“What do you mean you only take cash?” Jack didn’t bother to keep his annoyed disbelief out of his voice.
“Out
here, it’s just safer. Who knows what sort of tricks people might try
to pull on a man like me, way up here in the mountains?” The grey
bearded man might have weighed as much as Jack, but then Jack had a foot
of height on the Canadian.
Part
of him wanted to laugh. A year ago, all he would have had was cash and
certainly not much of it. When he fought the Xemmoni Glooms in Kentucky a
bank account and debit cards were the farthest things from his mind.
Yet after his gift of gold from Loskeep, Jack guessed that he was
probably the richest homeless person in North America. Fat lot of good
it would do him, though, if these guys wouldn’t accept his card.
The
only thing Jack had going for him was the old pickup truck he had
gotten his mother to put in her name. Thick straps held the motorcycle
upright. Despite his Stalwart status, even Jack wouldn’t want to ride a
motorcycle through the Canadian Rockies in the winter.
“So you are saying I’m screwed.”
“Cash
always works, man. You kids think everything should be run on plastic.
That’s just like a note from your mom, saying you have money.”
“You don’t need to rub it in.”
“I’ll buy your bike for five hundred bucks.”
“Screw you.”
The man’s jowls shook when he laughed. “I hear the carnie is hiring.”
“What, there’s a carnival up here? It must be twenty below outside.”
The shopkeep eyed him as he lit up a smoke. “Everyone’s gotta make a buck, including you, dochta think.”
In
the past, someone must have thought that the lonely mountain town of
Pariah could support a strip mall full of shops along with a major
grocery store. The majority of the businesses, including the grocery
store, had gone belly up years ago. For rent signs hung in most of the
windows.
The
barren snow swept lot had been taken over by a dazzling display of
lights. Despite the frigid temperatures, the rides and booths all
appeared open.
Jack parked his truck a hundred yards away and took the sight in.
A
mini-rollercoaster and a twisterwhirl we easy to make out and a rainbow
of lights reflected off the patches of snow. But what really dominated
the sight and caught Jack’s attention was a black unlit structure. It
grew out of the northern part of the carnival like a black thorn
stabbing at the sky. No lights graced this building and instead it
seemed to almost absorb any color or light that neared it. A red light
bled onto the walkway before the ride. Grabbing his binoculars, he took
and deep breath and then focused in on the sign.
“The Haunted Funhouse. Perfect…”
As he watched, a young couple handed a man in an ebony top hat their tickets and headed inside.
“Looks like I might just have a job to do after all.”
To be continued next Monday
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