The Jig Is Up

Tales from the Kichirou Show - Chapter Eleven

Welcome to the Kichirou Show! Where the lights are bright, and the popcorn flows freely. Join us as we travel the country and entertain the masses, reminding patrons of a bygone era with carnival games, circus acts, and the controversial sideshow.

If there is something you fear, you can run away here.

Mitch Lorrins runs to the Kichirou Show to escape murder allegations. Suz joins the show in search of a fugitive. Agi the dragon flees an intergalactic cartel, and Lucky barrels through reality in the hopes of preventing the apocalypse.

But pack up and leave, and you’ll surely bleed…

Not everyone will be able to get what they want, and no one will escape.

Tales from the Kichirou Show is a serialized volume of interconnected short stories that gradually come together to weave a larger tapestry. If you’re new, then start here:

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Chapter Eleven

Something was wrong with Desmond Howell. Everyone knew it, but only he knew exactly what it was. One morning, when he was twelve years old, Desmond woke up and trudged to the bathroom to brush his teeth. On his way there, he ran into his mother.

Only she wasn’t his mom anymore.

This woman looked and sounded just like Mercy Howell, but she … just wasn’t. He didn’t know how else to describe it. The inherent wrongness of her. This woman didn’t feel like his mother.

Desmond started noticing other things after that. Things that no one else could see. He saw the pervasive fear and sorrow that Christopher Taylor wore beneath his smile; it covered him like a second skin. He saw something that slithered and crawled beneath Lucky’s flesh, something that desperately wanted to break free. And when he looked at Reggie, he saw a fire in her eyes; it was strong enough that it threatened to consume her at times, but not so strong that a gust of wind couldn’t snuff it out.

Looking at Suz Vanderhoef, Desmond saw every lie that came from her mouth as if she blew technicolored smoke in his face.

He never accused Mercy of being anyone other than his mom, but that didn’t stop her from sensing the change in him. Where they used to be a mother and a son, now they were two roommates tiptoeing around each other.

Because of his condition, Desmond excelled at unearthing secrets that people would rather stay buried. The only person who didn’t avoid him was Reggie.

The show had packed up and moved again. They were back in a fairgrounds setting, which he always preferred. He wore his most comfortable sweatpants and a threadbare wife beater as he trailed after Reggie, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. Arguing with her was Moon.

“I don’t care what Laszlo says,” Moon snapped. “I’m not ready to make Agi a regular part of the sideshow yet. I don’t trust that giant alligator not to attack someone.”

“Atlas said Agi did fine when Meera subbed for me,” she pointed out.

“That was one time. Not a reliable predictor of future behavior.”

“Actually, two times. Atlas also said Laszlo brought Agi on stage the following weekend.”

Moon muttered something derogatory under his breath.

The creative director was an interesting case. He was one of the rare people that genuinely loved the Kichirou Show; Desmond could see it in the gentle light surrounding the man, something that he tried so hard to hide. Moon might have been desperate for an escape when he found the show, but somewhere along the way, this became his home.

As Desmond took the cigarette from his mouth and flicked the ashes, the three of them came to Agi’s livestock trailer. The door was not only unlocked but stood ajar. Dropping the cigarette, he crushed the glowing embers into the dirt. If there was a situation with the dragon, then he wanted both hands available and at the ready.

Rounding the corner, his feet stumbled in shock. There was Agi, with his wings folded against his spine and his tail wrapped around his legs. He sat next to a card table set with teacups and a matching teapot. Desmond recognized the set from Francisco’s RV. Meera sat opposite the dragon, sipping from her own cup.

Agi dipped his huge head to grip the delicate cup between his teeth. Tipping his head back, he drank like he was downing a shot of tequila. Meera placed her own teacup on a saucer with a loud clink.

“Hey, guys.”

Reggie whipped out her phone and snapped a picture. Leaning back, she discreetly showed Desmond the photo. “If I print this, I bet Laszlo will use it as an ad for the sideshow.”

Moon shook his head, his former sense of reality rattling around. “Meera, are you having a tea party with a dragon?”

“Yeah.” Meera picked up her cup and raised her pinky finger. “I offered him coffee, but Agi doesn’t like coffee.”

The director pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is why no one will ever believe my memoir.”

“I know, right?” Reggie laid a hand on his shoulder. “Who doesn’t like coffee?”

With a scowl, Moon smacked her hand away before turning his frustration back on the elder Morrigan sister. “Listen to me carefully, Meera. I don’t want you or Laszlo or Regina sneaking Agi into the sideshow tonight. Got it?”

“Are you ordering me to guard his trailer?”

“No, but I suspect you were planning to spend the majority of your afternoon here anyway, and I don’t want your bleeding heart to make a mess. Whatever your conniving sister or the conman says, do not be swayed.”

The man turned on his heels and nearly tripped over Desmond. Growling, Moon flicked a curl of hair out of his face.

“What are you doing here, Howell?”

Reggie quickly stepped between them. “I’ve hired Desmond to transcribe your psychotic rants.”

Playing along, Desmond pretended to jot down notes on the palm of his hand. Moon alternated between glowering at him and Reggie.

“Get rid of the clown, Regina. I mean it. You alone are using every ounce of my patience today.” He brushed past Desmond without a backwards glance.

She moved to follow Moon, looking over her shoulder to smile and wink at him. “See you later, Dezi.”

Then he was alone with Meera and Agi. He had never found the eldest Morrigan particularly interesting, but lately he noticed something different about her. There was a shadow that trailed behind her. Sometimes, he caught her trying to get a good look at it. However, the shadow stayed just out of her sight.

In contrast, the dragon had been surrounded by shadows from the moment he hatched from the Cosmic Egg. He wrapped the shadows around himself like a burial shroud. Agi wanted to hide, and Meera wanted to reveal. And here they sat together.

“Want to join us?” Meera asked him.

Desmond wasn’t opposed to tea, but she had just reminded him that he had other things he needed to do today. He didn’t have time for a tea party. Turning abruptly, Desmond walked away from Agi’s trailer, though not before he heard Meera mutter, “I guess not.”

He had promised Reggie that he would find out who Suz really was. He knew she was lying about her identity to an extent, but he had hoped that the details would be more forthcoming. So far, he had been unlucky on that front. It was time to take a more direct approach to his research. He needed to find Lucky.

Within minutes of wandering the fairgrounds, he located the boy. Atlas stood at his side, showing off by balancing a tent pole on his chin. Desomond tailed the pair for fifteen minutes before an opportunity presented itself. Atlas ducked into a restroom, leaving the eight-year-old psychic unguarded.

Seeing his chance, Desmond struck.

He leaped out of his hiding place behind an empty lemonade stand, grabbed Lucky by the collar of his shirt, and dragged him around the side of the building. It happened so quickly that the kid couldn’t even squeak in surprise. Desmond lifted Lucky off of the ground by his shirt until he could stare directly into the kid’s wide eyes. Releasing him with one hand, Desmond pulled his fist back.

“Suz Vanderhoef,” he said. Lucky interrupted him in a terrified rush before he could finish.

“Her real name is Suz Nielson! She’s an undercover detective looking for the fugitive Mitch Lorrins! Please, don’t hit me!”

Lucky squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the blow.

To be fair, Desmond did punch Lucky one time. Back when the kid first joined the show. Only to set a precedent, and he didn’t even hit him that hard. Now, if Desmond raised a hand in Lucky’s direction, the kid sang with the enthusiasm of a gospel choir.

He promptly dropped the psychic. Lucky swayed a little but managed to stay on his feet as Desmond stalked away.

This sort of thing was his game, and he was well suited for it. Suz Nielson wouldn’t know what hit her.

---

The weather was so beautiful, Suz thought it would be a shame to spend it indoors. Christopher was more than happy to go along with her when she suggested doing his makeup and hair outside, under the shade of an oak tree near the midway. She stood behind Christopher, debating what to do with his hair since he claimed that his wig had started to make his scalp itch.

“That’s too bad about the wig,” she said. “Clown makeup looks even creepier without it.”

Christopher’s countenance brightened a little. “You think I won’t scare so many kids if I have crazy hair?”

“Well…”

She was saved from either hurting the sweet man’s feelings or telling a bald-faced lie by Lucky’s timely arrival. He sprinted across the midway and into the grass, kicking up dirt and grass when he skidded to a halt in front of them.

“Suz!” The boy paused to catch his breath.

Christopher smiled at him. “Hey, Lucky. How’s it going?”

“I thought you were with Atlas,” Suz commented as she combed the clown’s hair.

Lucky planted his hands on his thighs, breathing hard. “Yeah, probably. Hey, weird question: What’s today’s date and the year?”

She checked her phone. “It’s August 7, 2018.”

“Shoot. Okay, thanks anyway. Oh, and Suz? You’re about to have some ornery company. So, uh … sorry about that.”

Then the kid was running again.

“Is it just me,” she asked Christopher, “or does Lucky get weirder every time I see him?”

“It’s not just you,” the clown assured her. “That being said…” He hopped nimbly to his feet, towering over her in all of his stick-like glory. “Lucky’s predictions tend to come true, so I think I’ll skedaddle.”

Suz still didn’t believe that Lucky was psychic. It was certainly impressive how he had guessed her fictitious occupation. Plenty of so-called psychics who excelled at cold reading—that didn’t mean they weren’t frauds. They were just skilled frauds. Although, given Lucky’s youth, she privately admitted that he was a very skilled fraud, if he was one at all.

And then there was his ever-changing hair. If he didn’t wear wigs, then she had no idea how to explain that trick.

As it turned out, Christopher was right to trust Lucky’s most recent prediction. She was packing up her hair and makeup supplies when Desmond Howell came blustering toward her, his expression intensely displeased, to phrase it mildly. The incensed clown thrust his finger in her face.

“You’re a cop!”

Stunned, the neurons in her brain momentarily ceased firing. Then instinct came online and demanded that she deny, deny, deny. But at the last second, she caught her tongue. Desmond did not seem like the type of person who tolerated obvious deceit. She had gotten away with feeding him a falsehood once when he broke into her hotel room. Back then, he hadn’t openly accused her of anything. What led him to the correct conclusion?

Whatever evidence he’d found, if she denied being a cop, then she may lose a valuable ally. Not only that, but he could blow her cover to the rest of the troupe.

Shushing him, she dragged Desmond into the relative privacy of a nearby restroom. Suz shoved him into the room, peeked under the stalls looking for feet—they were alone—then locked the restroom door.

Whoever cleaned in here had clearly done their best to mask the generic scent of public restroom with a citrusy cleaner, but all they accomplished was adding another odorous layer to the cocktail of scents. Suz wrinkled her nose as she rounded on Desmond.

“How did you find out?”

He stood under a beam of sunlight streaming in one of the windows. Sensing that the airing of truth was imminent, Desmond’s posture relaxed. He crossed his arms, blasé, and leaned against the concrete wall.

“I scared it out of the psychic,” he confessed as he picked at some dirt under his fingernail.

Well, that explained Lucky’s apology. Damn, that kid was good.

Suz huffed. “And how did he figure it out?”

Looking up at her from under his lashes, Desmond replied in a flat tone, “He’s psychic.”

She still didn’t believe in real psychics, but Lucky was the closest anyone had come to changing her mind. Either he was the real deal, or he was a fraudulent genius.

“Right, of course he is.” Suz locked eyes with Desmond, ensuring his attention didn’t waver. “Is there any point in asking you to keep this between the three of us?”

The clown hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his sweatpants and rocked on his heels. “Maybe. Convince me.”

Convince him? Okay then.

“I’ve seen enough questionable activities here, and met enough wanted criminals, that I could get Kichirou shut down when I leave. I have it on good authority that you’ve never liked this place. If the show closes, there’s nothing to keep you here. Help me, and I’ll help you start a new life.”

The curl of his mouth was skeptical as he considered her proposal. Honestly, Suz could hardly blame him for doubting her. Kichirou had a mythical quality, and she had only been here for two months. She could imagine that growing up in a place like this would leave one with the impression that the Kichirou Show was larger than life. An institution that would never fall.

Desmond shook his head. “Nope. A good argument, but not good enough. Try again later.”

He brushed past her and unlocked the restroom door, leaving her alone. Suz remained for another minute, feeling slightly queasy. Desmond could ruin everything, and there was nothing she could do to prevent that.

---

As anxious as she was now that Desmond knew her secret, Suz felt confident in her assessment of the man’s character. Brice Winslowe’s intel was good: Desmond wasn’t happy at the Kichirou Show. Everyone could see it, but apparently, offering to shut the place down and help him out was not enough to win him over. She needed to sweeten the deal somehow.

Desmond was a difficult person to read beyond what laid on the surface. He didn’t have friends outside of Regina Morrigan. Most people chose to keep their distance from him, and when they couldn’t, they interacted with the clown reluctantly and with thinly veiled fear. Now that Desmond held her secret in his hands, Suz better understood why he was disliked.

She was determined to sway him to her cause. Analyzing, negotiating, and even manipulating was a game that Suz played well, but usually, her opponent was a suspect in an interrogation room. Although, quite a few people in the troupe were criminals, so really it wasn’t so different.

“You look like you’re concentrating hard on something.”

Atlas Morrigan squinted at her from the other side of the picnic table, his half-eaten ham and cheese sandwich forgotten in his hands. Two days had passed since Desmond confronted her in that dingy restroom, and she was no closer to gaining his cooperation.

She smiled innocently. “I’m going over a new piece of music that Patime gave the band. It’s a little more complex than what I’m used to playing.”

“No, that’s not it. I know that look…” Suddenly, his expression transformed from contemplative to gleeful. “Desmond has something on you, doesn’t he?”

Suz’s jaw dropped. “Is everyone in this troupe psychic?”

“Nah,” he laughed, “just Lucky. But Desmond is a predictable bastard. Everyone in the Kichirou Show has been blackmailed by him at some point. He’s like a bloodhound that sniffs out secrets you would rather take to the grave.”

Reggie, seated next to her brother, and Meera, seated next to Suz, both nodded. The first one with pride, the latter in sympathy. Suz sighed and rubbed her eyes. It was too late to prevent Desmond from discovering her identity. Now, all she could do was attempt to mitigate the damage.

“Speaking of Lucky,” Meera cut in, stealing one of her brother’s pretzel sticks, “where is he? I thought you two were fused at the hip.”

Atlas rolled his eyes. “Reggie’s been complaining that her headaches get worse whenever he’s around.”

Regina, newly recovered from her latest migraine, held up an affronted finger. “It is absolutely true! And I’m still on the mend, so I’d appreciate a few days of respite, thank you very much.”

Thankful for the change of subject, Suz steered the conversation farther away from her secret. “If you always get headaches around Lucky, does that suggest he’s a dark wizard?”

Meera scrunched her nose. “No. Because then that makes her a beloved character from our childhoods, which would be disappointing for everyone.”

“Disappointing?!” Betrayal reddened the youngest Morrigan’s cheeks as the others all bobbed their heads. Reggie scoffed. “You guys suck.”

Outwardly, Suz laughed with the others, but on the inside, her mind worked steadily on a question that had been nagging at her. Where were the Morrigan parents? After all, Moon claimed that Meera, Atlas, and Reggie were lifers; full-fledged troupe members moments after birth. Desmond was a lifer too, and his mom was still around. Were the Morrigan parents deceased, or did they leave the show? If they left, why not take their children with them?

But that was a mystery for another day.

“Speaking of Lucky,” said Atlas. “I have a date tomorrow. Would one of you mind keeping an eye on him while I’m gone?”

“I can,” Meera volunteered. “But how do you already have a date? We just got to this city.”

Smug, he smirked and slicked back his dark hair. “Because I am just that good. If either of you feels an itch you need to scratch, I can hook you up.”

Meera pulled a face. “No offense, Atlas, but I don’t want to hook up with anyone you approve of. I don’t think our tastes are compatible.”

“None taken. That actually explains a lot about your infatuation with Moon. What about you, Reg?”

“No, thanks,” said Reggie, while Meera wordlessly sputtered at her brother’s implication. “I have a thing for one of the clowns.”

Atlas stuck a finger in his mouth and pretended to gag. “No matter which one you’re talking about, you win the gold metal for worst taste in romantic partners. Unless it’s Christopher. He’s the only clown who isn’t clinically depressed or emotionally disturbed.”

Suz sat up straight as an idea suddenly struck her upside the head. She might have just found her leverage against Desmond.

---

Too late, Desmond realized that Suz Vanderhoef and Suz Nielson were not the same person. Vanderhoef was secretly kind of nosy and made witty remarks now and then but didn’t blatantly meddle in other people’s business. Nielsen, on the other hand, didn’t pull her punches when it came to meddling.

By the time he drew that conclusion, his goose was already cooked.

He and the other clowns planned to go bar hopping that night. Desmond was on his way to the hotel so he could change into shoes that weren’t five sizes too big, when someone grabbed him by his shirt and yanked him behind the fortune teller’s tent.

Suz hid in the shadows, the hard press of her fingers wrapped in the fabric of his shirt sending a clear threat to keep quiet.

“Have you told anyone?” she hissed.

Desmond sighed. “What competent blackmailer gives up their dirt after two days?”

The whites of her teeth flashed in the dark, though it wasn’t the pleasant kind of smile he was used to seeing from Vanderhoef. This was Nielson’s smile—so sharp, it could cut cleanly through a phonebook.

“Good. I have an idea, and I think it could benefit both of us. If you keep my secret and help me find Mitch Lorrins, then I can get you what you want.”

He arched an eyebrow. “And what do you think I want?”

Her smile widened. “You want to leave the Kichirou Show, and you want Regina Morrigan to go with you.”

His heart skipped a beat, and a knot of acute pain throbbed somewhere in the region of his large intestine. He slapped a scowl onto his face, the kind that normally made people piss themselves, but Nielson wasn’t daunted.

“Except Reggie is stubborn, right? She and Moon run the show, so she isn’t likely to leave it any time soon. However…” Suz released his shirt and smoothed out the wrinkles. “If the Kichirou Show got shut down, she would have no choice but to leave, and then you could sweep her off her feet. Because the two of you have a bit of a thing going on, don’t you? You want to be with her, just not here where you feel trapped.”

“How are you going to shut it down?” Desmond demanded to know. “By revealing that a murderer has been hiding here for months? Newsflash: Kichirou is probably harboring a dozen murderers right now.”

“Maybe so,” she conceded, “but if I can find Lorrins here and expose him, then I can turn the entire world against this place. And before you know it, the show will have no choice but to close its doors.”

He shook his head. Suz didn’t understand how the show worked, nor did she understand how Reggie operated. “You can’t guarantee that Reg will go with me even if you successfully complete your mission. She’ll die trying to save this place.”

“She won’t be able to save it,” asserted the detective. “And she’ll go with you because you’ll be one of the few who knew this was coming. You’ll be one of the few with accommodations outside of the show waiting for you and your would-be lady love.”

“I don’t—”

“But you will.” Suz tightened her grip on his shirt and pulled him closer. “I’ll make sure of it. All I need you to do is keep my identity a secret, and help me uncover Lorrins. He’s here somewhere. I can feel it.”

Desmond stared at her as he chewed on his tongue and considered his options. He wouldn’t deny that he was intrigued by her initial proposal to put the Kichirou Show six feet under. Normally, he didn’t use the blackmail he collected to actually obtain favors or services; he just dangled those juicy secrets over the heads of his victims with the occasional reminder that he could bury them if they ever stepped out of line. But this was one hell of a tempting prize.

“Fine,” he uttered. Desmond forcefully grabbed her hand to shake on it, sealing their alliance.