Champion of the World by Chad Dundas Read Free Book Online Page A

Yes?”
    â€œYes,” Pepper said, his tongue dry and stiff in his mouth. “I think we both may have misinterpreted the parameters of our discussion. If I was not clear right off, I apologize. I came here tonight only to confirm with you that my act goes on as scheduled and to release the Markham & Markham outfit of any liability in the unlikely event of a mishap.”
    â€œA mishap,” Markham said, “like you break your fucking neck.”
    â€œLike I break my fucking neck,” Pepper said.
    Markham slapped his knees like he’d just wrapped up a tidy little piece of business. They shook on it, and Pepper had one hand on the latch of the door when Markham spoke again.
    â€œI’m told our mutual acquaintance Fritz Mundt came to see you recently,” the carnival barker said.
    Pepper turned. “That’s right.”
    â€œWhat did that washed-up meat tosser think he was doing tampering with one of my top draws?” Markham said.
    â€œNothing,” Pepper said. “Not much. No tampering. He only came by to shoot the breeze.”
    Markham looked at him with the eye of a stockman appraising a side of beef. “That’s good,” he said. “I’m sure you understand it would be a violation of your exclusive performance contract for you to be consorting with another promoter, in this industry or any other.”
    â€œI do, Boyd,” Pepper said, trying to use his tone to let the carnival barker know exactly how much he hated him at that moment. “I do understand that.”
    â€œGood,” Markham said, a grandfatherly grin spreading across his fat cheeks. “Now, skedaddle on out of here, son. I need to get myself equipped. I’d tell you break a leg, but I understand Mr. Mundt took care of that for you some years ago.”

T hey packed a good house. The grandstand under the big tent was filled to capacity by the time Markham stepped out from behind the curtain, a small grin playing on his lips. The townspeople were rolling drunk, clapping and catcalling as he strolled to the center of the performance ring and took a low bow. “Timber!” someone shouted from the back. It got a few laughs, but the noise died quickly as he approached the microphone, letting the moment stretch before he dabbed the sweat away from his face with a folded handkerchief and said: “Welcome.”
    Moira had her eye pressed to the rear wall of the tent. She’d paid another girl a dime to cover her spot at the poker table so she could sneak away from the gaming pavilion to watch. If Pepper was going to go out and kill himself doing the hangman’s drop, she wasn’t about to sit idly by at the tables only to hear about it later from some roustabout. She was still fuming over Markham’s insistence that he go on with the show, imagining the feeling of getting her fingers around the ringmaster’s thick neck, but now she had to hand it to him. He might’ve been a snake and a tyrant, but he was the best she’d ever seen at working an audience. He could grind on a set patter, but was also quick with ad libs and improvisation, a master of reading a room and then taking a crowd wherever he wanted to go. As he started inon his standard opening for the show, he had the entire population of New Vermillion rapt.
    â€œSkilled performers who have thrilled crowds as far away as New York City!” he said, the mention of New York eliciting some murmured boos. “Chicago!” he cried, and the boos picked up speed. “San Francisco!” The grandstand trembled as the people crowed, starting to feel they were in on some kind of joke. “Even,” he announced with a mischievous glint in his eye, “the lush green hills of Oregon!”
    The place went crazy.
    In the backyard area, a half dozen horn players loafed around with their instruments propped on their shoulders. They all wore maroon jackets with matching stovepipe hats, and