Freaks: Alive, on the Inside!

Into this scene walked Lazarus Mink, and all fell silent.

“What in blazes is all this?” Mink cried. He noticed Bess, and his mouth dropped open briefly before he composed himself. Dark anger amassed in his deep-set eyes like a storm. “Where did you find her?” he demanded.

“In a ditch,” I answered. “Slaughtered like an animal.”

Billy Sweet and Bonfiglio, like flies drawn to offal, closed in behind him. “It’s Bess,” Billy said. “She’s made a die of it.” To his credit, he at least looked shocked. Bonfiglio was stone faced.

“The local sheriff should be found,” said Mr. Ginger, who had draped a handkerchief over his forehead and set his vision straight. He still had faith in the law?

“And what do you suppose will happen then, Ginger?” said Mink. A tic flickered at the corner of his eye. “Those townies think we’re capable of anything. We’re all thieves, ruffians, and whores, as far as they’re concerned, and they love to be proved right. We are all likely to end up at the end of a rope.”

I remembered how the sheriff in Horizontal had treated us, and I believed him.

Ceecee lurked in the doorway of the tent, across the campground. His eyes and mouth were slits of anger. “What if we all testify that he carries a razor?” I said, gesturing at the accused. Miss Lightfoot squeaked. Ceecee faded back into the shadows.

Mink didn’t even look. His lip curled in a snarl. “Weren’t you seen throwing knives in the woods by local brats?” he asked. How had he found that out? “Don’t think the sheriff won’t weigh their words heavier than yours. You’ll be in the jail before you can say ‘habeas corpus.’ And you”—he pointed at the others with a skeletal finger—“will be charged with aiding and abetting a murderer.”

Miss Lightfoot cringed from him.

Mr. Bopp had stayed out of the discussion until now, too intent on rolling his forehead across that of his beloved, washing her face with his tears, but now he raised his ravaged face. “It was you gave the order, you murderous varmint. You was always afraid of the fine, strong lass.”

Mink actually laughed. “Me, afraid of your hairy strumpet?”

Mr. Bopp launched himself from the stump of his frame with a powerful jackknife. He crashed into Mink’s legs and lunged with his face. His teeth sank into Mink’s calf, and Mink howled. “Get him off!”

Bonfiglio pulled the human torso away and ripped Mink’s trousers in the bargain, revealing the knot of Mink’s knee bone.

“Get a crate,” Mink yelled, and Billy Sweet ran, while Mr. Bopp writhed in Bonfiglio’s hands like a demon worm, bellowing curses.

I moved to intervene, but I felt a hand on my arm. “Choose your fights,” whispered Mr. Ginger fiercely, and I realized Mink had pulled out a gun.

Bonfiglio and Billy Sweet wrestled Mr. Bopp into the crate and nailed it shut. Mink watched with a smirk on his face. “Stow him in his wagon,” said the skeletal showman as he tucked his pistol beneath his jacket. “He’ll soon come to his senses without a meal or a pot to piss in.” Mink strode off, a purposeful look on his face, his suit legs flapping.

“He’s gone to find Ceecee,” said Mr. Ginger. “He’s furious.”

“He didn’t order Bess dead,” Miss Lightfoot said to me. “We’re his meal ticket.” How could she defend Lazarus Mink?

“Neither does he want to give up Ceecee,” said Mr. Ginger. “He’s too greedy.”

“But he murdered Bess!” I exclaimed. “None of us are safe.” I had already been murdered in one lifetime; I didn’t want to end this life the same way.

Billy Sweet hustled back with a shovel. “I’m right sorry, miss,” he said to Ruby Lightfoot. “Honest I am. Can I dig you a hole?”

“I reckon you must, Mr. Sweet,” she said. She raised her chin. “Mr. Ginger, I doubt if we will be calling on the services of a preacher; may I trouble you to speak some words? Mr. Dandy,” she said to me, “would you please bring Miss Tuggle to her carriage, that I might dress her for the occasion?” Poor Miss Lightfoot. She had nothing to hide her fear behind but decorum.

“Apollo,” I said. “Dress the young ones appropriately. See if they know a hymn to sing.” That would give them something to do.

After I left Miss Lightfoot to her duties, I realized there existed one who had been left ignorant of today’s events.

Earle Johnson, the fat man, sat on his cart in the tent that had been built around him. He glanced up from his newspaper when I entered.

“Hey, new boy,” he said. “Was you entertaining last night?” He winked. “Coulda sworn I heard a lady’s voice next door when I woke up once.”

“You were dreaming,” I said. I told him the news about Bess while he shook his head.

“Man alive, don’t that cap the climax?” he wheezed when I’d finished, and his chins jiggled as if they agreed. “That puts a new coat of paint on what I saw.” Excitement glinted in Earle’s buried eyes. “Dr. Mink and that he-she came through here not a minute ago, and the doctor was cussin’ Ceecee up one side and down the other. ‘She was a troublemaker,’ says Ceecee. ‘That bitch would turn us in sooner or later.’ ‘Not so,’ says Mink. ‘You was just out of sorts ’cause she was a real freak, not a made-up one. You always had a problem with that. If you needed to test your razor, you shoulda done it on Dandy. He’s a troublemaker, and he ain’t got a freak act.’”

My mouth dried.