Chapter 3
The killer clown drove out of the Simpson Carnival. Everything that surrounded him seemed to flicker like an old discolored eight millimeter film, slow motion and burnt in certain parts of the celluloid. Feety Pat, the smallest midget that Slack had ever met, stood on his lawn chair smiling and waved as Slack drove by. The clown nodded, and proceeded across the grass and onto the belt road. He had carried the two sheriff’s deputies into the back of the travel trailer and threw them next to Lilly and her case, their limp bodies heavy and cumbersome as beady eyes stared out of vacant dead windows. He thought he would get rid of them later...In some nice secluded place, to fucking rot. At the least it would buy him some time. The hollow curtain of night began its journey across gray skies as Slack turned on to hwy 9 and a back road out of Ohio. The cracked windshield gave up a ghost after he had turned the lights on, reflections of colored lights from the dash crept across its smoke stained surface, blurry and obtrusive.
Deputy Dickson began to moan, the trailer jerked and swung as it hit potholes along the old highway route. His vision was dark and hazy, but a small night light in the back bedroom gave him a certain perspective of his surroundings. His face was riding roughly along the side of some kind of case, but he could not move and only managed to flutter his left eye lid once, but the rest of him seemed useless, he tried to cry out, but all he could muster was a gurgle deep within his throat.
I must be in Crowley's fucking travel trailer...................He deducted, that‘s why he was a deputy and not a stinking gigolo.
Click......Clap.
Dickson searched the darkness for the metallic sound, and then noticed the spring loaded hasp to the case next to him was flipped and unlocked. His eyes bulged as he strained to pick through the shadows at the hasp on the other end of the case. Yes, it must have been the last bump in the road jarring the case open......He thought to himself, but their was still the horror of the unknown that crawled along his spine and began to work its way up to the pulsing pain on the side of his head.....Crowley's dead wife, the midget, that bastard couldn't have stuffed her in this fucking case..........
Click.......Snap!
The last chrome hasp flipped and the gurgle in his throat became louder, his heart started to beat in a heavy slow thud of broken rhythms, causing him to partially black out. It all became like a clouded dream as he watched the seam in the case open ever so slowly, pale little fingertips edged along the small opening like spider legs searching for the outside world.
The back lit sign along the highways edge read, "Georges Last Stop, beer, wine, ciggs and lotto....Slack pulled into gravel parking lot and shut the engine down, the dim lights inside Georges screamed welcome.......Yeah, like a boil on the fat ass of a three legged Shriner. The door was wide open and an old fart was sitting behind a wood counter reading a tit and cunt rag, Slack walked into the grungy store and grabbed a bag of corn chips on his way to the cooler, but noticed a card table set up in the corner and strolled over to take a look...One deck of Harley Davidson playing cards, a Zippo lighter with a map of south Viet Nam painted on it, and sitting in the middle was pair of boots. He reached over and studied the tag hanging off the toe, Twiggy's White GoGo Boots....From 1969. He turned the tag around and it had 100 bucks with a red line drawn through it, and 28.50 written next to it. He tucked the boots under his arm but stopped in the middle of the isle, he realized he was buying these for Lilly....But…Yeah he would put them in her case, there was room, he was sure of it. Maybe along with that pair of Marilyn Monroe's panties she bought at the flea market in New York last year. He reached for a six pack of Miller.
"Slack, I just have to have them, look! They even have a letter of authenticity that’s been signed and notarized by Joe Di'Maggio's best friend's uncle."
Slack searched the expressions on her lovely face and could feel her excited energy flying like sparks from a freshly stoked camp fire. He would have given her the world if she would have asked. He smiled, bent down and kissed her lips. She reached up and put her arms around his neck and held on as he brought her up and held her tightly, never wanting the moment to end. And he would never convey to her that he had doubts that these panties were actually Marilyn's, for her beautiful love was enough to keep any dream alive.
The killer clown sat in the Lincoln and sucked down the last can of Miller, the white gogo boots sat next to him on the passenger seat, he looked over at the solitary objects and spoke,
“we had better hit the road and start looking for a nice place to dig some shallow graves.”
He smiled, and then started the Lincoln….
“Right Twiggy?”