First time I saw it was back last March, when me and the crew started casing the Everette branch of SunLand Savings.
We were in this Taurus I’d boosted from the airport.
I pulled to the curb opposite the bank so Gunther and Reade could study the teller area through the building’s large plate glass window.
As the wheelman, my concern is with the surrounding landscape. Possible exit points. Civilian traffic. Anything that could impede a swift getaway. Because you live or die by two things: seconds and speed.
It was while surveying the block that I checked the Fairview Market at my three o’clock. And that’s when I saw it.
I’m not sure what struck me first about it. The fact that it was completely covered in dried bird shit. Or that its right pupil and iris had faded so much that the eye was now just an endless void. Or that it was simply a giant fucking clown head, like someone lopped it off a porcelain kaiju and slapped it there on the sidewalk right outside the market’s main entrance.
“What is it?” Gunther said.
“That clown head,” I said. “I think it’s a gumball machine.”
“So?”
“Everyone’s walking past it like it ain’t even there.”
“Because it’s a fucking gumball machine,” Reade said.
They turned back to the bank.
I kept staring at it, though. And I began to wonder: Did it have any gumballs inside of it?
• • •
A week later, we made three loops around the block. This time in a ’92 Tercel. Gunther went through a step-by-step of what we were gonna do.
But every time I drove past the market, my eyes went to the clown head, and I lost track of what he was saying.
On the final loop, I had to slam on the brakes when the SUV in front of us came to a sudden stop.
“Jesus,” Gunther said.
“The fuck?” Reade said.
I tried to play it off like it was the SUV’s fault. But I’m not sure either believed me.
• • •
The big day was a Thursday.
3:07 p.m.: I pulled to the curb in a Chrysler with a Hemi V8. No pieces of shit this time. Like I said, seconds and speed.
3:09 p.m.: Gunther and Reade entered the bank wearing business suits. Empty duffle bags stuffed into backpacks. AR-15s under their jackets. Fake mustaches, goatees, and wigs.
3:11 p.m.: I heard the call go out on the scanner. Three minutes. I shifted into drive. My foot on the brake. Ready.
3:12 p.m.: I looked at the clown head.
This little girl—couldn’t have been more than six or seven—was walking up to the market with her mom when she stopped. Her eyes went to the gumball machine. She tugged on her mom’s shirt and said something. Her mom dug into her purse and handed her a quarter. And then that little girl went right over to it. No hesitation whatsoever.
As she put the quarter in the clown head’s left ear, I realized I wasn’t even breathing.
A bunch of thoughts hit me all at once. Why isn’t this little girl afraid? Why isn’t her mom? Are there actually gumballs inside of—
“Drive asshole!”
I looked up at the rearview. Gunther and Reade were in the backseat. Huffing and puffing. Two full duffle bags are on their laps.
Outside, there was ringing. Yelling. Sirens.
And what did I do?
I looked back across the street. The girl and her mom were long gone. No one was out there. Only the clown head.
And it was staring right at me.
• • •
I got another six years before I go in front of the parole board.
I stand a good chance. I’ve been a model prisoner. No trouble. No talkback. And, no matter what, I’ll continue to be that way.
When I finally get released, I’ll go to a halfway house. I’ll find me a job. I’ll “reintegrate” myself into society. But the second I get a free moment, I’m gonna get me a sledgehammer. I’m gonna go to the Fairview Market. And I’m gonna find out once and for all what’s really inside that thing.
~ fin ~
Casey Stegman lives in North Carolina. His fiction has been published by Tough, Shotgun Honey, Dark Yonder, Cowboy Jamboree, Bristol Noir, and Punk Noir Magazine. He also writes the monthly article series “Murder in the First” over at Mystery Tribune. When he’s not typing up stories about miscreants and malefactors, he rescues and rehabilitates dogs with his wife. So, if you’re looking to adopt, hit him up. For more details, visit: www.caseystegman.com
Comments are closed for this post.
