It was a struggle to match Declan’s pace as he sprinted ahead in pursuit of the paunchy clown. I hustled after them both as they moved away from the fairgrounds and into a sparsely wooded glen, which was a little further east behind the Stetson Bowl. Part of the modest patch of nature was being used as a temporary parking lot for all kinds of rodeo-related vehicles and animal trailers.
Strength wasn’t the only thing deceptive about my cousin—he was also fast as lightning. I lost sight of him when he disappeared behind a mobile caravan hitched to a late-eighties, white, rusted Cadillac Sentinel that was one rooftop siren and Ghostbusters logo away from doubling as a neglected Ectomobile.
There was a loud thump before the curved green and silver trailer wobbled back and forth on its ramshackle wheels. By the time I rounded the rear of the mobile domicile myself it had stopped rocking. The door was ajar. Aside from burnt yellow grass and a wooded area that was filled with clusters of budding but still leafless trees with dry and cracked branches, there was nothing else nearby save for the raucous rodeo arena, which left the air pungent with the musty scent of sawdust and sweat. The crowd roared in the distance and an air horn blasted, indicating what I assumed was another cowboy clamoring to stay atop a bucking beast of some sort. When I opened the door to the trailer seven seconds later the fans let out a collective sigh, confirming I was correct about the type of rustic challenge that was taking place yonder.
I stopped dead in my tracks upon entering the mobile home. Declan stood behind the now unconscious portly clown, his tattered denim overalls pulled down to his ankles, revealing nothing but a pair of red-striped, tighty-whitey underpants and an abundance of damp leg hair sticking to his thick thighs. The jester’s flab was still jiggling as his bulbous upper body lay supine on the floor.
“You know, you could have tied one of his colourful handkerchiefs to the door handle if you wanted some privacy.”
“Piss off, ya eejit. Help me strip down this fat bastard already.”
“Why?”
“So one of us can go undercover in order to chat with Jasper’s joy-boy.”
My cousin’s impromptu plan began to make sense, but I was reluctant to aid him in violating the rodeo clown any further.
“Did you really need to knock him out?” I asked.
“All I did was put his plump arse in a gentle sleeper hold,” he said defensively. “Nodded off like a baby. And the clock’s tickin’, remember? Your words.”
“How’d you know it was the right clown?”
Declan scratched his head. “I guess I kind o’figured Jasper liked’em fit.”
“Maybe we should let this one go, D.”
“Bollocks.”
I accepted my fate and we began to undress the unconscious entertainter.
Minutes later Declan had gagged the unconscious man with some duct tape he found in a cupboard and was using a roll of twine to bind his ankles and his wrists behind his back.
“Go on, then,” said Declan. “Start puttin’ all o’that shite on.” He nodded toward the double XL clothing and oversized clown shoes that were lumped in a pile at the fat man’s feet.
“Why the hell do I have to be the one to dress up like a clown?” I protested.
“Cuz it’d take three o’me to fill them dungarees up! Get on it for shite’s sake!”
I begrudgingly slipped the denim overalls and ruff-collared yellow shirt over top of my pro-wrestling spandex Speedo-style tights and matching T-shirt I was wearing. Once I had unlaced my glossy, black vinyl, pro-wrestling boots and slipped on the unconscious harlequin’s colourful polka-dot shoes, which fortunately were a close fit, I fastened the suspender straps and found myself face-to-face with a grinning Declan holding a makeup kit.
“Now for the fun part.”
I cursed loudly before parking my ass in a nearby chair, wincing slightly. I had forgotten how performing a Bronco Buster in a humid environment led to instant chafing in one’s groin. I sighed as Declan went about caking up my face with aplomb, humming Ol’ Blue Eyes’ song “Send In The Clowns.”
I tried my best to stifle my laughter but it was a losing battle, and before I knew it, both Declan and I were cackling.
“You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?” I said, still chuckling.
“Aye.”
Moments later Declan secured a rainbow-coloured wig on my head, patted me on the shoulders, and gave me a big thumbs up. “Perfect,” he declared.
I was a couple steps down out of the trailer when he halted me. “Don’t forget this!”
Time slowed as I turned around, only to find him holding up an oversized bright red foam nose.
“No.”
“Ya gonna let some poor bloke get gored over yer misplaced pride?”
I gritted my teeth so hard I was almost certain a filling popped out. I snatched the red nose out of his hands and secured it to my snout.
“How do I look?” I asked, instantly regretting the question.
“Like an anabolic Ronald McDonald and Ernie Coombs had a love child,” he said, triumphantly.
And with that I went about infiltrating a jam-packed rodeo stadium in the hopes of attracting the attention of a fellow clown instead of one raging, horned beast.