Jimmy Bozo said he knew a safer way out of the French clown neighborhood. Vinnie should’ve known better than to listen to him. After ten minutes of following Jimmy’s directions, they were lost.
“It’s a couple blocks farther,” Jimmy said. “Just keep going.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Vinnie said.
“Look, I used to date a girl from this side of town. I’ve been here dozens of times before.”
“How long ago was that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe ten years ago. It doesn’t matter. I know what I’m talking about.”
It was true Jimmy had dated a French clown girl ten years back, but that was long before Le Mystère took over the place. The neighborhood had changed a lot since then.
“Well, if we keep going this way we’re going to end up in The Sideshow.”
“We’re not going to end up in The Sideshow. Don’t even joke about something like that.”
“What, are you scared of The Sideshow?”
“Who the hell isn’t scared of that place?”
They went a few more blocks, traveling in silence. Jimmy read every street sign they passed. The look on his face grew increasingly confused. While the clown prince tried to figure out where they were and how to get back home, Vinnie examined the surroundings. Something didn’t feel right to him.
Vinnie pulled over. “We need to stop.”
“What’s wrong?” Jimmy asked.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
Vinnie looked in the rearview mirror.
“I think we’re being followed.”
Jimmy looked behind them. “What are you talking about? There’s not another car on the road.”
“It’s just a feeling. It’s probably nothing.”
Vinnie got out of the car.
“Where are you going?”
“Wait here. I’m going to ask for directions.”
“Are you kidding me? Who the heck asks for directions anymore?”
“I do.”
Vinnie walked a block down to a convenience store on the corner. The lights were on. The sign said OPEN. The hours said it never closed. But the door was locked. He couldn’t see anyone inside.
He knocked three times on the glass and waited for an answer, assuming the clerk was probably in the back taking a nap. But nobody came out. The street was cold and quiet except for the sound of the clown car’s engine rumbling down the block.
Before Vinnie returned to the vehicle, a squeaky sound echoed the streets. It was the sound of a bicycle wheel that needed oiling. Vinnie turned around, but the street was empty. He lit a cotton candy cigarette and headed back to the car. The squeaky sound returned. Vinnie listened carefully. The noise came from behind him, but not at street level. It was above him. Perhaps it was coming out of one of the apartment windows.
The sound followed him all the way back to the car.
“We’ve got company,” Vinnie told the clown in the passenger seat.
Jimmy had dozed off for a moment. He lifted his head and wiped spit from the side of his red face. “Huh?”
Vinnie looked in the rearview mirror. A clown on a unicycle was riding along the telephone wire like a tightrope. He tilted the mirror to see another clown riding a matching unicycle along the edge of an apartment building. They both moved slowly, their wheels squeaking as they pedaled.
“It’s them,” Vinnie said.
“Who?” Jimmy had no idea what he was talking about. He looked back to see the clowns riding above them. They were juggling glass bottles, tossing them back and forth to each other across the street.
“The Juggler Brothers,” Vinnie said.
“What?” Jimmy looked more carefully, wondering if they might be some other pair of identical juggling clowns riding unicycles. “Are you sure it’s them?”
“Somebody must’ve tipped them off.”
The juggling clowns didn’t acknowledge them at all, focusing on their juggling and balance, staring straight ahead as if they were completely unaware of a world below them. They passed them by without even looking at the clown car, squeaking slowly over them. The sound of glass bottles smacking against the palms of their hands echoed through the street.
For a moment, Vinnie wondered if it was just a coincidence that the Juggler Brothers were there. Perhaps they just happened to be out riding in the middle of the night. Or perhaps one of their friends saw the Bozos driving in their territory and called them up. Perhaps the way they rode their unicycles overhead was just their warning to get off their turf. But Vinnie didn’t believe in coincidences.
“Get down!” Vinnie yelled as an explosion of fire erupted on the hood of the clown car.
The clowns on the unicycles weren’t just juggling glass bottles. They were Molotov cocktails. As they passed them back and forth, one of them lit the ends and the other pitched them at the car below.
“Get out of here!” Jimmy cried.
Vinnie hit the gas. Another cocktail shattered on the roof of the car, covering them in flames. They were like a ball of fire racing down the street. The Juggler Brothers followed after.