William Gresham - Nightmare Alley

“That will conclude our performance for the time being, folks. Now I guess you’re all kind of dry and could stand a nice cold drink so I call your attention to the stand directly across the midway where you can get all the nice cold soda pop you can drink. That’s all for now, folks. Come back tomorrow night and we’ll have a few surprises for you-things you didn’t see tonight.”

The marks obediently began to drift out of the tent and Hoately approached the law. “What can I do for you, Chief? My name’s Hoately and I’m owner of this attraction. You’re welcome to inspect every inch of it and I’ll give you all the cooperation you want. We’ve got no girl shows and no games of skill or chance.”

The old man’s hard little colorless eyes rested on Hoately as they would on a spider in the corner of a backhouse. “Stand here.”

“You’re the boss.”

The old man’s gaze flickered over the Ten-in-One tent. He pointed to the geek’s enclosure. “What you got in there?”

“Snake charmer,” Hoately said casually. “Want to see him?”

“That ain’t what I heard. I heard you got an obscene and illegal performance going on here with cruelty to dumb animals. I got a complaint registered this evening.”

The showman pulled out a bag of tobacco and papers and began to build a cigarette. His left hand made a quick twist, and the cigarette took form. He licked the paper with his tongue and struck a match. “Why don’t you stay as my guest and view the entire performance, Chief? We’d be glad-”

The wide mouth tightened. “I got orders from the marshal to close down the show. And arrest anybody I see fit. I’m arresting you and-” He slid his eyes over the performers: Bruno placid in his blue robe, Joe Plasky smilingly assembling his pitch items, Stan making a half dollar vanish and reappear, Molly still sitting in the Electric Chair, the sequins of her skimpy bodice winking as her breasts rose and fell. She was smiling tautly. “And I’m taking that woman there-indecent exposure. We got decent women in this town. And we got daughters; growin’ girls. We don’t allow no naked women paradin’ around and makin’ exposes of ’emselves. The rest of you stay right here in case we need you. All right, you two, come along. Put a coat on that girl first. She ain’t decent enough to come down to the lockup thataway.”

Stan noticed that the stubble on the deputy marshal’s chin was white-like a white fungus on a dead man, he thought savagely. Molly’s eyes were enormous.

Hoately cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Looky here, Chief, that girl’s never had no complaints. She’s got to wear a costume like that on account of she handles electric wires and ordinary cloth might catch fire and…”

The deputy reached out one hand and gripped Hoately by the shirt. “Shut up. And don’t try offering me any bribes, neither. I ain’t none o’ your thievin’ northern police, kissin’ the priest’s toe on Sundays and raking in the graft hell-bent for election six days a week. I’m a church deacon and I aim to keep this a clean town if I have to run every Jezebel out of it on a fence rail.”

His tiny eyes were fastened on Molly’s bare thighs. He raised his glance ever so slightly to take in her shoulders and the crease between her breasts. The eyes grew hot and the slack mouth raised at the corners. Beside the Electric Girl’s platform he noticed a neat young man with corn-yellow hair saying something to the girl who nodded and then darted her attention back to the deputy.

The law lumbered over, dragging Hoately with him. “Young lady, git off that contraption.” He reached up a red-knuckled hand toward Molly. Stan was on the other side of the platform feeling for the switch. There was an ominous buzzing and crackling: Molly’s black hair stood straight up like a halo around her head. She brought her finger tips together. Blue fire flowed between them. The deputy stopped, stony. The girl reached out, and sparks jumped in a flashing stream from her fingers to the deputy’s. With a shout he drew back, releasing Hoately. The buzz of the static generator stopped and a voice drew his attention; it was the blond youth.

“You can see the reason, Marshal, for the metal costume the young lady is forced to wear. The electricity would ignite any ordinary fabric and only by wearing the briefest of covering can she avoid bursting into flame. Thousands of volts of electricity cover her body like a sheath. Pardon me, Marshal, but there seem to be several dollar bills coming out of your pocket.”

In spite of himself, the deputy followed Stan’s pointing finger. He saw nothing. Stan reached out and one after another five folded dollar bills appeared from the pocket of the denim shirt. He made them into a little roll and pressed them into the old man’s hand. “Another minute and you’d have lost your money, Marshal.”

The deputy’s eyes were half shut with disbelief and hostile suspicion; but he shoved the cash into his shirt pocket.

Stan went on, “And I see that you have bought your wife a little present of a few silk handkerchiefs.” From the cartridge belt Stan slowly drew out a bright green silk, then another of purple. “These are very pretty. I’m sure your wife will like them. And here’s a pure white one-for your daughter. She’s about nineteen now, isn’t she, Marshal?”

“How’d you know I got a daughter?”

Stan rolled the silks into a ball and they vanished. His face was serious, the blue eyes grave. “I know many things, Marshal. I don’t know exactly how I know them but there’s nothing supernatural about it, I am sure. My family was Scotch and the Scotch are often gifted with powers that the old folks used to call ‘second sight.”’

The white head with its coarse, red face, nodded involuntarily.

“For instance,” Stan went on, “I can see that you have carried a pocket piece or curio of some kind for nearly twenty years. Probably a foreign coin.”

One great hand made a motion toward the pants pocket. Stan felt his own pulse racing with triumph. Two more hits and he’d have him.

“Several times you have lost that luck-piece but you’ve found it again every time; and it means a lot to you, you don’t exactly know why. I’d say that you should always carry it.”

The deputy’s eyes had lost some of their flint.

From the tail of his eye Stan saw that the Electric Chair above them was empty; Molly had disappeared. So had everyone else except Hoately who stood slightly to the rear of the deputy, nodding his head wisely at every word of the magician’s.

“Now this isn’t any of my business, Marshal, because I know you are a man who is fully capable of handling his own affairs and just about anything else that is liable to come along. But my Scotch blood is working right this minute and it tells me that there is one thing in your life that is worrying you and it’s something you find it difficult to handle. Because all your strength and your courage and your authority in the town seem to be of no avail. It seems to slip through your grasp like water-”

“Wait a minute, young fella. What are you talkin’ ’bout?”

“As I said, it’s absolutely none of my business. And you are a man in the prime of life and old enough to be my father and by rights you should be the one to give me good advice and not the other way round. But in this case I may be able to do you a good turn. I sense that there are antagonistic influences surrounding you. Someone near to you is jealous of you and your ability. And while part of this extends to your work as a peace officer and your duties in upholding the law, there is another part of it that has to do with your church…”

The face had changed. The savage lines had ironed out and now it was simply the face of an old man, weary and bewildered. Stan hurried on, panicky for fear the tenuous spell would break, but excited at his own power. If I can’t read a Bible-spouting, whoremongering, big-knuckled hypocrite of a church deacon, he told himself, I’m a feeblo. The old son-of-a-bitch.