Dead Clown Barbecue (33 page)

Well, now I've done that.

And I feel even worse than before. I can flip to any random page of my thoughts and find something unpleasant. A minute ago I just re-read the part where an eleventh toe was sewn to my foot. This was an awful idea. First thing in the morning, this is going straight into the incinerator, followed by my psychiatrist.

No, I'm kidding about my psychiatrist. Really.

* * *

Believe it or not, the nightmares have stopped. The guilt nightmares, anyway. Last night I did dream that I was trapped inside a giant clam, but I think that was unrelated to current events.

I've started volunteering at a local Eye, Ears & Nose clinic. I don't get to do anything interesting — mostly just tedious paperwork and wiping down the occasional examination table — but I feel a lot better about myself. I'm working off my karmic debt. I may have squished a nose under my shoe, but I've helped many, many more noses in need.

With that, I shall end this narrative, at peace with myself.

* * *

Yesterday the cannibal cop showed back up at my apartment, demanding that I hunt for him. But that's a story for another day.

DUMMY

Cameron watched without much interest as the young woman took off her clothes. Her body was nice, and she was half his age (less if she'd lied about being legal), but he just wasn't into it tonight.

It must have been her attitude. Sure, they both knew she wouldn't be stripping in his hotel room if money hadn't changed hands, and he didn't expect her to pretend that she was in love with him, but she acted like she was doing him some big favor. He didn't appreciate that. If she wanted to take an all-business approach, fine. Just don't look at him as if he were a pity lay.

He almost told her this.

Angel, whose birth name was probably not Angel, took off her shirt and tossed it onto the floor. Cameron had to admit that he did like the black bra she was wearing. All women should wear black bras. There should be government legislation to that effect. The last prostitute he'd hired, three days ago, had been wearing a flesh-colored bra that made her look like a mannequin.

"That thing gonna sit on your lap the whole time?" Angel asked, hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her pants.

Cameron turned Wally's head to look at her, and then made the dummy's eyebrows wiggle. "Would it bother you?"

Angel smiled. "I charge extra for a three-way. But, seriously, you're going to put it away before we get started, right?"

Cameron raised his voice an octave and spoke mostly without moving his lips. "Aw, c'mon, sweetheart, don't you think I'm a handsome guy?"

Angel's smile disappeared. "That thing needs to go in a drawer or something. For real."

Cameron shook both his head and Wally's head. He spoke in his own voice. "No."

She gave him the look of somebody who had to deal with weirdos on a regular basis and had lost all patience with them. Cameron didn't care. It was better than being looked at with pity. "Whatever," she finally said. "But I'm not touching it."

"Nobody touches Wally but me."

"Good." She wiggled out of her pants and kicked them over next to her shirt. Then she reached behind her back and unfastened her bra. "Should I be doing this slower or what?"

"You're doing fine."

She removed the bra, exposing full, natural breasts that were rather spectacular except for —

"You've got a pierced nipple."

"Yeah."

"Why would anybody do that?"

"It looks cool."

"It looks painful."

"Nah, the swelling went down. I can take out the ring if you want."

Cameron shook his head. "No, then I'd have to look at the hole." This whole evening was very disappointing. He wanted to feel
breasts
against his body, not metal. How could anybody be aroused by this kind of self-mutilation?

He'd just have to make sure he only groped the left one.

"Is it grossing you out? Do you need me to leave?"

Yeah, right,
Cameron thought. The next part of this conversation would be her pimp showing up to explain that there were no refunds once the bra was off. "It's fine."

She took off her panties and stood naked in front of him. "So . . . ?"

"What?"

"You planning to do me through your clothes?"

Cameron made Wally silently chuckle, then spoke for him. "What a sap! I guess we all know who the real dummy is around here!"

"Don't make that thing talk anymore."

"Oh, now, sweetheart, don't be like that. I'm a sensitive block of wood. I've got feelings like everybody else."

"I'm not kidding."

"Are you trying to make me cry? My face warps when I cry. It's not a pretty sight. Why don't you like me, Angel? What have I done to deserve your scorn? I know you're a beautiful woman and I'm just a dummy, and I'm permanently stuck with this ugly bozo next to me, but my heart is pure."

"I know you think you're being cute and everything, but you're really not," Angel told Cameron. "And I'd like you to stop it."

"It's only a ventriloquist dummy," said Cameron.

"I know what it is."

"If he scares you, I'll put him away."

"I didn't say he scares me. I just don't like those things."

"He's not alive, you know."

She glared at him. "I know that. Don't talk to me like I'm stupid."

"I thought you might have been worried that I believe he's alive, so I wanted to reassure you that I don't."

Angel sighed. "Okay, look, I'll make you a deal. Throw in another fifty bucks and I'll talk to your friend. I'll carry on a conversation, pretend he's real, do a comedy routine or whatever you want. That fair?"

"I don't have another fifty dollars."

"Then put the doll in the drawer and get undressed. Or leave your clothes on and just unzip your pants, or however you want to handle it, but I don't have time for any more games." The pity in her eyes was long gone. Now there was annoyance and perhaps even some disgust.

Cameron was much hornier now.

"I'm sorry," said Cameron. "I was just trying to be funny. Come here."

Angel stepped over to the bed. Cameron looked at her nude body and grinned. Pierced nipple notwithstanding, her body was smooth and tight, and he definitely preferred her tan lines to the hookers who went to a salon. He still wasn't feeling his usual level of excitement — in fact, more than once this had been the exact point where he had to blurt out humiliated apologies and rush out of the room — but he was still going to get his money's worth.

Cameron slid his free hand slowly down her leg.

"He likes you," he said.

* * *

"Why would you ever want to be a ventriloquist?" Cameron's mother had asked when he was thirteen. "Everybody hates them."

"Not everybody."

"Maybe not every single person in the whole entire world, but if you went around asking people, I bet you nine out of ten would say those things are creepy."

"I don't want to be a dummy. I want to be a ventriloquist. You're mixing them up."

"You know what I mean, smart guy. Go on and ask people. Do the survey as a project for one of your classes. See if you can get extra credit."

"I don't mind if people think they're creepy."

"What about just regular puppets? Everybody loves Kermit."

"Puppeteers have to hide."

"What do you mean?"

"You're not supposed to see the person controlling Kermit. It's supposed to look like he's alive."

"But he's a charming character."

"So are a lot of dummies. Charlie McCarthy was charming."

Mom had smiled. "If you woke up in the middle of the night, who would you rather see sitting at the foot of your bed, Kermit the Frog or Charlie McCarthy?"

"I wouldn't care. If they were sitting on my bed by themselves, neither one of them could do anything."

"Well, if I woke up and a ventriloquist dummy was on the bed, I'd wet that bed faster than you could spray it down with a hose. And get that gleam out of your eye; if you try it, you'll be grounded for a month."

"Want to hear me throw my voice? I've been practicing."

"Let's hear it."

"Hi, Mom!"

"That's pretty good!"

"Could you see my lips move?"

"Only a little."

"M is a hard letter."

* * *

"Let me be really clear about this," said Angel, covering her breasts with her hands. "I'm not some crack whore who will put up with your crap to get her next fix. Think of me like a pizza. You paid for the plain cheese. If you want extra toppings, and I'm including this bullshit with your doll as an extra topping, then it costs more."

"You can't raise the price just because I own a dummy."

"I can, because in my ad it clearly says that I cater to fetishes at a higher rate. You didn't say anything about making some spooky-ass doll talk and leer at me. You don't have another fifty bucks? Fine. Put that thing in a drawer and let's get down to business."

"Okay, okay, if you want to categorize Wally as a fetish, which for the record I completely disagree with, then I'm not going to argue. That doesn't mean he has to go in the drawer. He can sit right here on the nightstand." Cameron set Wally next to the lamp, facing the bed.

"Is there a camera in that thing?"

"No."

"Let me see." Angel reached for the dummy.

"Don't touch him!" Cameron almost smacked her hands away, and was immediately glad that he hadn't. She looked tough, and he didn't want a hooker going psycho in his room. "If I wanted to record this, I'd just hide a cell phone somewhere; I wouldn't install a camera in a ventriloquist's dummy."

"So you just want him to watch you fuck me?"

"Yes."

"And you don't think that's a fetish?"

"You don't have to do anything extra."

"Okay. Whatever. Let's just get this over with. Are you getting naked or what?"

Cameron began to take off his clothes. Though he was always self-conscious about his skinny, gawky body, she was probably used to dealing with morbidly obese men with body odor, or toothless old men, or guys who were stoned out of their minds. He was nobody's idea of an attractive man, but she'd had worse. He bet she'd had worse an hour ago.

He fumbled out of his pants and briefs and sat naked on the bed. He wasn't quite ready for action, thanks to all of this arguing, but Angel knelt in front of the bed without him having to ask.

* * *

Jesus,
thought Katherine as her head bobbed up and down.
His dick is probably smaller than the dummy's.
In the grand scheme of things, having the doll around wasn't anywhere near as weird as some of the other things guys wanted her to do, like be choked, but it creeped her the hell out.

She glanced over at it. It was a wooden dummy that pretty much looked like all of the other ones she'd ever seen. It had painted-on brown hair, large brown eyes, a small nose, and a mouth that was permanently stuck in a grin.

And even though it wasn't moving or anything like that, the goddamn thing looked like it was actually
watching
her. She half-expected it to spring to life and start tugging its tiny wooden penis.

At least the dummy's owner wasn't having much trouble getting hard. She was
so
not in the mood to deal with erectile dysfunction tonight.

She looked away from the dummy. The sight directly in front of her eyes wasn't much better. Somebody needed to tell him that it was the 21st century. Guys trimmed now.

She pulled her mouth away. "How do you want me?"

"On your hands and knees."

She climbed onto the bed and obliged him, facing the television even though she kind of knew what he was going to say next.

"No, face the nightstand."

"You mean face the dummy."

"Yeah. Do it."

It wasn't worth arguing over. If there
was
a camera in the dummy . . . well, it wasn't as if there weren't already a dozen amateur sex videos of her online. She'd just get some friends to find Mr. Ventriloquist, break his legs, and get her fair payment.

She adjusted her position as he tore open the condom wrapper. The dummy wasn't moving, and yet the creepy little fuck still seemed to be watching her.

It was just her imagination.

Stop looking at me, you pervert doll.

The ventriloquist fumbled a bit behind her, and she reached back to help him out. She didn't want him to get performance anxiety and force her to start all over. He got inside and four or five thrusts later she could tell he was almost about to pop already.

Awesome. The sooner the better.

He sped up.

The doll turned its head.

Not a lot. Just enough that she was almost positive that she'd seen it turn its head, but enough that she immediately decided it was her imagination.

The ventriloquist let out an orgasmic moan that was more like a high-pitched screech. At that moment, the doll leapt off the nightstand onto the bed.

Katherine screamed.

* * *

Cameron sat on the sofa, drenched in perspiration and drinking whiskey as he stared at the dead hooker on his bed.

He hoped nobody had called to complain about the scream. It had been a quick one, and this was a pretty crappy motel, so he might be fine.

"Why the fuck did you do that?" he asked Wally. "What in your wooden little brain made you think that was a good idea?"

Wally didn't respond. The dummy just sat on the bed, little wooden legs dangling over the edge.

"Don't go mute on me," said Cameron. He pointed to Angel's bloody body. "And don't try to act like this was my fault. What the hell were you thinking?"

Wally lowered his head.

"I should break off your legs, that's what I should do. Snap those twigs off and make a little campfire. How would you like that? Or maybe I
will
lock you in a drawer. Lock you in there forever. It's not like you'll starve to death or suffocate. How's that sound?"

"Please don't," said Wally, speaking so quietly that his mouth barely moved.

The voice Cameron liked to do for him when he was playing ventriloquist was completely wrong. Wally actually had a very low voice, and often sounded like he was growling.