Freeks(31)

A sign on the window had the word CLOSED in bold red letters, but that didn’t stop Gideon. He gave the door a good tug and it opened, so we went inside.

The place was dark, dimly lit by a few bulbs over the bar, and it appeared about the same as it had on the outside—newer tables and vintage artwork in shiny frames, but the floors were gray and warped. The bar in the back had a marble countertop, but the stools in front were worn and faded. The whole place felt as if it was in mid-renovation.

The swinging doors to the kitchen pushed open and a man came through, holding a dishrag in his hands. He was tall, with a full head of thick wavy hair sprinkled with hints of silver. His skin was the color of dark caramel, and the lines around his eyes and mouth suggested he was in his early forties.

“We’re closed,” he said, and his voiced rumbled with a strong Latino accent. “We open at four on Sundays, so if you come back in two hours, I’ll be happy to seat you.”

“Thank you, but we’re not here to eat,” Gideon explained. “We’re looking for a friend.”

The man had been walking toward us, but he stopped and tilted his head. “Someone who works here?”

“I don’t know, actually. This is the address he gave me.” Gideon gestured to the restaurant. “He’s called Leonid Murphy.”

“Leonid?” An odd smile spread out across the man’s face. “There’s a small apartment just above the bar, and Leonid rents it from us. If you go around to the south side, you’ll find a staircase alongside the building that leads up to it.”

“Thank you.” Gideon offered him a small wave, and we started making our exit.

“Are you with the carnival, then?” the man called after us, stopping us just before we reached the door.

Gideon paused for a moment, then turned back to face him. “Yeah, I’m Gideon Davorin. I run it, actually.” He motioned to me, then Luka. “This is Mara Beznik, and Luka Zají?ek. They work there too.”

“I’m Julian Alvarado.” He put his hand to his chest, and my mind instantly flashed to Gabe. His name was Alvarado, and in a town this size, I had to wonder if they were related. “This is my place.

“I’ve heard a lot of great things about the carnival, but I haven’t been out to see it yet,” Julian went on, and I wondered if the good things he’d heard had come from Gabe. Had he spoken of me? “The restaurant keeps me busy.”

“I would imagine,” Gideon replied with an uneasy smile.

“But listen, if you guys or any of the carnival workers want to stop out here, you can have a drink on the house.” Julian pointed to the bar in the back. “It’s always great to have entertainers like you in Caudry. It breathes a bit of life into the old town.”

Gideon thanked him again, and I hurried outside before Julian said anything more. He’d seemed nice enough, but I was terrified that Julian may be Gabe’s father and that he could make a connection I didn’t want him to make. If Gabe had mentioned me by name, “Mara” was uncommon enough that Julian would figure out that I was part of the carnival.

There was so much going on, I knew that I shouldn’t even be worrying about what Gabe thought of me, or if I really would see him again. But I couldn’t help it. I hadn’t meant to make a connection with someone just when everything at home seemed to be falling apart.

“You okay?” Luka asked, noticing me dash out of the restaurant.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I smiled to reassure him. “Let’s just go see Leonid.”

Gideon led the way up the rickety stairs, and it was obvious that any repairs being done hadn’t extended beyond the front of the house for the bar and grill. Before we’d even reached his door, I could smell something off—like acetone mixed with sulfur.

“Gross.” Luka wrinkled his nose. “It’s like someone spilled nail polish remover on a pile of rotten eggs.”

“That means this is Leonid’s place,” Gideon said under his breath, and knocked on the door. He glanced back at Luka and me. “You guys hang until I see how Leonid is doing, all right?”

Leonid Murphy had traveled with the sideshow for many years, and I didn’t know the full extent of the reason he’d left three years ago, but there had been very strong rumblings of drugs. I knew that Gideon didn’t seem to care when Blossom or Doug smoked pot, so I figured it had to be something harsher and more complicated than that.

At any rate, Leonid had left on amicable terms—Gideon had given him a handshake, a few hundred dollars, and wished him all the best. That’s why, despite Leonid’s sketchy history, Gideon had trusted his old friend’s postcard. Well, that and desperation.

“Just a second!” Leonid’s nasally, slightly high-pitched voice wafted through his door.

Moments later, the front door flew open, and Leonid was exactly as I remembered him. He towered half a foot over Gideon, who was quite tall in his own right, and Leonid had answered the door shirtless, so I could see every rib and bone protruding through his pale skin.

His skeletal frame had nothing to do with any alleged drug use—it was the reason he’d joined the carnival. No matter how much he ate, he’d never gained a pound. He’d worked as a contortionist, and I’d seen him dislocate all his joints and bend himself up into a shockingly small pretzel.