The Funhouse

Straker had stopped in the middle of his come-on spiel the instant he had seen Ghost approaching. Behind Straker, the raucous funhouse music blared continuously. Every thirty seconds the giant clown's face-a much larger, more sophisticated, and more animated version of the face that had topped his first funhouse, twenty-seven years ago-winked down at the passersby and let out a recorded, four-bark laugh: “ Haa,haa,haa,haaaaa .”
        As he waited for the albino, Straker lit a cigarette. His hand shook, the match bobbled.
        At last Ghost reached the funhouse and pulled himself up onto the barker's platform. “It's done,” he said. “I gave her the free ticket.” He had a cool, feathery voice that nevertheless carried clearly above the carnival din.
        “She wasn't suspicious?”
        “Of course not. She was thrilled to have her fortune told for free. She acted like she really believed that Madame Zena could see into the future.”
        “I wouldn't want her to think she'd been singled out,” Straker said worriedly.
        “Relax,” Ghost said. “I gave her the usual dumb story, and she bought it. I said my job was to wander up and down the midway, giving out free tickets for this and that, just to stir up interest. Public relations.”
        Frowning, Straker said, “You're positive you approached the right girl?”
        “The one you pointed out.”
        Above them, the enormous clown's face broadcast another tinny burst of laughter.
        Taking small, quick, nervous drags on his cigarette, Straker said, “She was sixteen or seventeen. Very dark hair, almost black. Dark eyes. About five foot five.”
        “Sure,” Ghost said. “Like the others, last season.”
        “This one was wearing a blue and gray sweater. She was with a blond boy about her age.”
        “That's the one,” Ghost said, combing his lank hair with his long, slender, milky-white fingers.
        “Are you sure she used the ticket?”
        “Yes. I walked her straight to Zena's tent.”
        “Maybe this time…”
        “What does Zena do with these kids you steer to her?”
        “While she tells their fortunes, she finds out as much about them as she can-their names, their parents' names, a lot of things like that.”
        “Why?”
        “Because I want to know.”
        “But why do you want to know?”
        “That's none of your business.”
        Behind them, inside the enormous funhouse, several young girls screamed at something that popped out at them from the darkness. There was a phony quality to their squeals of terror, like thousands of teenage girls before them, they were pretending to be frightened witless, so that they would have an excuse to cuddle closer to the young men beside them.
        Ignoring the screams behind him, Ghost stared intently at Straker, the albino's almost colorless, semitransparent eyes were disconcerting. “Something I have to know. Have you ever… well… have you ever touched one of these kids I've sent to Zena?”
        Straker glared at him. “If you're asking me whether I've sexually molested any of the young girls and boys in whom I've shown an interest, the answer is no. That's ridiculous.”
        “I sure wouldn't want to be a part of something like that,” Ghost said.
        “You've got an ugly, dirty little mind,” Straker said, disgusted. “I'm not looking for fresh meat, for God's sake. I'm searching for one child in particular, someone special.”
        “Who?”
        “That's none of your business.” Excited, as always, by the prospect of finally, successfully concluding his long search, Conrad said, “I've got to get over to Zena's tent. She's probably just about finished with the girl. This could be the one. This could be the one I've been looking for.”
        In the funhouse, their voices muffled by the walls, the girls screamed again.
        As Straker turned toward the platform steps, anxious to hear what Zena had discovered, the albino put a hand on his arm, detaining him. “Last season, in almost every town we hit, there was a kid who caught your eye. Sometimes two or three kids. How long have you been looking?”
        “Fifteen years.”
        Ghost blinked. For a moment a pair of thin, translucent lids covered but did not fully conceal his strange eyes. “Fifteen years? That doesn't make sense.”
        “To me, it makes perfect sense,” Straker said coldly.
        “Look, last year was