Pinky had no idea where to find Hats Rizzo. He didn’t know where he lived and had nobody to ask for his location. The only place he knew where Hats frequented was Bonkers—one of the Bozo Family’s downtown strip clubs. It wasn’t safe to show his face in a joint with so much of the clientele being members of the family who were most likely out for his head, but he didn’t have a choice. It was his only lead.
The second he walked through the door of the shady back-alley building, Pinky scanned the place for familiar faces. It wasn’t a busy time for the club, so there were only a few customers: an old retired clown sucking down cotton candy martinis, a vanilla businessman who’d probably ditched work to ogle naked clown girls without letting his wife know he got out early, and a couple of street clown brats who looked way too young to be in such an establishment. There was nobody Pinky had to hide from, but there was no Hats Rizzo neither.
Pinky stepped through the club and went to the bar, trying to keep a low profile. If he wasn’t going to find Hats he at least needed a drink. The events of the day were wearing him thin. First, he got the black joker card, then he found the love of his life cheating on him, then he learned that his own friends and colleagues were out for his blood. And after what happened to his mentor, who was like a father to him, he didn’t know how he was going to hold himself together. All of it left him in a state of shock.
The portly guy behind the counter recognized Pinky immediately. He didn’t know the kid’s name but knew he was with the Bozos, which meant that he knew not to keep him waiting.
“What can I get for you?” said the bartender, a fat-jawed clown with a permanent five o’clock shadow.
“Candy apple whiskey,” Pinky said.
As the bartender made his drink, Pinky looked back at the stage. There was a nude clown girl up there, dancing to circus music for the small crowd. She had a frizzy rainbow-striped Afro with matching pubic hair and massive breasts that honked when she squeezed them. That was one reason Pinky never visited many strip clubs in Little Bigtop—he wasn’t fond of the new trend of honkable breast implants that a lot of clown girls were getting, especially those who danced in the local strip clubs. The other men in the club giggled with delight whenever a dancer squeezed their faces between her breasts, honking the marshmallow melons against their ears, but Pinky just didn’t see the appeal of turning breasts into squeak toys.
“Here you go,” the bartender said as he passed him a drink with a tiny caramel apple sticking out of it.
Pinky pulled out a wad of cash. He paid the bartender, then stuffed two large bills into the tip jar. The portly man took notice.
“I’m looking for Hats Rizzo. Have you seen him around?”
The bartender shrugged. “That lousy tipper? He hasn’t been in here for a couple of days. Sorry.”
Pinky tipped a larger bill. “I need to find him. Do you have any idea where he lives?”
The clown shook his chunky head. “You’d know that better than I would.”
The bartender moved away from Pinky for a moment to pour a glass of Chardonnay for the girl arriving at the counter next to him. With her bright-ruby-red hair and pink-bubblegum lips, Pinky recognized her immediately. She was Isabella Funshine, a burlesque dancer who happened to be in a serious relationship with the biggest, toughest mug in the Bozo Family—Bingo Ballbreaker. If she was performing that day there was a good chance that Bingo might show up. Pinky couldn’t stick around long.
“How’s it going, sweetie?” Isabella said.
She blinked her long lashes at Pinky, but he didn’t look at her. He didn’t want to make eye contact. When he showed no interest, she turned away and wrapped her pink lips against the rim of her wineglass.
“I just thought of something,” the bartender said when he returned to Pinky.
“Huh?” Pinky asked, too focused on Isabella to remember what they were talking about.
“Hats. I thought of where you might find him.”
“Where’s that?” Pinky asked.
“Over at the church on Eighty-Second near the park. He volunteers there on the weekends.”
“Volunteers? Are you sure we’re talking about the same Hats Rizzo?”
The bartender asked, “Short guy who always wears a big collection of hats on his head?”
Pinky nodded.
“Yeah, I’ve seen him over at that church loads of times.”
Pinky couldn’t believe it. “I never thought of Hats as a religious man.”
The bartender shrugged. “Yeah, it kind of surprised me as well. Don’t tell anyone I said it, but I always thought he seemed like kind of a prick.”
Pinky slammed his drink, put another bill in the tip jar, and said, “Thanks.”
On his way out, Pinky ran into somebody on their way in. His first thought was that it was Bingo Ballbreaker, coming in to see his girl. But this guy wasn’t nearly big enough. It was Manny Malone, the filthy cop he’d met with earlier that day.
“Hey, it’s Pinky Smiles,” Manny said, with a big grin on his face. “Pleasure meeting you here.”
Pinky couldn’t tell if it was just a coincidence or if the cop was following him. Either way, Pinky didn’t care. He pushed past him and walked through the door.
Before the door closed behind him, Manny said, “Tick-tick, Pinky. You’re running out of time. Tick-tick.”
But Pinky Smiles didn’t want to hear it. No matter what happened, he wasn’t going to go crawling to the feds even to save his life.