The Traveling Vampire Show

“Maybe vampires do exist,” she said, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes.

“Get real,” Rusty said.

“Can you prove they don’t?”

“Why would I wanta prove that? Everybody knows they don’t exist.”

“Not me,” said Slim.

“Bullshit.” He turned to me. “What about you, Dwight?”

“I’m with Slim.”

“Big surprise. ”

“She’s smarter than both of us put together,” I said. Then I blushed because of the way she looked at me. “Well, you are.”

“Nah. I just read a lot. And I like to keep my mind open.” Smiling at Rusty, she added, “It’s easy to have an open mind since I’ve only got half a brain.”

“I didn’t mean you,” he said. “But I’m starting to wonder.”

“To set your mind at ease, I doubt very much that Valeria is a vampire. I suppose there’s a remote possibility, but it seems highly unlikely.”

“Now you’re talking.”

“I also agree that, since she probably isn’t a vampire, she’d better be beautiful.”

Rusty beamed. “So, you want to back my bet?”

“Can’t. You’ll need someone to take a good, objective look at her and decide who wins. That’d better be me. I’ll decide the winner.”

“Fine with me,” I said.

“I guess that’ll be okay,” said Rusty.

“Don’t look so worried,” Slim told him.

“Well, you always take Dwight’s side about everything.”

“Only when his side is the ‘right’ side. And I have a feeling that you might win this one.”

“Thanks a lot,” I told her.

“But I promise to be fair.”

“I know,” I said.

“So what’re we gonna wager?” Rusty asked me.

“How much money do you want to lose?” I asked him.

I wasn’t very confident about winning, anymore. He’d made a pretty good argument; if Valeria isn’t a vampire, she has to be beautiful or there’d be no show. But I saw a hole in his case.

Valeria didn’t have to be a real vampire for the show to work. She didn’t need to be incredibly gorgeous, either. The Traveling Vampire Show might be successful anyway ... if it . was really and truly exciting or scary.

“Let’s leave money out of the wager,” Slim suggested. “Suppose the loser has to do something gross?”

Rusty grinned. “Like kiss the winner’s ass?”

“Something along those lines.”

I frowned at Rusty. “I’m not kissing your ass.”

“It doesn’t have to be that,” Slim said.

“How about the loser kisses hers?” He nodded at Slim. Her ass? The loser?

Slim’s face went red. “Nobody’s kissing my ass. Or my anything else, for that matter.”

“There goes my next idea,” Rusty said, and laughed. He could be a pretty crude guy.

“Why don’t we just forget the whole thing?” I suggested.

“Chicken,” Rusty said. “You just know you’re gonna lose.”

“We might not even get to see her.”

“If we can’t see her,” Slim said, “the wager’s off.”

“We don’t even have a wager.”

“I’ve got it!” Rusty said. “The winner gets to spit in the loser’s mouth.”

Slim’s mouth fell open and she blinked at him. “Are you brain-damaged?” she asked.

“You got a better idea?”

“Any idea would be better than that.”

“Like what?” he asked. “Let’s hear you come up with something ?”

“All right.”

“Let’s hear it.”

Frowning as if deep in thought, Slim glanced from Rusty to me a few times. Then she said, “Okay. The loser gets his hair shaved off.”

In that regard, Rusty had a lot more to lose than I did. He had a head of hair that would’ve put Elvis Presley to shame, and he was mighty proud of it.

Nose wrinkled, he muttered, “I don’t know.”

“You said it’s a sure thing,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, but ... I don’t know, man. My hair.” He reached up and stroked it. “I don’t wanta go around looking like a dork.”

“It’ll grow back,” I said.

“Eventually,” added Slim.

“Anyway, I’m not gonna let Dwight anywhere near me with a razor.”

“I’ll do the shaving,” Slim said.

Hearing that, I suddenly didn’t want to win this wager. I hoped Valeria would be the most amazingly beautiful woman in the world.

“How about it?” Slim asked.

“Count me in,” I said.

I could tell by the look on Rusty’s face that he wanted to back out. But honor was at stake, so he sighed and said, “All right. It’s a bet.”

Chapter Three

The dirt road leading through the forest to Janks Field was usually unmarked. Today, though, posters for The Traveling Vampire Show were nailed to trees on both sides of the turnoff. And a large sign—the side of a cardboard box nailed to a tree—pointed the way with a red-painted arrow. Above the arrow, somebody had painted VAMPIRE SHOW in big, drippy red letters. Below the arrow, in smaller drippy letters, was written, “MIDNITE.”

“Nice, professional job,” Slim commented.

“We probably aren’t dealing with mental giants,” I said.

“WHY ARE YOU TALKING SO QUIET?” Rusty boomed out, making us both jump.

We whirled around and watched him laugh.

“Good one,” Slim said, looking peeved.

“A riot,” I said.

“YOU TWO AREN’T NERVOUS, ARE YOU?”

Slim grimaced. “Would you pipe down?”

“WHAT’RE YOU SCARED OF?”

I wanted to bash him one in the face, but I held back. I don’t think I’ve mentioned it yet, but Rusty wasn’t exactly in the best of shape. Not a total lardass, but pudgy and soft and not exactly capable of fighting back.