl shrieked and clung on for dear life, burying her face in Adrian’s chest.
‘That’s better,’ said the Doctor, his eyes crawling over the couple.
‘What do you want?’ asked Adrian, his voice cracking with strain.
Leopold barked a laugh.
‘What kinda candy-ass talk is that?’
‘He’s from England,’ said Dementer.
‘Faggot,’ said the Lion Man.
‘Now look here…’
‘No, YOU look here,’ spat Dementer. ‘Freak show, eh?’
Leopold growled, and Wade hissed.
‘I didn’t mean…’
‘No, you never do, do you?’
The door opened again. A huge woman with a huge beard looked in.
‘We’re ready, Doc.’
‘Coming, Hester,’ sang Dementer. ‘This way.’
Leopold moved behind the couple. Adrian started to shuffle toward the door, dragging Julia with him.
‘Come on, come on,’ said the Doctor. ‘This won’t take a minute.’
He led the way outside. Julia whimpered as they passed close to Wade. He glowered at them. Adrian blinked. The sky was now a glorious red. In front of the diner was a large glass tank, with what looked like a swimming pool ladder attached to it. All around were what Adrian supposed were Dementer’s carnival oddities. He didn’t look too closely at them.
‘Up the ladder, quickly now,’ urged the Doctor.
The size of the crowd gathered around dissuaded Adrian from trying anything.
‘Come on, Julia’, he encouraged. ’It’ll be alright.’
She clung tightly to him. They struggled up the ladder and dropped into the tank. Without a word between them, they sat down and clutched one another even more tightly.
What looked like Siamese twins staggered forward pushing an enormous glass bottle on a tall wagon. The lip of the bottle protruded over the edge of the tank. The bottle was filled with an opalescent liquid. Tears stung Adrians eyes.
‘Soon be over,’ said Dementer lightly as he scaled the ladder and pulled on a rope, releasing the bottle stopper.
The liquid poured over the embracing couple. The oddities oohed and aahed as the two bodies began to smoulder, and liquesce and bubble.
‘What’s in that stuff, Doc?’ asked Leopold.
‘A concoction of my own design,’ replied Dementer, watching the bones begin to poke through the flesh. ‘There’s a lot in it. It takes off the hide ‘n’ hair, dissolves the organs, tissues and muscles.’ He smiled. ‘But leaves the bones. A bit of acid...some lime…’
‘He’ll like that,’
‘Who?’
‘The Limey.’
Dementer turned to the Lion Man with an expression of surprised delight on his face.
‘Why Leopold, I do believe you cracked a joke.’ Leopold wagged his tail.
‘Shit, that stuff works fast.’
The oddities surveyed the smouldering ruins of Adrian and Julia, locked together forever.
‘What you gonna do with ’em Doc?’ asked Hester. ’Put ’em in the Ghost Train like the others?’
‘No, my dear, I think these two herald the beginning of something new. A Tunnel…Of Love.’
The oddities cheered and squawked and grunted.
Dementer cracked his whip above their heads. They fell silent.
‘Listen up, Children,’ he cried, losing his veneer of gentility. ‘That joint’s chock fulla booze! Before we get back on the Highway to Hell I want you all to get in there and have a good time! And remember - money and guns go in my trailer!’
The oddities whooped and hollered, and began to walk, crawl, slither and ooze towards the entrance to Chico’s.
‘Dick!’
‘Yes, Doc?’
The midget was hanging on to a leash attached to a collar around the neck of a hideous, squat beast covered in warts.
‘Fire up the barbeque! There’s an old galoot on the floor in there. You and Claude may as well enjoy some of the special stuff.’
‘Gee thanks Doc! C’mon feller!’
Soon there was only the Doctor, the Lion Man and the Alligator Boy left outside. They could hear the shouts, screams, the smashing of bottles, the occasional gunshot and the wailing of some Good Ol’ Boys from the juke box.
‘Comin’ in, Wade?’
‘No thanks Doc. I’ll stay out here on watch.’
‘Good man.’
Leopold muttered ‘Faggot.’
‘Hey Doc?’ asked Wade ‘Where we goin’ next?’
Dementer grinned. ‘To whatever piss-ant burg gets in our way.’
‘Can I get the map?’
‘Sure.’
Wade scrambled into Dementer’s trailer.
‘You humour that boy too much. Sometimes I think he ain’t really one of us,’ grumbled Leopold.
Dementer knew Wade was inordinately proud of the fact that he was one of the few oddities who could read.
‘He’s sure one of us, Leopold. How could he be anything else?’
The Doctor and The Lion Man stared out at the empty road.
‘How much longer can we keep goin’?’ mused Leopold.
‘To the end of the road,’ replied the Doc. ‘It’s a big country, Leopold and this is a big state.’
Wade leaped down from the trailer clutching a road map. Dementer carried on.
‘Enough desert to hide us forever. And we don’t really need to hide. Folks see us, they look away. They don’t really want to see us. Gives us a kinda….licence, don’t you think?’
‘Hey Doc! You ain’t gonna believe this! The next town’s called Peaceville!’
‘You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’, Wade?’
‘No Sir! Says right here.’
‘Shit, whaddaya know? Listen boy, me and Leopold, we’re gonna join the party. You stay here and keep a good lookout.’
‘Sure thing, Doc.’
Wade was glad he had the Doc’s approval. He wasn’t much for drinking, or for the other things they got up to on nights like this. Sometimes, the oddities were too much like real folks.
‘What’s the plan, Doc?' muttered Leopold as they moved toward the diner.
‘Let’s have a few drinks, then burn this fuckin’ dump to the ground and get on to Peaceville. C’mon, Leopold, let’s see if that music machine has any Goddamned rock ‘n’ roll on it. I’m sick to death of this hillbilly crap.’
******************
Wade sat in the trailer. He read the map. He pretended to drive. He counted stars. He curled up on the front seat and fell asleep. Lights swept across the trailer, waking him. He peeked through the windscreen. A battered Ford Pinto had pulled into the parking lot. Four teenagers emerged.
‘Hey, some party going on in there, guys! Let’s join ’em.’
‘Ew! What’s that in the tank?’
Wade’s eyes popped at the girls’ short shorts and skimpy tops. He ducked out of sight as the blonde, bespectacled car driver looked around.
‘Dr Dementer’s Carnival Of Oddities , ’ he read.
‘Yeah!’ said the other boy, ‘Lets go party with the freaks!’
Wade’s lip curled. They’d pay for that. He risked a glance. The two boys and two girls were facing the diner. He reached up and slipped a shotgun from the rack above the seats. The passenger boy was imitating a limp and slobbering. Wade slid from the trailer. The two girls held on to one another as they approached the tank.
‘Ew!’
‘Gross!’
‘Come on, guys, let’s go.’
The driver, impatient to leave, turned back to the car.
‘Shit!’
‘What’s up, Lyle?’
His friends rejoined him, and they all stared at Wade.
‘What is it?’
‘Is it one of the freaks?’
‘Come on, that’s gotta be make up! No -one could be that…’
It was a struggle, but Wade managed to pull back the slide and jack a shell into the breech.
‘Come on, Toad Boy, get away from my car!’
Wade pulled the trigger. The shell blew the left hand front tyre to shreds. He staggered back from the recoil, but stayed upright and managed to pump the action again.
‘Shit! Fuck! My car! You fuckin’ FREAK!’
‘You’re the freaks,’ muttered Wade.
‘Now, that wasn’t very nice.’
The youngsters turned to see Doctor Dementer exit the diner.
‘Look what he did to my car!’
‘Oh dear.’ Dementer giggled. ‘Good shot, Wade.’
The girls screamed as Leopold appeared behind Dementer.
‘A werewolf!’
‘All part of the show,’ said the other boy.
‘If it’s a show, what about the car, numbnuts?’ said the driver.
‘Looks like your Tunnel Of Love’s shapin’ up, Doc,’ slurred Leopold.
Dementer’s whip curled out and lashed around the driver’s neck. The Doctor began to haul him in as Leopold led other oddities out of the diner, to surround the teens.
‘Seeing as you kids aren’t going anywhere soon,’ smiled Dementer, ‘why not join the party?’
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)