Laymon, Richard - The Traveling Vampire Show

But Chance would be winning five hundred dollars in the next couple of minutes unless she did more than circle and prance and look gorgeous.

She had to know it, too.

We all knew it.

What’s she waiting for? I wondered.

Maybe she’s afraid of him. Who wouldn’t be? A Marine, for godsake.

She attacked.

Went straight at him, roaring, leaping, reaching out with both hands.

People in the audience gasped. Others yelped with fright. Must’ve been Judo.

Suddenly, Chance twirled and bent, took Valeria down across his hip and threw her. I glimpsed her red boots high in the air. An instant later, her back slammed the dirt. Dust rose around her.

She lay sprawled on her back, apparently stunned.

Chance stared down at her for a few seconds as if not quite sure what to do next. If she’d been an enemy soldier, he probably would’ve finished her off. But she was a beautiful woman. And he didn’t need to finish her off; all he had to do was remain unbitten for a while longer.

The audience, sensing Valeria’s defeat (and maybe fearing that her loss might put an end to the entire performance), started cheering her on.

“Get him, Val!”

“Come on, honey, you can do it!”

“Time’s a-wastin‘, darlin’! Nail this gyrene’s hide!”

She rolled onto her side. Instead of rising, however, she curled up as if she had a stomach ache.

We clapped and stomped our feet and chanted, “UP! UP! UP!”

Chance, assuming the victory was his, began to stride around Valeria, waving at the audience, smiling and nodding.

And got too close to her.

With a sweep of one leg, she kicked his right foot forward. Chance’s leg flew high. He yelped with surprise and waved his arms. It looked as if he would slam down on his back. In the moment before he hit the ground, however, he turned his body. He shouted, “YAH!” and slapped the ground and landed on his side.

Unhurt, he rolled to get away from Valeria. But not fast enough. She hurled herself onto his back, hooked an arm across his throat, and darted her face down against the side of his neck.

He let out a yelp of surprise and pain.

Then he just lay underneath her, not resisting. Valeria no longer seemed to be struggling, either. She was sprawled on top of him, hands on his shoulders, her body squirming as if Chance were her lover, not her victim.

I couldn’t see what was happening with her mouth, but I was pretty sure what must be going on.

Stryker entered the cage, trailing the microphone cord. “AND THE WINNER IS ... VALERIA!”

The audience erupted with clapping, cheers, shouts and whistles.

Valeria stayed on top of Chance’s back, face still down against his neck.

Stryker frowned at her. “VALERIA! QUIT!”

She didn’t quit.

She went on with Chance as if they were all alone in the world.

“VALERIA!”

She ignored him.

Stryker stepped over to her, raised his right leg and raked the rowl of his big silver spur across her bare back just above the waist of her skirt.

Her head darted up and swung around. Glaring over her shoulder at Stryker, she roared. Blood flew from her mouth.

As I gaped at her, shocked, she turned her head the other way to let those in the other bleachers get a good look.

Silence.

Nobody spoke or laughed or clapped ... or moved. The wind blew, hissing through the forest and lifting the long black hair from Valeria’s shoulders.

Into the microphone, Stryker said, “IT’S OVER, MY DARLING. YOU’VE WON.”

Chapter Fifty-three

After Valeria climbed off the Marine, several members of Stryker’s black-shirted crew came into the arena wheeling a gurney. While they hurried toward the cage, Chance rolled onto his back and managed to stand up.

Applause rippled through the crowd even before Stryker’s voice boomed out, “LET’S HEAR IT FOR A REAL CONTENDER!”

The applause grew to a roar.

Chance raised his hand in a game but embarrassed wave, sort of like a cowboy who has just gotten tossed off the back of a Brahma bull. Staggering out of the cage, he waved off the gurney in spite of the fact that he appeared to be bitten on the right side of his neck. He had blood all over his shoulder and running down his back and chest. He must’ve not considered it very serious, though. Not serious enough to merit a visit to an emergency room—or wherever the gurney crew had planned to take him.

As he hobbled back toward the bleachers, Vivian came along with his shirt. She didn’t give it to him, though. Instead, she took hold of one arm and spoke to him. He nodded, then walked off with her.

Maybe to get himself bandaged.

Stryker proclaimed, “CHANCE WALLACE, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!”

More wild applause. Chance waved again, then walked out of sight with Vivian.

“CHANCE’S TIME IN THE CAGE WITH VALERIA...” Stryker glanced at his stopwatch. “THREE MINUTES, FORTY-EIGHT SECONDS! A FINE DISPLAY OF COURAGE!”

Valeria, standing near Stryker in the cage, was using a wet towel to wipe the blood off her face and neck and chest.

“THAT WAS ONLY THE BEGINNING, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! CHANCE’S BLOOD DID LITTLE MORE THAN WHET THE APPETITE OF THE GLORIOUS ... AND VERY THIRSTY ... VALERIA!”

She dropped the towel to the ground. One of the helpers hurried in to retrieve it.

“WHO WOULD LIKE TO GO NEXT?”

Leaning forward, Rusty looked past Lee and said to me, “Was that bitchin’, or what?”

“Pretty cool,” I said, and suddenly wished Slim could’ve been here to watch it with us. She would’ve gotten a kick out of seeing this woman wipe out a Marine. Also, I would’ve liked to have her sitting beside me. Lee on one side, Slim on the other.

I supposed she was probably sitting in her Pontiac, listening to the radio.

Or maybe listening to Bitsy. I could just see the poor thing sitting in the front seat with Slim, crying her eyes out, sobbing her tale of getting pounded by her brother....

Why didn’t I stop him?

Slim would be shocked and outraged by what we’d done. And sympathetic toward Bitsy in spite of the names the girl had called her.

“YOU! YOU THERE. YES, YOU.”

Stryker’s tinny, amplified voice startled me, tore me out of my daydreams and planted me in the present.

I saw a man climbing down the bleachers across the arena from us. He was a skinny guy, bald on top, and wearing glasses. He couldn’t have been more than forty years old, but he dressed like a codger in a white polo shirt, plaid Bermuda shorts, knee socks and loafers. He sort of laughed and waved at the crowd as he made his way down to the arena.

“Here’s a sure winner,” Lee said.

Rusty and I laughed.

Down in the arena, he kept his shirt on and signed Vivian’s clipboard. Then she led him up the stairs and through the doorway of the cage.

Stryker asked his name. The gawky man leaned close to the microphone in Stryker’s hand and said, “I’M CHESTER.”

“Go, Chester!” yelled someone in the audience.

Grinning, he nodded and waved.

“READY TO TAKE ON VALERIA?” Stryker asked.

“OH, WELL, SURE.” He shrugged. “CAN’T SEE WHY NOT.”

“THAT FIVE HUNDRED DOLLAR PRIZE MUST LOOK AWFULLY GOOD TO YOU.”

“IT AIN’T HAY,” said Chester.

Rusty leaned forward. “This guy’s a goner.”

“WOULD YOU LIKE TO LEAVE YOUR GLASSES WITH OUR BEAUTIFUL ASSISTANT?”

Chester shook his head. Into the mike, he said, “I’LL KEEP ’EM ON, THANKS.” Stryker started to pull the mike away, but Chester grabbed it and pulled it close to his mouth.

“YOUR GAL HERE, THIS VALERIA, SHE’S A FINE LOOKING WOMAN. A GUY’D HAVE TO BE NUTS TO GO IN THAT CAGE WITH HIS GLASSES OFF.”