William Gresham - Nightmare Alley

“Yes.”

“Darling, if I’d ever done it before you wouldn’t have hurt me. Only I’m glad you hurt me, honey, I’m glad. Because you were the first.”

The air was chilly; she began to shiver. Stan slipped off his jacket and put it around her shoulders. “Gee, you’re good to me, Stan.”

“I’ll always be.”

“Always?” Molly stopped and turned to face him, resting both hands on his forearm. “What do you mean, Stan?”

“Just always.”

“You mean until the season’s over and we all split up?” Her voice held a deeper question.

Stan had decided. In his mind he saw the blaze of the foots, with himself standing there straight. In command. Molly was in the audience in an evening gown, walking slowly down the aisle. The marks-the audience-craned their necks to look at her. She was an eyeful. The placards at each side of the stage said simply, STANTON. The big time.

“Molly, you like show business, don’t you?”

“Why, sure, Stan. Daddy always wanted to see me in show business.”

“Well, what I mean is- Well, let’s head for the big time. Together.”

Her arm slid around his waist and they walked on again, slowly. “Darling, that’s wonderful. I was hoping you’d say that to me.”

“I mean it. Together we can get right to the top. You’ve got the class and the shape. I mean, you’re beautiful and we can work up a two-person code act that’ll knock ’em dead.”

Molly’s arm tightened around him. “Stan, that’s what I always wanted. Daddy would be awful proud of us. I know he would. He’d be crazy about you, Stan. The way you can talk your way out of a tight place. That’s what he admired most in anybody. That and not double-crossing a pal, ever. Daddy said he wanted on his tombstone, ‘Here lies Denny Cahill. He never crossed up a pal.”’

“Did he get it?”

“No. My grandfather wouldn’t hear of it. The stone just says, ‘Dennis Cahill’ and under it the dates when he was born and when he passed away. Only one night, just before I left Louis-ville, I went out and wrote it below the dates with chalk. I’ll bet some of the chalk is still there.”

They had reached the Ten-in-One. Inside a single bulb glowed. Stan peered in. “All clear, kid. Get into your things. I wonder where the others are?”

While Molly was dressing behind the curtains of Zeena’s stage Stan walked over to the cookhouse and found the cook cleaning coffee urns. “Where’s the bunch?”

“Scattered. The bulls run in a couple of fellows on the wheels and games. They even sloughed the cat rack. The fixer’ll get ’em sprung tomorrow. And I’ll have to put on a tub of water so they can boil up and get the crumbs out of their clothes. Want a cup o’ java?”

“No, thanks. I want to find my bunch. Got any idea where they went?”

The cook wiped his hands and lit a cigarette. “Hoately’s gone up the road to a lunch wagon or something. Roadside joint. You can’t miss it. He said he didn’t want to hang around the lot tonight. Can’t blame him. Seems somebody put in a beef to the cops about the geek show you fellows got. And about the wheels. Way I heard it, that tattooed guy used to be in the Ten-in-One and had the run-in with Plasky was in town shooting off his mouth.”

“Sailor Martin?”

“That’s the son-of-a-bitch. What I heard, he worked on the townies and got them to beef to the cops. Can you imagine a carny doing that? Somebody ought to stick a butcher knife up his rear end and kick the handle off.”

Stan heard a low whistle from outside and said good night to the cook. Molly was standing in the shadow of the Ten-in-One, looking prim and neat in a dark suit and a white silk blouse. He took her arm and they set off down the road.

It was a chicken-dinner shack; from inside came voices and laughs. He pushed open the screen door.

At a table with a red-checkered tablecloth the bunch was gathered. Pints of whisky stood among plates of chicken bones. Hoately was talking:

“… and the minute I heard the kid go into that jerk-’em-to-Jesus routine I knowed we was all set. I want to tell you, it was something to watch. That old buzzard’s trap was hanging open a mile-lapping up every word the kid handed him.”

He paused and let out a whoop at the sight of Stan and Molly.

The others helloed; Zeena bustled up and put her arms around Molly and kissed her. “Sakes alive, honey, I’m glad to see you. You come over and sit down right by Zeena. Where on earth did you skedaddle to? We knew they didn’t pinch you or Stan because Clem hung around and watched. But I was looking all over for you.”

“I hid in the van,” Molly said. She looked down at her purse and ran her finger over the clasp.

“And Stan!” Zeena enveloped him in a hug and kissed him warmly on the mouth. “Stan, boy, you sure done noble. I always knew you were a mentalist. Imagine that-giving a cold reading to a cop and getting away with it! Oh, I just love you.”

The rasping, fiddle voice of Major Mosquito cut through. “Come on over and have a drink. Hoately’s treat. Come on over. I’m getting stinko.”

They took their seats, and a gangling youth with spiky hair brought in two more plates of chicken. “Watch them bottles, folks. Town’s hell on enforcement.”

Stan and Molly sat together. Suddenly they were ravenous and dug into the chicken.

Joe Plasky said, “Nice going, kid. You kept your head. You’re real carny, and no mistake.”

Bruno said nothing. He had been about to start on his fourth plate of chicken but now it lay in front of him, neglected. Molly caught Stan’s hand and squeezed it under the tablecloth. They exchanged a quick look.

Zeena poured herself a drink and took it in two swallows. “Liquor’s terrible, Clem. It’s that bad, I nearly left some-as the Scotch fella says.”

Clem Hoately was picking his teeth with a sharpened match. “Short notice. I asked one of the deputies-young fellow who looked okay-where I could pick up a pint. He sent me to his brother-in-law. Town’s all right if you case it careful. We won’t have no trouble after tonight. That old son-of-a-bitch that sloughed us was the toughest they got. We’ll open tomorrow night and pack ’em in. Best advertising in the world.”

Molly looked startled. “I-I shouldn’t think it would be safe.”

Hoately grinned. “You can wear riding boots and breeches. That’ll be all right. You got the shape to look good in ’em. Don’t worry about it.”

Zeena took a chicken bone from her mouth and said, “I think we all ought to give Stan a great big hand. We might have got into a peck of trouble if it hadn’t been for him. I always say, there’s nothing like the second sight. Anybody who can give a good reading’ll never starve. Only, gosh”-she turned to face Stan-“I never knew you could spout the Bible, the way Clem’s been telling us.” She paused, chewing, and then went on, “Stan, ’fess up. Were you ever really a preacher?”

He shook his head, hard lines at the corners of his mouth. “That was my old man’s idea once-to make me one. Only I couldn’t see it. Then he wanted me to go into real estate. But that’s too slow a turn. I wanted magic. But the old gent was a great hand at quoting scripture. I guess a lot of it rubbed off onto me.”

Major Mosquito, holding a tumbler in both hands, lifted it. “Here’s to the Great Stanton, purveyor of fun, magic, mystery and bullshit! He’s a jolly good fellow, he’s a jolly good…”

Bruno Hertz said, “You shut up. You talk too much for little fellow.” His sad steer’s eyes were on Molly. Suddenly he blurted out, “Molly, you and Stan going to get married?”

The room got as quiet as if a needle had been lifted off a record. Molly choked and Zeena slapped her on the back. Her face was red when she answered, “Why-what makes you think-”