A Fear of Clowns (The Greasepaint Chronicals) (3 page)

After that, after Lynn and he
broke up, he didn't have a lot of chance to get custody of Alex. The state was
a lot more likely than not to think the mother was the one in the right,
especially with the crooked Sheriff on her side. So Jason had told the entire
country about what the man had done. Going online, and even calling news
agencies. That meant almost nothing, to anyone. It was Nevada, and men slept
around. So did women. It didn't affect Carl's reelection, or anything like that.
Really, he'd done slightly better in the polls after all the news items about
it. People recognized the name, Jay guessed.

Even the man's wife and kids were
still with him. The only one to care about it at all was the jerk that had been
sleeping with his wife. He didn't even send child support payments. The state
had tried to get them from Jason, for a while, until he'd gone into court and
told the judge the whole story, with proof. The woman had agreed that Carl
should be the one making the payments, and dropped that part of things. The man
had never been made to pay up. Naturally.

After that things had gotten hard
for him. Yes, Carl sent his goons out to harass him, but that wasn't the worst
of it. That was, in fact, more of a nuisance than anything else. The single
sign that Jay had which showed that, somewhere in all that had gone on, he'd
managed to score a hit against the man. Somehow. What that really was, he had
no clue.

That was what he was thinking
when the siren blared, and lights filled the window behind him. Jason used to
feel a trickle of terror when it happened, like he'd broken a rule or law, but
it came about so often now that he just couldn't be bothered to. Instead he
simply got his license, proof of insurance and registration out. He had copies
of them all too, in case it was Deputy Richmond. He liked to take things back
to his car and then claim to have "lost" them. Thankfully he normally
just dumped them by the road side, so Jason could get them back. He'd had to
get a replacement license once, which had taken weeks. That meant walking and
not working for a while, since doing otherwise would have led to trouble. It would
have been an excuse to punish him for not having his license on him, and then
starting a cycle of pain. It had, he knew, been the point. A trap that he'd
been clever enough to get around.

It wasn't Richmond at all, but
the new guy on the force, Deputy Mills. He'd been around for about six months,
Jason thought. The man was actually, except for being about twenty years
younger than Jay, pretty similar in looks. Jay was a bit slimmer, but the other
man wasn't too far off that way. They both had a full head of brown hair, and
wore it short. They even both had brown eyes. If Jason had known his mother
back in college, he would have had to ask if the man was his. Or Carl's. He
looked a lot like Alexis too. That probably had more to do with the fact that
white people with dark hair often looked sort of similar.

The guy was
also
fairly
decent, as far as law enforcement went. Not happy and cheerful all the time,
but polite enough. He followed orders,
and
the law. It was just that the
entire force had all been told to try and find something to stop him for every
time he went outside. If they could. If they couldn't, why then they'd just
stop to chat.

Rolling the window down he
smiled, which got the Deputy to make a face that was a lot funnier than he
normally went for. Real, and a bit annoyed, or even scared. Some people were
like that with clowns. They found them disconcerting. Legitimately creepy, even
if they knew on some level that they were just ordinary people in makeup.

"What the hell is this, Hadley?
I saw you driving by and was about to let you go on past, until I realized that
you'd gone all psycho on us." He waved toward the face paint, which got
Jason to actually smile a bit. It wouldn't show very much, not with the dark
red he had around his mouth, in an angularly downturned frown.

He made a circle around his face.

"The modern 'scary clown'. I
had a job earlier, the mother didn't seem to understand that a boy might not
really want a clown for his sixteenth birthday. Winthrop? Nice kid. The mother
was really friendly, too. She managed to get the kid a
car
as a
consolation prize, after letting me embarrass him for forty minutes. I was
impressed."

The man looked at him for a long
time, then took the papers back to his vehicle. After far too long, he was back,
but actually handed everything over. That was refreshing. No games meant to
harass more than the rules stated.

"All in order. Like always.
Just so you know, I would have pulled your butt over anyway, orders or not. You
look
insane
. Then, clowns always do. That's not right, going around like
that." There were two taps on the top of the car, but he didn't move, his
brown uniform jacket catching in the wind a bit. It made his shiny star move
just enough to twinkle. "Winthrop's boy? That makes sense. His dad owns
three car lots in the area, and two more over in Links. I met the new wife,
once. The old one died, so it's only half as creepy as you'd think, the new one
being so young. You say she's nice? That's good to hear. My stepmother
wasn't." He coughed. "I'll let you go. Keep up the good driving
work." Then he went back to his car, which was actually a decent sized
truck with a covered back to it and a Sheriff's logo on the side. A big gold
star. It was supposed to be that color anyway, but was actually mustard
colored, since that was more practical. The main body was one of those things
that was harder to name really. A silvery green. It was probably called forest
mist or something like that, on the color swatch.

Waiting for the man to get back
on the road, and ahead of him, Jason made certain he followed every single road
rule to the letter. It was about the only protection he had. It was amazingly
hard to complain to anyone about a County Sheriff abusing his powers. He'd
tried, at first, but no one was willing to do anything about it. The State
Police didn't see it as a big issue, since he wasn't being beaten regularly,
and the FBI didn't have jurisdiction. The agent he'd talked to had suggested
that he simply move. It was the plan, as soon as he could save up enough money
for it. Hopefully after getting a teaching position somewhere. That wasn't
going to be in town there, given that the Sheriff had put him on a list that
meant the man got a chance to bad mouth him every time someone wanted to check
his credentials.

It wasn't, as far as anyone had
told him, that the man
lied
about him. He just told them all that a few
years before, after he'd gotten a divorce, that Jay had quit his good, decent
paying and secure job. Then took to drinking and lived on the streets for over
a year.

That was enough to keep anyone
from wanting to work with him, or had been so far.

No one had ever said that getting
back on his feet would be easy.

It just felt like it was a bit
simpler for a lot of people. As long as they weren't him.

Jason had to use the guest
bathroom in the house to get the paint off his face. The cleanup was one of the
reasons he charged so much for each gig. Sure, he was only on for half an hour
normally for the main act. Then Joey would do up some balloons for anyone that
wanted them, pull some coins and trinkets from ears, and all that. In all that
tended to take about an hour. It wasn't worth a hundred and fifty bucks. Even
the humiliation was good for fifty, tops.

He wasn't selling anything that
people thought would be too bad. It could be embarrassing, and hard on the ego,
but it wasn't illegal or immoral. Plus, he got to have a disguise on. That made
it easier. No one recognized him in the store when he shopped. Kids didn't see
past the giant fake grin, or the fuzzy hair he'd been wearing. In normal
clothes he went back to being invisible to most people. There were a lot of
ways to make money that wouldn't be half as anonymous. Hookers generally had to
move after they were done with the life. That was what they'd always talked
about when he'd been on the street.

They all wanted to go away, get
off the drugs and leave it all behind.

The funny thing there was that
most of them really didn't care about the sex that much. All the church ladies
acted like it was men, touching them, violating their virtue, that was the bad
part. The girls he'd known had all pretty much figured the violent rape and
beatings as the part they didn't like. It was a different world, when you were
at the bottom looking up. The perspective change had been enlightening.

Now he lived in a shed. It was
still better than the street. Better than being with Lynn, too. The betrayal
still hurt, a bitter taste in his mouth that came with a single thought. Even
years later. It stung nearly as much as his eyes did, after he managed to rub
them with the sturdy gray washcloth while trying to get his face clear. The
cold cream itself wasn't too bad, when that happened. The rag however stung
enough to remind him not to get lazy. Like sandpaper on his eyeball where it
touched. He was getting better over time that way. Pain was a powerful teacher.

No, he really charged for
this
part. The hour and a half it took to get really clean after he was done for the
day. Scrubbing, searing his flesh with hot water and rubbing at places where
stuff collected that he could never see. Behind his ears was the worst, but
along his hairline in the back was nearly as bad. Sticky white clung to him
there. Like memories of the past. Both were things he just didn't need.

At the time they'd seemed good,
but one simple truth, a few words said in anger, and it all fell apart. Not
that the job that day had done that. For once things had gone really well. He'd
nailed the act, played the audience just right and managed to get out with no
one crying at him. No one had stabbed him, either, and he'd been paid enough
that it would all be worth it.

Jason hadn't counted the money.
That way he could just pretend it was
enough
. Twice what he'd asked for,
or even more. Not
too
much, since then he'd have to give some of it
back, but just enough to really make his life a bit easier for a few days. It
seemed like she'd doubled it. That was good. A dream that left him feeling
slightly hopeful, for the time being. It would probably last right until he
opened the envelope to find that she'd only added ten dollars, or that the bit
extra was a coupon for a free car wash.

There had been a time when three
hundred dollars was only two day's wages. Now it was about what he made in a
good week. That would work now, if he was careful. He was slowly collecting
funds up, twenty to a hundred dollars at a time. When he had three thousand, he
could leave. It was enough to start over. Not to get a great new place, but for
something. A home of his own, with a shower. Possibly a stove, or at least a
hot plate. As long as he had a job to go along with it. Otherwise it was sort
of asking for another quick trip to the roadside.

It didn't have to be some great
career move. Just something a bit steadier than clowning around.

Scrubbing, after a while, became
hypnotic. Blinking he realized that he was probably done, and that his skin was
sore in several places. It was a sign that things had gone well, anymore. It
meant that he'd gotten work, and probably been paid.

Jay looked around the place,
which was nice inside, but not rich. Carlos was a stage magician in Las Vegas,
currently. He and his wife, Wendy, had a regular gig there that kept them busy
for sixteen shows a week. Headlining as the Great Mantooth. The big draw was
that Carlos was a dwarf. Wendy wasn't, being a well put together redhead that
was pushing his own height. Five-ten to his six foot.

 Mantooth. That was a joke. The
story went that his first agent didn't think that "Laron" was a good
enough last name. That part had been a gag too, being the kind of dwarf that
Carlos was often assumed to be, but wasn't. So as a laugh Carlos had gone with
the dumbest sounding thing he could imagine. It had worked pretty well, for the
last fourteen years.

Technically Jay could have stayed
in the house, where they had television and a fridge that worked, stocked with
white wine and orange juice. It still left him feeling a bit uncomfortable just
using their bathroom, most days. It was enough that they'd taken him in. Eating
all their food or sitting on their sofa like a lump, was just pushing things
too far.

So was staying for nine months.
He had to get out soon. His friends were great and hadn't even mentioned it,
but no one needed a spare clown in a shed out back. The same was true for extra
history professors. He was making them leave the lawn care gear outside, if
nothing else. Under a blue tarp that was starting to show a bit of wear. That
in mind he cleaned up after himself, making sure that Wendy wouldn't come in to
find any sort of a mess. She
wouldn't
complain about it, if he did. It
would just be fixed, without comment. Not even the odd look, or subtle glare
when he turned away. That couldn't be allowed.

Smiling, if a bit dismally, he
headed out to the shed, which was a nice thing, as far as it went. Small, being
ten by ten inside. There was power, that came from a heavy orange cord that ran
from the house for him to use. A window too. Inside there was a pad on the
ground, to sleep on, as well as a tiny heater, and a lamp. He also had a small
laptop that Wendy hadn't wanted, which was still good enough to use the wi-fi
from their residence. That meant he could keep searching for work. He put in
everywhere, but seldom heard anything back.

At first he'd figured that it was
simply him. That somehow everyone in the world knew he was a loser. An ex-drunk
that had given up everything, after finding out that he'd never had what he
thought. A person too weak to bother with. That wasn't the honest truth.