Three Ringed Beast

This is Fiction

A submission to the Fictionistas December Prompt Post

The leather on the booth of the donut stop seats was peeling and in the hot weather, this created an uncomfortable scratch beneath the legs as Roger felt the perspiration under his thighs. He sat opposite Mr. Dumbo, also known as Adrian Amato. The men ordered a follow-up coffee to chase down their meals but the waitress had most likely forgotten to take down the order. This annoyed Roger, who felt as if he had enough information to begin a draft of his story and was eager to leave.

“If I were suddenly rich, I’d be free of them…” Dumbo said.

He was a circus clown by day. In fact, he was still in make-up as he ate his meal, cheeseburger fries, and a large coke – all on the Live magazine tab. His own sweat was permeating through the pours of the white paint that cracked under the pressure of his furrowed brow.

He had appealed to Roger in a letter delivered to the Detroit bureau of Live magazine. There amongst the print, he had accused the Lamond Brothers’ Three Ring Circus of extensive human rights violations, the least of which being indentured servitude, which he claimed he was a victim of.

“They ripped me from my village in Anchorage when I was five years old. They told me to make the children smile. That’s all they told me. That was eighteen years ago.”

“Why can’t you just leave?” Roger asked. His eyes circled the benches that surrounded the kitchen area, hoping to lock eyes with the waitress.

“You’re not listening to me, they have me for life. I can never leave. They have an enforcer who used to be their canon ballman. Seven foot tall, two hundred and thirty pounds. Built like a fridge that works out. He keeps us from leaving,” Dumbo explained.

“Where is he now?” Roger asked.

Dumbo slumped his shoulders as if suddenly coming to terms with the fact that their meeting might be disrupted at any moment.

“There are thirty of us who work the circus. Thirty slaves. He has to keep an eye on all of us, but he cannot do this at all hours of the day. Sometimes we get to sneak away. Like the day I mailed off the letter to Live magazine, and now – today – having a delicious meal here with you,”

He picked up his plate and began to lick the remnants of ketchup that painted the white porcelain. His wide ears flapped from side to side and his protruding nose stopped him from being able to substantially scoop up enough liquid without circularly moving the plate. Roger suddenly realized why they called him Mr. Dumbo.

“So what do you want me to do?” he asked.

Dumbo put down the polished plate.

“Tell our story, please. We need a champion. We are being completely exploited. Some of us have families that we have not seen in many, many years. Please, you must help us.”

The waitress brought the coffee around with a tab.

“Can you transfer these to go please?” Roger asked as the waitress rolled her eyes.

They exited the coffee shop and out onto the carpark, Roger turned to address the clown.

“I can’t promise you justice or freedom. I can’t promise you your story will be picked up by the magazine. What I can promise you is that I’ll take your story and I’ll go away and draft something up for my editors and from there, we will see…”

“You will see… What?” Dumbo asked.

“We will see if they put it to print,” Roger explained, lighting a smoke.

“Forgive me,” Dumbo said, incredulous in tone. “Are you not Roger Dayton of Live magazine?”

“I am,” Roger said on exhale.

“Are you telling me you need to seek permission to tell a story?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Listen, dumbbell –”

“It’s Dumbo,”

“Whatever, I don’t get to print whatever I want, whenever I want. I need to convince my editors of the merits of a story. Now, look, I’ll admit you got my interest with your letter, but you haven’t provided me with much in the way of evidence. How am I supposed to verify any of what you told me here today if you won’t let me come by the tent and take pictures? How do you think the magazine business works?”

“But you must!” Dumbo began to plead.

Roger tossed his cigarette butt and proceeded to his car.

“I’ll start drafting what I’ve got and if I need more info, which I’m sure I will, I’ll be in contact.” He said as he walked away from the clown, for what he presumed would be the final time.

Just as a van in the shape of a rat pulled into the parking lot a man-giant emerged from the driver's seat. As he stood from the car, the vehicle swayed from side to side as it was relieved of his enormous weight and muscle.

“Dumbo!” the man-monster yelled. “Here! Now! Come!” he said.

Dumbo began to speed walk over to Roger’s car who was in the middle of inserting his key into the door lock.

“That’s the enforcer!” Dumbo explained. “You gotta help me!”

The man-giant stomped over to Roger’s car with focus and determination. There was nothing that could be done to stop him, no matter who was requesting. The man giant reached Dumbo and grabbed him by the back of the neck. He effortlessly lifted him off the ground and removed him from his standing position, like a farmer holding a chicken by the scruff.

Roger removed his Pentax camera and ran by the side of the towering figure, he began snapping away with every stride. He wasn’t sure the man could fit entirely within his lens, but the audacity of a human this size on the face of God’s green earth was worth the effort.

“You see that Goliath!” yelled Dumbo.

“That’s a soul catcher. He’s snapping away at yours with every click of the button. Pretty soon you’ll have no soul left.”

The giant stopped dead in his tracks and turned his gaze towards Roger.

“That true?”

The man giant dropped Dumbo to the floor and began pounding the pavement, onto the carpark asphalt towards Roger.

Roger clicked the shutter a furious number of times, focusing the lens squarely on the face of the towering beast before turning to run down the highway and away from the rest stop.

He was jogging at a consistent speed, his camera flapping against his thigh as he wore it on its strap over his shoulder. No matter how much intensity he put into his run, he could not get a significant distance between himself and the beast.

A car appeared alongside him on the jog, it was Dumbo behind the wheel. He was driving Roger’s car.

“Are you going to help me?!” Dumbo asked.

“Are you going to rescue me?!” Roger pleaded.

“I’ll let you get in… if you promise to print my story…”

At that moment, Roger would have promised a hose to a fireman.

“I promise!”

Dumbo stopped the car and Roger jumped through the opened window into the passenger seat. The back window smashed in by the boot of the beast.

“Get us out of here!” Roger demanded as Dumbo put the car into gear and floored it out of the outskirts of the highway, along the broader road towards the coastline.