REPRINT: NO LAUGHING MATTER
(Originally appeared in Flashing In The Gutters, Dec 2006)
NO
LAUGHING MATTER
Thirty-seven clowns went into the small red car. Only thirty-six came out.
The ringmaster waited for the crowds to go home before searching for the missing clown. Before long he found Bluzy in the glove compartment, fingers clutching the handle of the knife that had been thrust through his heart. There was a look of resignation on Bluzy's face but then there always was.
The ringmaster's voice filled the tent. "I want to see all the clowns in my office in ten minutes."
He should be able to keep this quiet. The townies would have been too busy shoveling cotton candy and peanuts down their throat to count the number of performers at any one time. At least no one outside the family had been knifed on circus grounds. That would have been the end of the show.
The ringmaster sighed. Didn't he already have trouble enough? First the bearded lady developed male-pattern balding, Then the fortune teller came down with amnesia. Now Bluzy had been murdered.
It had to be murder. While accidents happened in threes, Bluzy's death was no accident. There was a standing rule that knives weren't allowed in the clown car: no knives, no open flames, no baked beans. The clowns were very serious about rules.
The ringmaster took off his top hat and lowered his head. "Why, Bluzy? Why?"
Even within the close-knit world of the circus the clowns comprised an inner circle, closed to anyone who didn't wear face paint and floppy shoes. The ringmaster knew that they wouldn't tell him anything significant about Bluzy.
He was going to have to solve this on his own.
Returning to his office, the ringmaster entered to see the clowns piled on his visitor's chair in an inverted triangle.
"Thanks for coming." After hanging up his jacket and hat, the ringmaster sat at his desk. One of the clowns facing him was a murderer but which one?
The circus performers questioned him in unison and not without a touch of harmony, "What happened to Bluzy?"
"Bluzy's been given a John Robinson."
The clowns went silent.
The ringmaster continued, dropping his gaze to his folded hands. "His performance has been cut short and I don't expect I'll see Bluzy tumble again until I join him on the other side of the pearly gates."
Surprised by the lack of outrage, the ringmaster raised his eyes.
The clowns stared back.
Come to think of it there was something funny about the pile before him. That was it. Even inverted, a perfect triangle took only thirty-five clowns. Someone was missing.
Without another word, the ringmaster rushed from his office. Either someone had killed another clown or the murderer had flown the coop. Where did one go when running away from the circus?
The ringmaster found Flashy lying behind the pie car, thirty-five knife handles protruding from a blood-soaked chest. Bluzy's murder had been solved and justice delivered.
The clowns had spoken.
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