Chapter 2
Both men were wrong. Dan Fields wasn't a booze fighter. True, there was a monkey on his back, but the monkey was Dan himself. Dan knew that many of the carnies of the Greater Universe Shows considered him an alcoholic because he refused to drink with them. But he cared very little for the opinions of others. By nature he was a secretive man, and he hugged his own secret next to his heart.
It was ironic in a way, perhaps even amusing. But it wasn't amusing to Dan the fixer. For that's what he was! that's what Patch meant in carnie lingo. The Patch was the man who fixed it with local authorities so the gaffed carnie games could operate unfettered. It was Dan's chore to arrange matters so the girlie shows could strip their performers to the bare navel, so they could put on the blow-off shows where everything went for a price, sometimes even the girls themselves.
At twenty-five, eight years ago, Dan Fields had been a practicing attorney just out of law school. He had been afire with ambition, burning with idealism, imagining himself a knight tilting at the windmills of injustice. He had been on his first important case, defending a man charged with a gang killing. On the surface it had looked open and shut, a sure victory. It was a well-known fact that the city administration was corrupt, and Dan had been sure his client was the victim of a frame. Dan had been approached early in the trial with a juicy bribe offer to do less than his best to win the case. In a fine fury of outrage he had refused.
From that moment things went wrong. A key witness disappeared; another perjured himself. Dan lost the case. And the world crashed down around his ears. A juror charged him with offering a bribe; his client accused Dan of coaching him to perjure himself. And he was charged with collusion in the disappearance of the key witness. More, he was accused of being romantically involved with her. Disbarment proceedings were started. Within a very short time Dan lost his right to legally practice law. He left the city with his hat in his hand, stunned, bewildered, and disillusioned. Of all the charges fired at him, he had been guilty of only one. He had been in love with the disappearing witness, an exciting, affectionate blonde with the bed pyrotechnics of a firecracker. Her disappearance explained many things that had puzzled him. Most of all, it explained their last night together, the night before she disappeared. That night was Dan's idea. It was supposed to be a celebration. The tide of optimism was running high in Dan; he was positive he would win his case.
The blonde's name was Beth Wilson. She had bright blue eyes, a heart-shaped face and a throaty voice. She supported herself giving dancing lessons while working toward her ambition to become a ballerina.
They had an excellent dinner, preceded by several potent martinis and topped off by two brandies.
Outside the restaurant, Dan said, "Your place? Or mine?"
Beth clung to his arm, her body rubbing against his like a purring cat's. "Yours, darling. This is your night. It should be one you'll remember."
That was the first statement of hers that seemed a little out of context, but his senses were too engaged to allow him to ponder it. His senses were further engaged during the short cab ride to his bachelor apartment as they locked together in a straining embrace, his hand filled with the pulsating swell of one breast, his mouth savoring the heated-nectar flavor of her lips. In his apartment clothes came off like so much chaff.
When they were finally on the bed, Adam-and-Eve naked, Beth laced her long dancer's legs around him and drew him down to her, into her, and said in a raw voice, "Make this one good, darling! Make it one we'll always remember!"
It was all of that. Mindless moments of blazing passion brought them to a climax that left Dan breathless and left Beth in a dead faint. Or else she pretended to faint to prevent his questioning her. Afterward, he was never sure. He fell into a deep sleep of utter relaxation. When he awoke, Beth had dressed and gone.
Before he left town Dan learned that Beth hadn't been killed. Nothing so melodramatic as that. She was living, and living well, in another city. The point was obvious to him. She had been paid to earn his trust, then disappear at the crucial moment.
For a year, two years, Dan drifted. Then somehow, he was never quite sure how it came about, he became Patch, the fixer for Greater Universe, doing exactly what he had been accused and convicted of doing, offering bribes.
He often thought of quitting carnival life; there were other jobs, even jobs allied with the law, at which he could work, but he had never made the initial move to leave. Despite his distaste for some of the things he had to do, there were compensations in carnie life. The nomadic aspect, for one. Never in one town over two weeks at a time, thus never being forced into forming friendships with people. Even the carnies themselves changed from week to week, from month to month, almost always from one season to the next. And the hard core of individuals who did remain with Greater Universe season after season never made the demands of friendship. Not unless it was sought and Dan never sought it. The last thing he wanted was the trust of another human being. Certainly he would never wholly trust anyone again.
There was a certain prestige connected with his job. Next to Bart Roberts, the owner of Greater Universe, Dan had the most authority and was accorded the most respect, as much respect as a carnie gave to anyone. Although he couldn't practice law openly, his advice was regularly sought in legal matters: the making of wills, the legality of contracts and business transactions, et cetera. Certainly a carnie would never consult, or trust, a town lawyer. Dan was, in a weird sense, the source of law and order on the carnival. It was his task to see that the grifters and the con artists never went too far; he legislated and interpreted the carnie code of justice; he was expected to smell out trouble before it developed and do what he could to prevent it.
He knew the name, Patch, was a term of contempt to some of the carnies, that they called him shoo-fly behind his back. But when they got into trouble it was to him they came running....
Dan sighed as he neared the cook tent. He paused for a moment and ground out his cigarette under his heel before going in. He was never sure when this mood would strike him, this senseless weighing of the past against the present. But it seemed to him that, increasingly of late, he was groping his way toward an assessment df his status in the world. Of one thing he was sure: There was a time coming, and soon, when he would have to decide if he was to make the carnival his whole life. Because there was a time in the lives of all carnival people when the world outside the carnie became wholly alien. It has been truly said that once a carnie, always a carnie. Dan wasn't sure if he had passed the point of no return yet.
He sighed again and entered the cook tent. The tent had a long counter with stools and a number of tables with folding chairs. At this hour the counter was full, as were most of the tables. The cook tent was open to the public, of course, but its primary purpose was to feed the carnies, those who didn't cook their own meals, and Evan Frost who operated the cook tent did little to encourage town trade. All in all, the cook tent offered little competition to the concession stands selling hot dogs, hamburgers, popcorn, cotton candy, candied apples, snow cones, et cetera.
After the carnival closed down for the night, the cook tent served as a gathering place; even those people who cooked in their trailers or tents came in for coffee and pie. They gathered to exchange scuttlebutt and to boast of or bemoan the night's grosses.
Near the tent entrance, at the front end of the long counter, was the cashier's booth.
Pausing, Dan nodded to the brown-haired girl in the booth. "Hi, Debra."
"Dan...." Debra twinkled at him. "All tucked in for the night?"
Dan grinned slowly. "All tucked in." It was their private joke. Each night Dan made a cursory inspection of the midway after closing, ending at the cook tent. "Like a beat cop making the last round before going off duty," Debra had once said to him with her twinkling grin.
Debra Frost was nineteen. Evan Frost had kept his daughter away at school, bringing her on the road only last season. She had none of the hard veneer and bright glitter of a carnie girl. She was petite, quick-witted, and completely charming. And, Dan was convinced, wholly innocent.
Sometimes she reminded him of a tame rabbit, all cuddly and trusting, arching her back to be stroked by any hand reaching out. If he could ever again bring himself to trust any woman....
Dan was unaware he had been staring until Debra said, "Dan?"
He felt a flush mount to his face. He shuffled his feet in the sawdust and said hastily, "Nothing, Debra, nothing. Just woolgathering, I guess."
He moved quickly down the counter. At this late hour there were no waiters on duty; people wishing to use a table had to serve themselves. Dan got his pie and coffee and found a table for himself near the front. He lingered over a second cup of coffee for a long time. This was the best time of the day for him. The carnival, as Debra had said, was tucked in for the night and he could relax.
The crowd was thinning out. After a little, Debra got a cup of coffee and joined him at the table. She sat so she could watch both the tent entrance and the cashier's booth. Each time someone came in, she looked up, eagerness naked on her face.
Dan asked, "Waiting for Cotty Starke?" She nodded with a quick, shy smile. "Look, Debra, about Cotty...."
"Yes, Dan?" she urged.
He heaved a sigh. What business was it of his if she chose to lose her head over someone like Cotty Starke? He said nothing, willing to let it drop.
But Debra wasn't. "You don't much like Cotty, do you, Dan?"
Dan shrugged. "I suppose you could say that, yes."
"I won't pry into your reasons, Dan, but don't you sometimes think you take your duties too seriously?" Her black eyes snapped with temper. "I'm a grown woman now, Dan. I can take care of myself!"
He gazed at her thoughtfully. Physically she was a grown woman; there was no denying that. Yet he doubted that she could hold her own with Cotty Starke who had never been anything but grown up. Whatever else Cotty had experienced, a normal childhood was not one of them. Of this Dan was confident. Dan wasn't sure why he disliked the man. Cotty was glib and had a sharp eye for a fast buck, but both these qualities were common to a successful carnie. There was something dark and secretive about him and an attitude of Cotty Starke first, to hell with everybody else!
Dan had to admit to himself that he could be reading something that wasn't there, all because Cotty had all too obviously captured Debra's heart. He started to speak, then changed his mind as he saw Cotty enter the tent and come down toward their table. Debra, her gaze still on Dan's face, didn't see him. Dan kept his face expressionless and watched Cotty approach.
Cotty was tall, well-built and moved with a supple grace. His hair was thick and black and straight. His dark face was almost classically handsome. The pencil-line moustache over his sensual mouth had a theatrical quality. Most of all, Dan didn't like his eyes. They were gray, the depthless gray of winter ice. But, Dan further admitted grudgingly, his good looks probably had a strong female appeal. And he was certainly an asset to the freak show. His voice was deep and compelling. Although his vocabulary was limited, it was peppered with colorful phrases and he talked with all the fervor of a revivalist.
Cotty said, "Ready, Debra?"
Debra spun around, her features breaking into a glad smile. "Oh, yes, Cotty! Wait until I tell Evan I'm leaving."
She hurried away toward the counter where her father leaned on his elbow talking to several carnies.
Cotty gave Dan a nod that just missed being insulting and turned on his heel. He crossed to the cashier's booth to wait for Debra.
Dan fought down a rise of temper. He hunched over his cup, staring bleakly down into the dregs. It had been his feeling for some time now that he was going to have trouble with Cotty Starke. The feeling was stronger than ever in him at that moment.