Life Expectancy

returning to our house, we dressed as seemed suitable for a "most cordial meeting." In preparation for the fifth of the five days, we had added to our wardrobes. We had shoulder holsters, pistols, two little cannisters of pepper spray for each of us.
        Jimmy made a pitch for me to wait with the kids while he went alone to meet with the aerialist, but I presented a convincing case for accompanying him: "You remember what happened to Punchinello's testicles? If you try to keep me from going with you, you'll discover that Punch got off easy."
        We were mutually agreed that going to Huey Foster and bringing in the cops would be a bad idea.
        For one thing, Vivacemente had done nothing wrong thus far. We would have a difficult time convincing a jury that a gift of fifty thousand bucks in cash constituted a threatening gesture.
        Besides, we worried that whatever Vivacemente's intentions, he would clam up in front of cops and later would go after whatever he wanted more discreetly. Even alerted by his first approach, we would most likely be blindsided. Better that everything remained out in the open between us.
        The weather was surprisingly mild for an April evening in high-country Colorado. That doesn't tell you much, because sometimes in April, below freezing is considered mild. To Jimmy, facts are like recipe ingredients, so he would research the temperature in the Snow County Gazette before he wrote about it. Me, I'd guess it was maybe fifty degrees.
        When we arrived at Halloway Farm, we debated where Vivacemente expected to meet with us. We decided that the giant red-and-white circus tent might be the place.
        In this large flat meadow, adjacent to the highway, the circus had set up for business that week in August 1974, when Jimmy had been born.
        Since then, they had played no return engagement, most likely because they figured that ticket sales would be adversely impacted by the fact that during their previous visit, one of their clowns had killed two much-loved locals.
        Neither Jimmy nor I had heard anything about the circus coming to town here in April. For sure, the kids hadn't heard about it, or they would have been in full didja mode: Didja gets tickets, didja, didja?
        Andy would have begun having clown-in-the-closet dreams again. Me, too, probably.
        On second look, we realized that the entire circus wasn't here. An operation of their size involved scores of trucks, motor homes, massive portable generators, and other vehicles. Lined up along the lane to the distant Halloway farmhouse were just four Peterbilts, a VIP bus, and the limousine in which the costumed boy had delivered the fifty thousand smackers.
        Emblazoned on the flank of each huge silver truck, festive red lettering announced VIVACE MENTE In small but still bold lettering:
        
        BIG TOP! BIG SHOW! BIG FUN!
        
        "Big deal," I said.
        Jimmy frowned. "Big trouble."

     
        Only the single enormous tent awaited Jimmy and me. No smaller tents for the customary array of lesser attractions, no animal cages, no roach wagons offering hot dogs, snow cones, popcorn.
        Standing alone, the big top made a greater impression than if it had been at the center of the usual bustling medieval fair.
        Four poles marked the high ridge line of the tent. Atop each, in the glow of a spotlight, flew a red flag with a silver circle at its center. In each circle were an italicized red V followed by an exclamation point.
        Regularly spaced strings of festive, low-voltage lights dropped from the ridge line to the sidewall, red bulbs alternating with white.
        Twinkling white lights surrounded the main entrance.
        One of the four Peterbilts housed the power source. The only sound in the night was the rhythmic chug-and-growl of gasoline-fed generators.
        Above the twinkling lights of the main entrance, a banner warned
        
        PREPARE TO BE ENCHANTED!
        
        Heeding that warning, we drew our pistols, checked to be sure the magazines were fully loaded-though we had checked them before leaving home-and eased them in and out of our shoulder holsters a few times to assure ourselves nothing would inhibit a quick draw.
        No one had come forward to greet us when we parked and got out of the car. In spite of the tents and the lights, the meadow seemed to be deserted.
        "We're