The Traveling Vampire Show(5)

 

“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 turn-off. 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.

 

Which might seem like an advantage if you want to slug a guy in the puss. But I knew it would make me feel lousy. And he was my best friend, after all—other than Slim.

 

Grinning, he boomed, “CAT GOT YOUR TONGUE?”

 

Slim pinched his side.

 

He gasped, “OW!” and twisted away. “That hurt!”

 

“Keep it down,” Slim said.

 

“Jeez.”

 

“We’re gonna have to be sneaky going in,” she explained, “or they’ll toss our butts out and we’ll never get a chance to see Valeria.”

 

“Or don’t you want to see her?” I asked Rusty.

 

“Jeez, guys, I was just screwing around.”

 

“Let’s hope nobody heard you,” Slim said.

 

“Nobody heard me. We’re miles from Janks Field.”

 

“More like a few hundred yards,” I told him.

 

“And sound really carries around here,” Slim added.

 

“Okay, okay, I get the point.”

 

The dirt road wasn’t as wide as Route 3, so we didn’t walk abreast. Slim took the lead. Rusty and I stayed pretty much beside each other.

 

There was no sunlight. Of course, there hadn’t been any sunlight before we entered the woods—just a gray gloom. But now, with trees all around and above us, the gloom was deeper, darker. Things looked the way they do when you’re out after supper on a summer night and you can see just fine, so far, but you’ve only got maybe half an hour before it’ll be too dark for playing ball.

 

“If it gets much darker,” I said, “Valeria won’t need her casket.”