First Thrills - Lee Child [114]
“Step aside when you get to the car with a little blonde girl. I’ll tell you when.”
He nodded, easing the cars to a stop, one at a time, one at a time. Three more to go before Susie.
A fat lady in the car before them had difficulty getting out. Susie’s hat was off. The clown’s hand stroked her hair, greasepaint still filling the cracks in his face.
Their car swung into line. Miranda poked the operator in the back with the kewpie doll, and he opened the gate, got out of the way. The clown gave Susie a small push and she walked forward. Miranda stepped in front of her, held out the doll.
“This is for you, Susie.”
The little girl stared at her, confused. Miranda grabbed Susie’s hand, eyes raised to the clown. He looked from one to the other, panic twisting his face. Then he jumped off the platform, running into the Gayway crowds while a woman behind them screamed.
It took three minutes to find a cop. She gave him Susie, ran past Greenwich Village toward the opposite end of the zone. Where the hell could a clown go to be inconspicuous? Except he wasn’t a clown anymore.
She stopped in the middle of the grounds, breathing hard. Susie was safe. Not harmed. But the clown . . .
She looked up at the complex called Children’s Village. And took out her last cigarette.
He was slapping on greasepaint when she walked in the room. Jumped up, shrank against the wall, eyes large without the makeup, focused on the .22 in her hand. Still sad.
“Please, please, lady. I was just trying to see her. She don’t even know I’m her father.”
She stared at him, smoke from the Chesterfield curling toward the cracked mirror.
“Some fucking father. You expect me to believe you? You kidnapped a little girl, goddamn it—”
“There’s proof. Loie’s got it. She showed it to me. Before—before she got married.”
He wiped his forehead, his hand shaking. Sank slowly into the chair, the bare yellow lightbulb throwing shadows across his face.
“Made me promise never to see her. Susie’s chance. Loie’s chance. My little girl could have the good things . . . I ain’t never gonna be able to buy her what he can. And I kept my promise. I ain’t seen her since she was a baby.”
Miranda gestured with the .22. “Keep your hands on the counter. I saw Stella Dallas, and it plays better with a woman. You broke your goddamn promise. Why? Got religion, all of a sudden? Or did you figure you’d be Daddy for a day?”
Face, mouth, voice, pleading, looking at her, not the gun. “Loie brought her here, to the Village. I make balloons for the kids . . . Loie was leaving for Sally’s, didn’t recognize me with the face and all. I stopped her, asked about Susie, but she was worried ’bout people seein’ us together. So’s I took Susie when she left, tried to—to spend a little time with her. Knew they’d probably look for me as soon as Loie figured it out, washed my face, took my street clothes with me.”
Miranda blew a stream of smoke toward the cheap pine wardrobe in the corner, the pistol steady and pointed at the clown.
“What were you going do with her? Tell me that—what were you going to do with her?”
“I weren’t gonna keep her, lady. I just wanted to see my little girl. Give her some fun, something to remember her old man by. She said she likes cotton candy. Please don’t lose me my job. I like kids. I’m good with kids. Ask Anderson—didn’t he tell you? Didn’t he tell you I’m good with—”
“Fuck the job. Worry about San Quentin.”
Face whiter than makeup, shadows under the eyes, dark pools. Hands trembling on the counter. The Tower of the Sun carillon played the hour, “Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.”
His voice croaked, reedy, strong, sure.
“All right. Go ahead. I’m not sorry for tryin’ to see Susie. I’m glad I did it. I’d do it again. And at least she’ll know her old man was willin’ to pay the price for seein’ her.”
Miranda took a long drag on the Chesterfield, studying his face. He met her eyes, breathing hard, defiant. Disturb not her dream . . .
She said: