Chapter 6

I strolled down the Midway. It was ablaze with lights now. A glittering neon tent city with huge iron and steel rides, all promising a thrill a minute. A hundred sounds filled my ears. The clamor of music from the calliope jarred the air. Its raucous blare mingled with the gay voices and the laughter of the swelling crowd. Various concessionaires, ballyhooing their wares in a race for the elusive buck, added to the din. Simultaneously blasting drums from shows at the rear of the Midway collided with the hoarse cries of the barkers, promising marvels of unsurpassed beauty or wierdness of face and of body.

Another sense, constantly titillated, was that of smell. Savory aromas of hot popcorn, of cotton candy, of roasting peanuts, of hamburgers, of sizzling hot dogs, along with the nose-tickling odor of frying onions. Something about the smell of frying onions always gets me, even when I'm not one bit hungry.

I stopped to watch a young fellow try to win a feathered Kewpie Doll for his girl friend, by throwing baseballs at wooden milk bottles, a ton-and-a-half housewife try to fool the guess-your-age-and-weight man, a drunk at a jewelry display demand a full tray of rings instead of just the one he had won by spinning the arrow, and an exasperated mother try to explain to a small boy at the fish pond concession that he had won a prize, not the wooden fish he had picked up and was clutching to his little chest.

My gaze then fell on an old gypsy crone, rigged up in her several brilliant, varicolored satin skirts (used for everything from wiping noses to washing and drying pots and pans), her long dangling earrings, made up of real gold prices, and her loose-fitting overblouse, opened to her waist. At the moment, she was vigorously scratching her ample backside, her eager old eyes scanning the Midway for a likely prospect.

I watched an elderly gentlemen amble toward the waiting web. As the old lady advanced on him, her actions were a complete course in cajolery. She got a death grip on his arm as she peered into his face, talking a mile a minute. I couldn't distinguish the exact words; I was too far away to hear, but it was evident the man was very much embarrassed. He finally managed to break away from his captress, and he almost ran down the Midway.

The old gypsy woman was furious. At first she just mumbled to herself, then she spat in contempt, doubled her fist in a threatening gesture and screamed insults at the man's retreating back.

A young gypsy girl joined the old lady. She was beautiful in a dark Latin way. I walked over so I could stand closer to them.

The old lady said, "Why didn't you come out sooner, Nonce? I lost a mark. A fine gentleman with a fat wallet. You could have gotten ten from him. For you, he would have spent money."

The girl hissed, "Shut up, you old bag of bones, there will be other marks. You're a silly old woman."

"You're an ungrateful daughter!" the old lady shrieked. "Get to work, and make some money!"

As I passed them, they exchanged a volley of excited foreign words. The old woman slapped the girl a stinging blow across the face, then backed into the tent. The girl, as though nothing had happened, nonchalantly approached me, a come-hither look in her dark flashing eyes.

"Got a 'match, mister?" She held a cigarette in her long slender fingers.

I lit her cigarette for her.

She gazed at me in amazement, then laughed. Her laughter was like a tinkling bell.

"You're the private fuzz that's been snooping around." Even her mocking words couldn't detract from her lovely accent.

"You have a delightful accent. To which tribe of gypsies do you belong?" I asked, ignoring her remark.

"We belong to the Tziganes, if it's any of your business," she replied, hotly, her eyes flashing.

Then with a whirl of hEr full satin skirts, she stepped away from me to latch onto the arm of a passing young sailor. Amid giggles and whispers, she led him into the tent.

For several hours, I roamed the Midway. I watched a stout woman beat the scalejoint for a kewpie Doll. From a discreet distance, I watched Red Swank's joints. His three stands constantly were busy. In front of each of them stood a mark, hemmed in by shills. I chuckled to myself as I watched an agent lean over, buzz in a mark's ear, and slap him on the back. The mark took out his wallet and handed the agent another bill.

I noticed one of the policemen standing a little to one side, curiosity on his face, scrutinizing the scene.

Turning around, I spotted Sheriff Johnson walking toward me. He looked like a grouchy bear. "Evenin'," he snorted.

"I see you're in your customary jovial mood," I remarked.

"Never mind the wise cracks. Did you find out anything I ought to know about?"

"I've been an eager beaver," I told him. "I questioned Clem and a few of the others. Clem strikes me as a likely suspect. What do you think?"

"Clem hated Sheik enough to do it, but I don't think he's our man," the sheriff opined. "Still, I'm keeping an open mind. My boys are watching his every move. Who are the others you've questioned?"

"I've questioned Sleepy Austin, Hedy LaTose, Francis Moore, Celeste Amand, and Mimi Chanture. Speaking of Mimi, I got a confession of sorts from her. Talk about screwball characters, most of these creeps almost drive me clear off my rocker!"

The sheriff's cheeks puffed out, his face got red, and he looked as though he were about to explode.

"For Pete's sake!" he sputtered, angrily. "Why didn't you tell me this first instead of gabbing about everything else?"

"Careful, Johnson," I cautioned. "Remember your blood pressure. Personally, I don't believe her. In her twisted way, she idolized Sheik. I think her grief has caused her to flip."

He gave me an icy stare. "Flipped, indeed; I'm going over to see that bearded female right now!"

With that, he whirled and rushed down the Midway.

I figured I might as well ask a few more questions of Dimples and Dolly. As I thought about the last time I had attempted to talk to them, I flushed. It now was ten o'clock. They already had performed two shows; probably it would be an hour before another show would go on. That should give me plenty of time to question them.

As I neared the girl-show, I looked at the banners with the blown-up girly pictures of female pulchritude. Two old codgers stood there, gazing hungrily at the pictures, their eyes glassy with lust.

I walked around the side of the tent to the back, to Dimples' trailer. The outside door was open, and all the lights were on. I rapped lightly on the side of the trailer.

Dimples' husky voice responded, "Come on in."

I stepped up into the trailer, and my eyes fastened on Dimples. She was sitting on the edge of the sofa, facing ms. This babe was a sight to behold. Her feet were encased in high-heeled, rhinestone-studded slippers. Sheer nylon harem pants outlined her shapely legs. The pants were held up by a star-shaped g-string. Her firm breasts were cradled in black velvet cups with rhinestone stars at their centers. A thin glittering cord outlined them. She dangled a cigarette in one hand, obviously enjoying my mesmerized appraisal.

"Sit down, Mr. Donlon. Did you come to give me more sympathy?" Her voice was full of sarcasm.

I tried to appear impersonal, keeping my voice brisk and business-like. "I understand it was you who found your husband's body. I have a few more questions to ask you."

"Ask and be damned," she said flippantly.

I ignored her rudeness. "How did you happen to find your husband's body?"

"It was getting late, and I wasn't sleepy. Dolly had passed out, so I decided to go to the G-top and find Sheik. I cut through the girl-show top ... and then I found him."

I could hear drawers banging shut in the rear of the trailer, and thought Dolly probably was in the back. I hesitated.

"What did you do then?" I asked.

"Well, I'd been drinking. I felt ill. At first, I was stunned, then I guess I became hysterical. I ran over to the wild-life show and got Clem. Then I sent him to tell Sam ... I started back to the girl-show and met Francis. We had been drinking together earlier, and we helped each other into the top."

"Didn't your husband objetc to you drinking with other carnies in your trailer? I understand Hank was there, too."

"Francis and Hank are buddies of mine and Dolly's. Besides, Sheik knew about it."

Before I could reply, the bedroom door slid open and Dolly stood there. She was ravishing. She fanned her long lashes at me and gave me a seductive smile.

"Well, if it isn't handsome, himself," she purred.

She made a provocative picture, standing there. Instead of a bra, she wore two beautiful colored butterflies. A larger butterfly, in a matching G-string, completed her attire. Her hips swayed maddeningly. My mind went momentarily blank as I stared at her lovely body.

I finally forced my brain to resume fuctioning.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions too, Dolly," I said. "It would be much easier though if you Would put on a robe."

I flushed with embarrassment, making this stuffy request. Actually, I wanted to rip the butterflies off to start a collection, but business is business!

Dolly gave my chin a quick pinch, her eyes sparkling.

"You're cute! I'll be right back!" She glided into the bedroom, with her motor running.

I took my handkerchief from my pocket and wiped at my damp forehead. Dimples tossed me a tantalizing grin. I wondered vaguely if I would ever be the same, after I completed this case. I never had met people such as these before. I caught myself toying with the idea of giving up the detective business, of going into show business for the rest of my life.

Dolly returned to the living room. She had put on a thin, filmy robe, no more concealing than were, the butterflies, still clearly visible. She wasn't one to be denied. She sat down next to me, flirting like mad.

I tried to ignore her, and faced Dimples. "Surely, you must have heard about Lucille Rodd being Sheik's legal wife."

Dimples scowled. A fog of depression seemed to envelope her. She sat perfectly still, apparently thinking over my words. Dolly took advantage of my silence by moving closer to me. She pinched my leg and gave me a radiant smile.

I moved away from her, forcing an answering grin. This kid is a black widow spider, I thought, just as hard to get away from and just as deadly.

Suddenly Dimples spoke, angrily. "If that hag thinks she can step in and take everything away from me, she's crazy. Law or no law, she'll have a hell of a fight on her hands."

"If she tangles with Dimples, she'll find out she's connected with a buzz saw," Dolly interjected.

This girl might have something there, I thought.

"By the way, Dimples, do you own a gun?" I had forgotten to ask that before.

"No, Sheik said my temper was too violent. He wouldn't trust me with a gun."

I turned to face the other girl.

"Do you have a gun, Dolly?" I inquired. She could slay the average male without one.

Dolly winked at me, then dropped her gaze for an instant. "I've never had use for one, big boy."

I could believe her.

Once again, I addressed Dimples. "How did you and Sheik get along, actually? You don't seem to be in mourning for him."

Her gaze narrowed. "I had begun to hate the sight of him, so why should I be in mourning? I didn't leave him because it wouldn't be good business. I worked hard, in more ways than one. Everything we own, we got through my efforts."

"Tell me the truth, Dimples. Did you kill your husband?"

She laughed bitterly, and her answer was just as bitter. "No, damn it, I only wish I had had the guts."

I whirled to face Dolly.

"Did you put a bullet in him?" I asked, sharply.

She gave me an arch look. Everything was a big joke to her. "Of course not. I wouldn't shoot a wooden duck. He did a few nice things for me. Did you see his red convertible? He had Dimples' name on one door and mine on the other. Wasn't that sweet of him?"

"Yeah. He was a real sport," I said, acidly.

"You don't want to pay too much attention to what Dolly says. She's a little shook up," Dimples confided.

"Isn't she cute?" Dolly mocked.

I was becoming exasperated. Both of these broads sounded plenty shook up.

"You both probably want to start getting ready for the next show, so I'd better leave now," I said, rising.

"I've got to leave this very minute," Dolly said, getting up hurriedly.

She wrapped her robe more tightly about her and strode out. Lucky she didn't have far to go on there might have been a rape in broad daylight and with hundreds of people watching.

As soon as the door had slammed behind Dolly, Dimples leaped at me.

"Forget Sheik for a few minutes," she whisper-ed, hotly. "Think about me!"

So help me, I thought, these babes must take turns!

Dimples didn't even wait for the couch. She pushed me into a deep chair and straddled me. She pulled at a little catch and her nylon pants pulled apart. Man, a zipper for convenience yet!

What she wanted already was in plain evidence and she lost no time in getting my zipper out of the way. Then she spread her legs and came down easily but firmly, her clear intent to get it all.

Brother, I moaned, what can a poor guy do?

Nothing. She did it all. M-mm-m, and could this little doll do it! I gave myself up to a hot lush interval that I hoped would last and last.

Amazingly, it went on for quite a spell. She had a little trick ... a real dilly ... of pausing almost at the peak, then starting again, more slowly, in a masterful demonstration of pure, drawn-out sensuality.

I sure hoped she hadn't killed Sheik. For the sake of whatever lucky men she might meet in her harum-scarum existence, I hoped this would never have to be locked up.

When I finally managed to tear myself away and get out on the midway, I saw Sam standing a few feet away, looking around at the crowd. He seemed deep in thought.

I walked over to him and grabbed his arm.

"Nice crowd, isn't it?" I commented.

He jumped. "Gee, you startled me. Yeah, it's very good for as long as we've been here. I noticed Sheriff Johnson on the Midway, earlier. Anything new?"

"I spoke to Mimi Chanture this afternoon, and she gave me a crazy confession. I told the sheriff about it and he hot-footed it down to the side-show to throw her in irons. Personally, I don't believe a word of her so-called confession."

Sam's eyes bugged at the very word 'confession'. He was almost incoherent with excitement "You mean she actually admitted to the killing?"

I put my hand on his shoulder. "Steady, pal. I don't think she's guilty, so don't blow a fuse."

"Not guilty? Then why the confession?"

"Like I told the sheriff, I think she's on the verge of a nervous breakdown, that she's suffering from guilt by association."

"I thought, for a minute, that my troubles might be over." Sam's face was furrowed with worry lines.

"Take it easy, Sam," I said. "I don't think it will take much longer."

Sam laughed nervously. "I hope you're right. Here comes Sheriff Johnson."

When the sheriff reached us, he started right in to cue us on what had taken place.

"Mimi Chanture is a screwball. I talked to her, but she didn't kill Sheik," he said. "She almost drove me as crazy as she is."

I interrupted him. "She was stoned when I questioned her, but I got all of the sordid details of her love affair with Sheik."

Sheriff Johnson's eyes narrowed, reflectively.

"I wonder why she didn't give me that phony confession the first time I talked to her," he said, tartly.

"Was she drunk?"

"No. Cold sober."

"That explains it then," I said.

Sam looked worried. "Don't you have any idea yet who did it, Sheriff?"

Johnson stared at Sam with weary eyes. "Look, friend, we're doing everything in our power to pin this thing down. Don't worry, whoever the killer is, we'll catch him.

Him? I wondered.

I didn't quite share the sheriff's confidence. In fact, I still was pretty much in the dark. So far, no one had made a slip.

"How about the ride-help, Johson? Did you question them? I didn't get around to them, yet."

"Well, I've already questioned them, and the only one who might be lying is Clem," Johnson told me.

"How about Lucille Rodd?" I queried. He gave me a shrewd look. "I was referring to the men."

We stopped talking as the loud-speaker began blasting out the announcement that the free-act would be starting in a few minutes. We were standing a few feet from the high pole, and as the crowd started toward us, Sam said, "Let's move in closer before they get here so we can catch the act."

"You two go ahead," Johnson said. "I've got some instructions for my men. Then I've got to get back to my office."

"Good night, Sheriff," I said.

"Good night, see you in the morning," Johnson answered.

With that, the sheriff walked toward the front of the Midway and Sam and I moved in closer to the high pole.

The lights on the Midway dimmed as the powerful searchlights were turned on. We stood with the gaping crowd and watched Pierre. He wasn't bad; I had seen worse. I wondered again what he had to tell me. Well, I soon would know. But first, I had to somehow give Sam the slip.

"I think I'll hit the sack, Sam. I'm bushed. I'll see you in the morning," I said. A direct approach was the quickest way to shake him.

"All right, Steve. I've got to see Red before we close."

After hasty good-nights we walked in opposite directions.

As I made my way up the Midway, I noticed that the crowd was thinning out. I gave a quick look around before I left the Midway. Then I picked my way cautiously back among the trailers and trucks until I located the one belonging to Pierre.

The lights were on when I reached it, so I knocked loudly.

There wasn't any response, and I cursed under my breath. Was Pierre deliberately standing me up? I knocked louder, loud enough to wake up the dead. Still he didn't answer the door.

I lighted a cigarette and decided to hang around a while. Five cigarettes later, I gave up because it didn't look as though the guy was ever going to show.

I could see him in the morning; I just had to get some sleep. I ground a butt angrily into the ground with my shoe. Then I started back toward the lighted Midway. I walked slowly, looking to see if he were anywhere around, but I couldn't spot him. As I made my way across the street to the motel, I hoped that Helen, my secretary, had remembered to send me a clean suit and a change of underwear.

I opened my door and turned on the lights.

My secretary was a doll! Draped over a chair, was a clean suit. A neatly-tied parcel lay on the bed. I was too played out to shower ... what I needed was rest. I would shower and shave when I woke up. My brain was so weary, my thinking capacity was almost zero. So I got into bed and as soon as my head hit the pillow, I succumbed to the complete oblivion that reached out to claim me.