Story Time in Brief: Part the Third

The trail had gone cold and so had I. The rain was bouncing off the pavement, like so many peanut shells tossed to the dirt floor under the Big Top. I had business to attend to and I was tired of being wet, so I hopped a cab to The Downtown Clown, a well-known hangout for the greasepaint and wig crowd.

The barkeep ignored me, until I cleared my throat and bounced a quarter off his forehead.

'Rye and a beer back,' I said, and as he started to turn away I added, 'and some information.'

He set my boilermaker down in front of me, doing his best to avoid my eyes. He had a dressing room tan, so I figured him for a player in the funny game.

'I'm looking for Mickey the Pratfall.'

I thought he was going to jump out of his apron.

'Never heard of him,' he said, with an anxious glance at the Bozos drinking at the corner table. One of the clowns looked up and eye-fucked me for a long ten seconds before adjusting his squirting flower and downing a mouthful of beer.

I leaned forward, so he could see my .45 riding in a shoulder rig.

'That's a nice calliope you have in here. Be a shame if anything happened to it.'