PART 1 - THE POCKET ACES
Blue Banshee snored himself awake. He let out a breath and raised his seat from the fully reclined position in his Sonata. Cheese puff balls rolled down his chest.
He looked left, right, and left again, making sure the coast was clear—then removed his camp shirt and swapped his undershirt for a clean one from the duffel bag in the back seat. He threw the camp shirt back on and got out of the car.
The carnival boss came walking by. “Damn, son, you sleeping in this thing?”
“Sometimes.”
“Well shoot, you ain’t gotta do that. We’ve got a block of rooms at the Pocket Aces motel. One of our guys didn’t show. Typical parole mishap.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“You’re telling me. Guy had a knack for assembling bumper cars. Anyways, the room’s yours if you want it.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Suit yourself. But lemme know by the end of the day. Choppa, who runs the Chair-O-Plane, would take it, but he’s got some… behavioral issues.” The carnival boss pressed a finger against his nose and sniffed twice. “Cocaine. I’m signaling.” He nodded. “You get it?”
“Oh, I get it.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’ve spent time dabbling with the devil’s dandruff, but some folks take it too far.”
*****
A collection of trailers formed a circle for carnival employees to take lunch.
Blue Banshee sat alone at a table with a paper plate and his food.
“There he is!” Randy said, pulling out a chair. “The man who nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Hey, Blue,” Nikki said, now also joining them.
“Hi.”
Randy pointed at his sandwich. “What you working on there, grilled cheese? How many slices of bread is that?”
“Six,” Blue Banshee said. He used a napkin to squish the bread layers down and took a bite.
“He’s a growing boy,” Nikki said.
Randy scrutinized his sandwich. “When I asked Maeve to throw a couple extra pieces of bacon on my BLT she acted like I was trying to bankrupt the carnival.”
“Hey, we’re lucky we get staff meals,” Nikki said. “Speaking of the few perks of this place, I heard you’re gonna be staying with us over at the Pocket Aces.”
Blue Banshee shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Oh, you totally should,” Randy said. “They’ve got one of those old school arcade games in the lobby, Sunset Riders. I could play it all night.”
“Also,” Nikki said, “the rooms smell tolerable and you hardly ever get the feeling there’s an axe murderer lurking around the corner.”
Blue Banshee started choking on his crust.
“You okay?” Randy asked. “Careful with that cheese. I once knew a guy who got a hunk lodged in his heart. It almost killed him.”
Nikki looked at him flat. “Your heart isn’t connected to your stomach, bonehead.”
“Then how come they say the fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Right, Blue?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Anatomy aside,” Nikki said. “In terms of motels, there’s worse out there than the Pocket Aces.”
“Are you any good at Sunset Riders?” Randy asked.
“No.”
“Perfect. I need a partner.”
*****
Blue Banshee pulled his Sonata into the gravel parking lot of the Pocket Aces Motel. A neon sign featured a winking cowgirl with two playing cards popping out of the back pockets of her shorts. A handful of carnival workers smoked cigarettes in plastic chairs outside a row of rooms.
He went into the front office. “Checking in.”
The elderly clerk opened a registration booklet. “Name?”
“Blue Banshee.”
“Obviously with the fairgrounds?”
“Yes.”
“Room ten. Ice machine works, but please don’t steal the bucket.”
“No problem.”
Blue Banshee took his key and headed for the door.
Randy spotted him from the game room. “Blue! Hey, Blue! Get over here!”
Blue Banshee stopped.
“I told you this place was great!” Randy said, gesturing toward the arcade game. “Come on, I need a second player.”
“I’m going to my room.”
“Just one game.”
Blue Banshee looked at the machine. “One game. I call the guy with the sombrero.”
“I knew you played!”
PART 2: MOSTLY AIR
Doreen took her paper hat off at the Mostly Air cotton candy tent. She’d lugged this setup from Tulsa to Topeka and always hated this part of the job. The cleanup. She grabbed a hose and began dragging it to the nearest water hookup. A floodlight illuminated the space between booths.
Blue Banshee stood in the shadows behind a Calzone truck that already closed for the night. He waited.
She returned to the steel drum and began spraying it down, then flicked the machine on. The mechanical arm spun hard. Doreen poured in some soap powder, then focused on clearing off the table behind her.
Blue Banshee approached. Given other workers were still in the park, he figured strangling her would be the quietest attack. The whirring machine masked his steps.
He got close. A few feet away now.
He towered over Doreen and raised his hands toward her neck.
SNAP!
His loose camp shirt caught in the spinning machinery. The metal arm ripped his shirt right off his back, the buttons bursting in every direction. He reached in to retrieve it, but the hem of his undershirt caught too. It tore at the seams and got sucked into the machine, leaving him bare-chested.
Doreen turned around.
“Well, aren’t you a forward young man.”
“This isn’t what it looks like,” Blue Banshee said.
“Honey, I’ve been working carnivals since 1983. I know when I’m being seduced. And honestly, I’ve had worse attempts.”
She shut the machine down. “Now, I’ll be another forty-five minutes or you can grab that bucket and we can be back to my trailer in half that. Or you can pound salt.”
“I think I’ll head out.”
“Playing hard to get, huh? You’re a spicy sheep.”
“You don’t happen to have another shirt, do you?”
“I’ve got a spare blouse. It’ll be snug, though.”
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If you dare.
See you soon,
—Ricky C.
Part 1 image: Photo by Eyestetix Studio on Unsplash
Part 2 image: Photo by Kabiur Rahman Riyad on Unsplash
Well at least he's making friends! I wait all week to see which of your characters are going to make an appearance. I so enjoy these stories.
Maybe the shirts caught for a reason! He needs love and a murder muse.
Silly stuff, as usual!