Richard Laymon - The Traveling Vampire Show

“You didn’t have to do that!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He stepped behind Bitsy, grabbed her hair and pulled. With a squeal, she struggled to her feet. She and Rusty looked vague in the darkness, but I could see that Bitsy’s dress was open, hanging off one shoulder. Her skin was a pale shade of gray, her nipple a black smudge. “Wanta take a swing at her?” Rusty asked me.

“Hell, no. Are you nuts?”

“Come on, man. She called Slim a dirty whore. You gonna let her get away with that?”

“I’m not gonna hit her.”

“Chicken,” he said.

“Leave her alone.”

“Sure. Soon as she leaves us alone.” He jerked her hair. She squeaked and went up on tiptoes. Mouth close to her ear, Rusty said, “You gonna leave?”

“Huh-uh.”

“Wanta bet?”

“Rusty,” I said.

“It’s okay, pal. She’s gonna go back to the car. Aren’t you, Bitsy?”

“No.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not.”

“You’re not coming with us.”

“Am, too.”

“You’re gettin’ one chance,” Rusty said. Turning her so she faced the general direction of Route 3, he let go of her hair and shoved her. She stumbled a few steps, then fell to her hands and knees. “Now go!”

She stayed there for a while, her head drooping toward the ground. Then she pushed herself up and turned around.

“I don’t see you leaving,” Rusty said.

“Dwiiiiiight.” Though she spoke my name, it sounded as if she were saying, “Why are you letting this happen to me?”

“You’d better go back and wait in the car,” I said.

“But I wanta… come with.”

“It isn’t safe. That’s why Slim changed her mind.”

“You’re going.”

“We’re guys. It’s different.”

“Now get your fat ass outa here,” Rusty said, “or you’re really gonna get it.”

She slowly shook her head.

“That’s it,” Rusty muttered. He started toward her.

“Dwight! ”

“Just go,” I told her.

“No.” She raised an arm and pointed straight at Rusty. “Better not,” she said. “I’m gonna tell.”

“Famous last words,” Rusty said.

“Dwight!”

I just stood there and let it happen. It was her own fault. We’d told her to leave. And told her and told her. So I just stood there. It made me feel a little sick, just standing there and watching, but she had it coming. On top of everything else, she’d called Slim a dirty whore.

When Rusty was done, Bitsy lay sprawled on her back, wheezing and sobbing.

He stood over her. Gasping for air, he said, “Want more?”

She didn’t answer. Probably couldn’t. He turned around and staggered toward me. “Let’s go, man.”

Side by side, we headed for Janks Field. I looked back a couple of times. The first time, Bitsy was still flat on the ground. The next time, she was propped up on her elbows, watching us.

“Don’t go ’n leave meeeeee,” she whined.

Stopping, I called, “Go back to the car.”

“I wanta come with!”

“No.”

“But Dwiiiiight!”

I kept going, and hurried to catch up with Rusty.

“Dwiiiiight, don’t leave me! Pleeeeese.”

I called over my shoulder, “Shut up!” and sounded a lot like Rusty.

“Bitch,” Rusty muttered.

I slugged him in the arm.

“OW!” He cringed away, clutching where I’d punched him. “What’d ya do that for?”

“Just felt like it,” I said.

“Jeez.”

“Bastard.”

“Got rid of her, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t have to beat her up.”

“Got the job done.”

“You’re gonna be in so much trouble. You and me both.”

“Yeah, well, screw it. She asked for it and I gave it to her.”

“There’s no way she’s gonna keep her mouth shut after that.”

“Let her tell. It’s what she’s good at. But you know what? Nobody’s gonna nail us for it tonight. By the time she blabs, we’ll already’ve seen the Vampire Show… without her.”

As we came to Janks Field, I noticed that it didn’t seem as bright as before. I ducked behind a tree and peered around the trunk. In the few minutes we’d been away, so many cars and pickups had shown up that the field was almost packed. Soon, there would be no more space. The dirt road would end up jammed, maybe all the way out to Route 3. Just like the night of Fargus Durge’s boxing spectacular.

“Come on,” Rusty said and stepped out of the woods.

“Wait.”

He didn’t wait.

Nobody seemed to be nearby, so I went out after him and we rushed in among the parked vehicles. They were crowded close together. Staying low to avoid being spotted, we couldn’t see where we were going. I simply followed Rusty. He led us through a dark, narrow labyrinth, gravel and bits of broken glass crunching under our shoes.

When we came upon a pickup truck, I wondered if it might be Lee’s. It seemed to be a dark color, maybe red. But as I crept past the open passenger window of its cab, out came a reek of stale cigarettes.

Lee didn’t smoke. The cab of her pickup always smelled as good as she did.

At the rear of the truck, a VW van blocked our way. We cut to the left and climbed over some bumpers before coming to another straightaway.

Crouched low between a couple of cars, Rusty looked back at me. “We’re home free now,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Bitsy’ll never find us now. If she even tries.”

“You think she’d try?”

“Wouldn’t put nothin’ past her, the dumb twat.” He chuckled quietly, then moved on.

Every so often, we came upon pickup trucks. None seemed to be Lee’s, though. Which didn’t mean her truck wasn’t there. So far, we hadn’t even stumbled upon the red pickup that we knew had arrived. We saw nothing much except what was beside us and straight in front of us.

About halfway through the labyrinth, we came upon a big old black Cadillac.

Parked close behind some sort of boxy delivery truck, the Cadillac took us by surprise. There it suddenly was, its front bumper close enough to touch.

Rusty must’ve noticed it an instant before I did. He gasped and dropped to his knees. At first, I didn’t know what was wrong. I thought maybe someone had spotted us. Then I saw the hood ornament and felt as if my wind had been knocked out.

I hit the ground behind Rusty.

Twisting his head around, he whispered, “Is it it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Anyone in it?”

“I don’t know.”

Rusty moaned. “What if they’re in it?”

“Got your knife?” Even as I asked, I shoved a hand down the front pocket of my jeans and wrapped it around Slim’s folding knife.

Rusty reached back under the hanging tail of his shirt and pulled out Slim’s sheath knife.

I opened my blade. My hands were shaking. “They’re probably in the stands,” I whispered.

“They better be.”

I raised my head. The windshield had no glare. A pale glow from the grandstands lit up the rear window so I could see straight through the car.

If I’d found the twins staring back at me from the front seat, I probably would’ve dropped dead. Or at the very least filled my jeans. Instead, I let my breath out.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “They’re gone.”

Rusty took a look for himself. Then he muttered, “Thank God.”

We started forward again, moving through the narrow space between the side of the Cadillac and the station wagon beside it.

I suddenly got an idea. It sent a jolt of fear through me. Fear and excitement.