at the cannon that wasn't a cannon. He looked at Pulaski, with his thin upper body and thick legs, his thin wiry hair and stubby fingers. They looked nothing alike. Nothing.
"You're a fake. Everything about you is fake."
Elvis felt the tears run down his face. He wanted to run, but his feet didn't move. He shouted as loudly as he could, shouted because he wanted everyone on the midway to hear.
"FAKE! THAT'S NOT A CANNON! IT'S A SPRING!"
Pulaski didn't grow angry. He only looked sad.
"C'mon, kid."
"HE'S A LIAR! NOTHING HERE IS REAL!"
Pulaski hugged him close, wrapping his arms around him tight, but never once raising his voice.
"Stop it, boy. I'm not your old man. I'm nobody's old man."
"YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A LIE!"
Pulaski held tight, and Elvis wanted to be held; he wanted to hold on forever, but then it all seemed wrong and he pushed Pulaski away, and ran without thinking. He jumped from the flatbed and ran as hard as he could, seeing nothing through the diamonds in his eyes, just colored light that shimmered and moved like the made-up fantasy of a rainbow; he ran past Tina Sanchez's trailer and the still-sleeping skeletons of the thrill rides; he ran until he fell to the ground, hating everything and everyone in the world, and himself most of all.
Father Knows Best
Wilson followed Jacob Lenz to a small Airstream set up behind the midway. It was polished and bright, speaking well of the owner. The door was propped open for the air.
Lenz rapped at the door, then went inside. Wilson stepped up behind him, blocking the door with his body so the boy couldn't get out.
Lenz said, "Tina? A man is here for the boy."
The kid was sitting on a couch with a short, dark woman who had probably been good-looking in her day. The kid recognized Wilson right away, and didn't seem surprised.
"Hi, Mr. Wilson."
"Hiya, bud. You're a lot taller now."
Lenz seemed surprised.
"You know each other?"
Wilson said, "Oh, yeah, we've done this a few times."
Wilson thanked Mrs. Sanchez for giving the boy a roof then assured Lenz for the tenth time that the family did not want trouble and would not call the police. The old lady hugged the boy, and wiped at her tears. She seemed like a nice old gal. When Wilson shook her hand she damned near crushed his bones.
The boy didn't try to run. He had bolted the first couple of times Wilson bagged him, but now he seemed resigned. In a way that Wilson didn't expect, this left him feeling sad. They walked back to Wilson 's car without incident, then began the long drive home.
"You hungry?"
"Uh-uh."
"It's a long drive, five hours maybe."
"I'm good."
They drove in silence for more than an hour, and Wilson was fine with that. The boy was exhausted. He sat slumped against the door, staring out the window with an empty expression.
Having collected the kid three times, Wilson had gotten to know him a little bit. Wilson felt sorry for him, sure, but he also found himself liking the boy. His absentee mother was nuts, his grandfather was a stiff who clearly didn't want the boy, and they rarely lived in one place more than a couple of months, yet here he was shagging ass all over creation, chasing after shadows. He just wouldn't quit, which was both terrible and admirable at the same time. Wilson-he finally admitted to himself-was getting attached.
"How many times is this, four, five?"
The boy didn't answer.
"This is the third time I snagged you, and before me was that other guy. How many times have you gone chasing after a carnival?"
"I don't know. Six. I guess this makes six. No, seven."
"Seven different human cannonballs."
The boy didn't answer.
"You have a knack for this, I gotta give you that. Here you are, a kid, and you track these bastards down like a professional. You'd make a helluva detective."
The kid's eyes glazed and he returned to staring out the window. Wilson drove another few miles in silence, trying to figure out what to say. He didn't like interfering in people's lives beyond what he was hired for, but someone needed to straighten out this kid, and no one seemed willing to do it.
Finally Wilson dove in.
"I want to tell you something maybe I shouldn't tell you. I shouldn't interfere with what goes on in your house, but, Jesus, seven times. Somebody's gotta set you straight."
The boy glanced at him, then turned back to the window. Now came the hard part,