Laymon, Richard - The Traveling Vampire Show

“It doesn’t have to be that,” Slim said.

“How about the loser kisses hers?” He nodded at Slim. Her ass? The loser?

Slim’s face went red. “Nobody’s kissing my ass. Or my anything else, for that matter.”

“There goes my next idea,” Rusty said, and laughed. He could be a pretty crude guy.

“Why don’t we just forget the whole thing?” I suggested.

“Chicken,” Rusty said. “You just know you’re gonna lose.”

“We might not even get to see her.”

“If we can’t see her,” Slim said, “the wager’s off.”

“We don’t even have a wager.”

“I’ve got it!” Rusty said. “The winner gets to spit in the loser’s mouth.”

Slim’s mouth fell open and she blinked at him. “Are you brain-damaged?” she asked.

“You got a better idea?”

“Any idea would be better than that.”

“Like what?” he asked. “Let’s hear you come up with something ?”

“All right.”

“Let’s hear it.”

Frowning as if deep in thought, Slim glanced from Rusty to me a few times. Then she said, “Okay. The loser gets his hair shaved off.”

In that regard, Rusty had a lot more to lose than I did. He had a head of hair that would’ve put Elvis Presley to shame, and he was mighty proud of it.

Nose wrinkled, he muttered, “I don’t know.”

“You said it’s a sure thing,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, but ... I don’t know, man. My hair.” He reached up and stroked it. “I don’t wanta go around looking like a dork.”

“It’ll grow back,” I said.

“Eventually,” added Slim.

“Anyway, I’m not gonna let Dwight anywhere near me with a razor.”

“I’ll do the shaving,” Slim said.

Hearing that, I suddenly didn’t want to win this wager. I hoped Valeria would be the most amazingly beautiful woman in the world.

“How about it?” Slim asked.

“Count me in,” I said.

I could tell by the look on Rusty’s face that he wanted to back out. But honor was at stake, so he sighed and said, “All right. It’s a bet.”

Chapter Three

The dirt road leading through the forest to Janks Field was usually unmarked. Today, though, posters for The Traveling Vampire Show were nailed to trees on both sides of the turnoff. And a large sign—the side of a cardboard box nailed to a tree—pointed the way with a red-painted arrow. Above the arrow, somebody had painted VAMPIRE SHOW in big, drippy red letters. Below the arrow, in smaller drippy letters, was written, “MIDNITE.”

“Nice, professional job,” Slim commented.

“We probably aren’t dealing with mental giants,” I said.

“WHY ARE YOU TALKING SO QUIET?” Rusty boomed out, making us both jump.

We whirled around and watched him laugh.

“Good one,” Slim said, looking peeved.

“A riot,” I said.

“YOU TWO AREN’T NERVOUS, ARE YOU?”

Slim grimaced. “Would you pipe down?”

“WHAT’RE YOU SCARED OF?”

I wanted to bash him one in the face, but I held back. I don’t think I’ve mentioned it yet, but Rusty wasn’t exactly in the best of shape. Not a total lardass, but pudgy and soft and not exactly capable of fighting back.

Which might seem like an advantage if you want to slug a guy in the puss. But I knew it would make me feel lousy. And he was my best friend, after all—other than Slim.

Grinning, he boomed, “CAT GOT YOUR TONGUE?”

Slim pinched his side.

He gasped, “OW!” and twisted away. “That hurt! ”

“Keep it down,” Slim said.

“Jeez.”

“We’re gonna have to be sneaky going in,” she explained, “or they’ll toss our butts out and we’ll never get a chance to see Valeria.”

“Or don’t you want to see her?” I asked Rusty.

“Jeez, guys, I was just screwing around.”

“Let’s hope nobody heard you,” Slim said.

“Nobody heard me. We’re miles from Janks Field.”

“More like a few hundred yards,” I told him.

“And sound really carries around here,” Slim added.

“Okay, okay, I get the point.”

The dirt road wasn’t as wide as Route 3, so we didn’t walk abreast. Slim took the lead. Rusty and I stayed pretty much beside each other.

There was no sunlight. Of course, there hadn’t been any sunlight before we entered the woods—just a gray gloom. But now, with trees all around and above us, the gloom was deeper, darker. Things looked the way they do when you’re out after supper on a summer night and you can see just fine, so far, but you’ve only got maybe half an hour before it’ll be too dark for playing ball.

“If it gets much darker,” I said, “Valeria won’t need her casket.”

Rusty put a finger to his lips and went, “Shhhhh.”

I gave him the finger.

He smirked.

After that, I kept my mouth shut.

Our shoes were almost silent on the dirt road except for sometimes when one of us stepped on a twig. Rusty was breathing fairly hard. Every so often, he muttered stuff under his breath.

A very quiet tune seemed to be coming from Slim. “De dum, de doo, de do-doo....” It blended in with the sounds all around us of buzzing flies and mosquitos and bees, bird tweets, and the endless flutters and rustling scurries of unseen creatures. “De-dum, de do, de doo.”

Rusty made no attempt to shush her.

But suddenly he said, “Wait up.”

Slim halted.

When we caught up to her, Rusty said in a hushed voice, “I gotta take a leak.”

Slim nodded. “Pick a tree,” she said.

He glanced from Slim to me. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?” “We’ll stay right here,” she told him.

I nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He stepped off the dirt road and made his way into the trees.

“Do you have to go?” Slim asked me.

“Nah.”

“Me neither.” She pursed her lips and blew softly through them. Then she said, “Sure is hot in here.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. I was broiled and drenched and itchy, my clothes sticking to me.

Slim’s short blond hair was matted down in coils against her scalp and forehead. Sweat ran down her face. As I watched, a drip gathered at the tip of her nose and fell. Her white T-shirt was clinging to her skin and I could see through it.

“This vampire better be worth it,” she said.

“Too bad we won’t get to see her.”

Slim gave me half a smile. “If she’s in her casket, we’ll have to bust her out of it. We’re not gonna put ourselves through all this and not get a look at her.”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Don’t know what?” she asked, and peeled her T-shirt off. In spite of her bikini top, she seemed to be mostly bare skin from the waist up. She wadded her T-shirt and mopped the sweat off her face.

I looked the other way.

“What don’t you know?” she asked.

For a moment, I wasn’t sure what we’d been talking about. Then I remembered. I said, “She isn’t gonna be by herself. I don’t think so, anyway.”

“You’re probably right.” Lowering the shirt away from her face, she smiled and said, “She needs casket-handlers.”

“Right.”

“Probably has a whole crew.” She wiped her chest, her arms.

“And they might not be model citizens,” I said.

Laughing softly, she lowered her head and began to wipe the sweat off her belly and sides. I sneaked a glance at her breasts. The thin pouches of her bikini top were stretched smooth with them. Around the edges of the fabric, I glimpsed pale slopes of skin.

“We’ll have to be careful,” I said.

“Yeah. If they look really scurvy, we’d better forget the whole thing.”