Chapter 9

After thinking it over, Cotty decided there was really no need to dream up an excuse. They would simply contrive to miss the train. The only one who would demand an explanation would be Greer and he would be dead. The carnies would assume that Cotty and Paula had stayed behind to shack up, and Cotty was more than willing for them to think that.

Most carnies like teardown night; the break in routine, the excitement of leaving one town for another, their pride in tearing down what was, in effect, a small city, moving it intact a hundred miles or so and setting it up again within a span of twenty-four hours or less.

Cotty hated it. There was too much hard work involved, and he'd had enough of hard work before joining the carnie. All the men worked at tearing down the rides and the shows; Cotty's position as a front talker didn't exempt him. Of the freak show crew only Greer didn't help. Immediately after getting out of the casket, he retired to the trailer and started belting a bottle. That was all to the good. When the time came to pull the trailer to the show train, Greer would be passed out; he would never miss Paula.

The bars in town were open until four o'clock, and there was a small one a block away from the lot. Paula went there to wait for Cotty. Shortly after two the freak show was down, the last wagon load lumbering off the lot behind a tractor, bound for the railroad yards a mile away. There was still a lot of activity. The concession tents and the show tents were always the first down; some of the rides wouldn't be down and on the train until after daylight.

Cotty left the lot and headed for the bar and Paula. He was filthy. That was one bad feature about the plan: to lull any possible suspicions, it was necessary for them to stay behind without a change of clothes, without so much as a toothbrush. Yet Cotty considered that a small discomfort to pay. He stopped at an all-night service station and used the men's room to clean up as best he could.

Paula was alone in a booth in the rear of the bar. She gave him a humid glance as he slid into the booth next to her. "Hi, sweetie. I thought you'd never get here."

She was well on her way to being swacked. Cotty knew they couldn't risk renting a room until after the show train had pulled out, so he figured he might as well break a long-standing rule and have a few drinks. Consequently, by the time they finally left the bar, he was flying pretty high. As they started up the deserted street arm in arm, Paula said, "You're spiffed, sweetie. Maybe there's hope for you, after all."

At any other time he might have been annoyed. But not tonight. Nothing could get under his skin on this night. He looped an arm around her shoulders, his hand cupping one pulsating breast.

"You're not what I'd call exactly sober."

"The better to love you, sweetie." In the light from the street lamps the madonna face looked totally corrupt.

Desire surged in Cotty; his blood flowed thick and hot; his throat closed up until he couldn't speak. They passed the mouth of a dark alley, and he was tempted to shove her into the alley and take her then and there, propping her against the wall and ramming himself against her until she was bruised and battered and yelling for mercy.

But at that moment Paula spotted a hotel sign up the street. She pointed a wavering finger. "There's one, sweetie! That's what we're looking for!"

Cotty was dubious. He'd seen better hotels. "We should be able to find something better than that, for hell's sake!"

"I'm tired and drunk and filthy. I don't much care what it's like so long as it has a bed and a bath."

A bored desk clerk rented them a room and showed not the least hint of curiosity about their lack of luggage. The hotel was ancient, their room sparsely furnished. The bed sagged in the middle and squeaked rustily.

Pai; a bounced up and down on the bed and grinned lasciviously at him. "Looks like we're going to have sound effects, darling."

Cotty reached for her. He hooked his hands under her arms and lifted her until she was on her knees. She opened her mouth for the probe of his tongue. He twined his fingers into her hair and forced her mouth to his until they were both gasping for breath. Finally she tore her mouth away, slipped down and out of his grasp, then rolled across the bed with a flash of silken limbs. She got to her feet and started for the bathroom door, keeping the bed between them. "Not until I've had a bath. I can't even stand myself!"

On her way to the bathroom, she stepped out of her shoes and was unbuttoning her blouse as she went through the door. Dizzy from the drinks he was unaccustomed to and from his taut lust, Cotty sank down on the edge of the bed.

"There's no tub, but there is a shower," Paula called from the bathroom.

Cotty sat for a few moments on the edge of the bed, hands dangling between his knees, his imagination running wild as he visualized Paula stepping out of her skirt, stepping out of her panties (if she happened to be wearing panties), unsnapping her bra and freeing those marvelous breasts....

Reaching a sudden decision, he removed his shoes and socks, then stood up and started for the bathroom door. He took off his clothes as he went, leaving them behind him like a spoor. The shower started to hiss and roar as he stopped in the doorway. He stepped out of his shorts, then reached over and swept aside the plastic shower curtain, a fine spray immediately hitting him. Paula, washcloth in one hand and a bar of soap in the other, gaped at him. "Let me help you with that," he said.

Before she could answer, he stepped inside and pulled the curtain closed. The shower stall was crowded, but that was all right. In fact, it was just fine as far as Cotty was concerned. No matter how slight the movement of either, their bodies touched. The points of contact burned like fire. They seemed, to Cotty's inflamed imagine, to crackle like the severed ends of high-tension wires. He took the soap and washcloth from Paula, thoroughly soaped the cloth, then began on her shoulders, covering her with a foamy lather, working always downward toward her up-thrust breasts. Paula stood passively, her arms hanging limply, head thrown back, eyes clenched shut. Now and then she jumped slightly as the washcloth skirted a sensitive area.

Her tumescent nipples felt like slick pebbles to his touch. He dipped his head and took one between his teeth, worrying it, the water sluicing down his body. He tongued the rough texture of the nipple, the soapy taste not unpleasant, and Paula moaned, her fingers combing his wet hair. In a little while he continued soaping her body vigorously. And then the washcloth brushed the pout of her femininity, and Paula shuddered mightily. She slumped and would have fallen if he hadn't caught her. Her eyes were open but glazed, unseeing. "Sweetie ... please, oh please!"

Cotty bent slightly, put his hands under her buttocks, and walked with her the short distance to the shower wall. He took her roughly, without ceremony. As he went into her, Paula shouted and seemed to go mad. Her pelvis drummed against him in a compulsive rhythm. Her head arched far back, banging into the wall each time he surged to her.

It was weird, animalistic, but fiercely pleasurable as they mated in mindless sensation. The hot water pelted down on them unheeded. Their bodies were slick as grease, making the whole thing very difficult. Paula's nails ripped and tore at his back in her frantic efforts to find purchase, and Cotty knew his back would be ribboned with blood. In the white heat of his pleasure the pain only spurred him on to greater effort.

Release struck them together. Cotty grunted and slammed Paula against the wall a final time. Paula screamed in mingled pain and ecstasy and clung to him. They remained locked together for a long moment as they shuddered out their passion. Then Cotty's grip slowly loosened, and Paula slid out of his arms and into a huddle on the floor. Her hair was wet and matted and clung to her scalp like seaweed.

All of a sudden Cotty realized that the needle spray was ice cold; the hot water was all gone. He turned and groped blindly for the knobs to turn off the shower.

It was a longer hop than usual for the carnival; the show train was to travel all of the day after teardown and all of the next night, arriving at the new location in time to set up and open for the third night.

Cotty had planned on catching the first train out, but they discovered such a depth of sensuality in themselves that he threw caution to the winds and remained in the hotel room most of the day with Paula. After all, what did it matter? With Greer dead, who was to question their continued absence?

Paula was everything he had ever hoped to find in a woman. He knew now that she had from the beginning hoped that he would somehow manage to eliminate her husband. She as much as admitted it. That explained her strangeness toward him, explained her leading him on, then rebuffing him. Once this knowledge would have enraged him. Not now. Now they both had what they wanted. No matter how it was brought about; it was an accomplished fact and that was all that counted.

It was after dark when they arrived at the new lot. The carnie was set up and operating, the midway ablaze with light. As yet there were only a few people on the midway. Only the rides and concessions were running, the shows not yet open. The freak show tent was up, the banners stretched taut in a slight breeze. The center banner was also up, depicting Greer in the casket.

Paula stopped short, her fingers digging into his arm. "Cotty...."

The banner had sent a shock along his nerve ends, also. He squeezed her hand. "Don't worry about it, baby," he said lightly. "The show must go on and all that crap. They've probably dug up some poor chump to take his place."

"I suppose you're right but...."

"Of course I'm right! Now come on." He hustled her past the empty bally and ticket box and into the tent. There were a few freaks on the center platform and others milling around, but Cotty was drawn irresistibly to the end of the platform and the Buried Alive! exhibit. The casket was there, fresh dirt mounded over the bottom end. They crowded close until stopped by the chain. And there in the casket, eyes closed, hands folded across his chest, was Basil Greer!