The Traveling Vampire Show

“What?”

Bitsy muttered, “A dirty whore.”

“You called Slim a whore?”

Her voice a quiet whimper, she said, “Yeah.”

Back in those days, you never heard the “c” word. I didn’t, anyway. “Whore” was the worst thing anyone ever called a girl, and you rarely heard that. It’s a commonplace word now, used in everyday speech, in comedy routines, all over the place. But not then. Back then, it was a dark, vile word. Calling a girl a “whore” was as lowdown as you could get.

I had a tight feeling in my throat—and an urge to punch Bitsy in the face.

“What’d you wanta call her that for?” I asked.

“Just to make her let go.”

“She’s always been your friend.”

In a stronger voice, Bitsy said, “I wanted her to let go of me.”

“That was really lousy,” I told her.

Softly, she murmured, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Real neat play, fatso,” Rusty said.

“So what happened after you called Slim that name?” I asked.

“She let go. She says ‘You wanta go with Dwight so bad, go. And go to hell while you’re at it.’ So then she let me have my ticket. I told her thanks and she said ‘Fuck you.’ ”

“Sure she did,” Rusty muttered.

“She did.”

I’d never heard the word come from Slim’s mouth. I doubted she’d said it to Bitsy, but the worthless bitch had just called her a dirty whore so maybe Slim had used that language back at her.

“What happened then?” I asked. “After she called you that.”

“Nothin’. I came looking for you.”

“Where’d Slim go?”

“I don’t know. Back to the car?”

I just stared at Bitsy. It was a good thing there wasn’t enough light for her to see the look in my eyes. Turning to Rusty, I said, “I’ve gotta go and find Slim.”

“Hey, no. Come on, man.”

“You can’t,” Bitsy whined.

I looked at her. “Wanta bet?”

“You’ll miss the show,” Rusty said.

“Screw the show.”

Bitsy went, “Dwiiiight.”

I pushed myself up to my hands and knees. As I started to back away, Bitsy clutched my right arm with both hands.

“Let go,” I said, keeping my voice low.

“Stay. Y’gotta stay.”

“Bitsy, let go!”

“No!”

I wrenched my arm out of her grip, then whirled around on my hands and knees. Just as I was about to scurry off, a hand tugged at a seat pocket of my jeans and Bitsy said, “What about Lee?”

I stopped.

“You gotta find Lee, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Rusty said. “You left her a note and everything. You can’t just not show up.”

Bitsy gave my pocket a couple of pulls. “Slim’s just going back to the car, anyways. She doesn’t need you.”

Chapter Forty-seven

I looked around at Bitsy. She was on her knees, leaning toward me, left arm bracing her up while her right arm was extended toward my rear end. Behind her, a few cars were moving slowly toward their parking places. People were walking toward the bleachers. I saw a couple of the black-shirt gang waving flashlights.

Nobody seemed to be aware of us.

“Take your hand out of my pocket,” I said.

She took it out. “Don’t go,” she whispered. “Please.”

“Rusty, you’re the one who’s so hot to see the show. Why don’t you and Bitsy go ahead? Keep an eye out for Lee. If you find her, stick with her. I’ve gotta make sure Slim’s okay.”

“Slim’s fine,” Bitsy insisted.

“I’ll know that when I see her.”

Rusty suddenly said, “I’m not gonna go to the vampire show with my sister. Screw that. I’m coming with you.”

“No,” Bitsy whined. “Never mind Slim. We gotta see the Vampire Show.”

“Forget it,” Rusty said.

Next thing I knew, all three of us were crawling through the forest away from Janks Field and the Traveling Vampire Show.

Fine, I thought. Now nobody gets to see it.

We never should’ve tried in the first place, I thought. The whole thing had been a rotten idea from the very start and we’d been in trouble of one kind or another all day long because of the stupid show.

I was glad we wouldn’t be seeing it.

When we were a safe distance from Janks Field, we stood up. I led the way, moving carefully though the dark woods. Bitsy walked close behind me and Rusty followed her.

“Hold up a minute,” Rusty said.

I stopped and turned around.

So did Bitsy.

Rusty said, “Here’s good.”

“Good for what?” I asked.

“This.” He leaped forward, grabbed Bitsy by the front of her dress with one hand and smashed her in the stomach with the other. The sound was like punching a raw steak. Her breath whooshed out and she started to fold over. “Nuffa you!” he blurted, and slugged her again.

“Rusty!”

“Stay outa this.”

Before I could make a move to help her, Rusty drove his fist into her belly again and again, very fast. Then he let go and staggered backward. Bitsy sank to her knees. Doubled over, she whined and sucked air. Her head was almost touching the ground.

“Jesus, Rusty,” I muttered.

“She had it coming.”

“God !”

“She asked for it. She’s been askin’ for it all day. Got no business messin’ with us.”

“You didn’t have to do that!”