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Mime
It was just past midnight and there was a mime trapped in an invisible box behind Donatello's.
Pauli had just been commenting to Mouse how there had been a dumpster there a few years back,
when this was a regular drop. But the dumpster was gone now, taken away after the police had
found too many bad things in it, which was why Don's had been off the drop list for so long.
The place was cold now, safe. Except for the goofy painted street rat feeling out some prison
where the dumpster used to be.
He smiled at the two men as they came out the back door. His face was white,
hair blond-bone, contrasted by a red scarf and black leotard. He waved with one
hand while resting against the air with the other.
The two men shared a look. "You think he saw anything?" the smaller man,
Mouse, asked his friend.
"Saw what?" Pauli said, approaching the clown. "We're just two dish
washers closing up late. Ain't that right, Smiley? You didn't see anything, did you?"
The mime quickly jerked his head back and forth like a cartoon character.
Both thugs laughed, though the humor quickly died as they crowded into the street lamp spotlight.
All three stood within the ring, very close, very quiet. Pauli folded his thick arms and glared.
Mouse smoked his cigarette, the red glow reflecting in his steady eyes. The mime just smiled lazily.
Mouse finally flicked the smoldering butt into the clown's chest. "What the hell you doing here this
late?" he demanded.
The mime made a pillow of his white-gloved hands and laid his head there, asleep for a moment.
Then his eyes popped open-even his eyes were almost white, so light was the grey of his irises-and shook his head again.
"Couldn't sleep, eh?" Pauli slapped Mouse's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Hey, what do you know, I speak mime!"
Mouse looked the alley up and down but it was dark and empty, save their own silver Cadillac. "What'd you do, walk here?
Ain't no houses 'round here, no buses running this late."
The mime made like he was running in place, stumbled and recovered,
then shook his fist back at whatever invisible obstacle he'd just tripped over.
Pauli cracked up. "Oh, I think I like this guy."
"Yeah? Well I don't." Mouse groped him, feeling around his skintight clothes, pinching the soft
material at his neck.
Pauli became serious. "You ain't wearing a wire on us now, are you friend?"
The white face also became serious and moved in the negative. He drew an X over his heart and held up one hand.
"You know what would happen if you were?" Mouse asked.
One finger cut the air across his red scarf.
"That's right," Pauli said. Then he back-slapped Mouse's arm again.
"Hey, you know who this guy reminds me of? Remember Lexi? Sexy Lexi? Thought he was a funny man."
Mouse rolled his eyes. "Yeah, he thought he was fucking funny. Don't miss that guy."
The mime thumbed and shook his head, as if to say, Me neither. His whole face seemed to frown,
fingers fluttering down like tears from his eyes. He tugged at his legs, which were now fast to the ground.
Then he started swaying, hands flat and rising to show the water level. The silently crying became mute pleas
for mercy, until the fingers brushed his mouth and he blew up like a blowfish. His grey-white eyes roamed
to and fro, mouth finally popped, and he silently gasped in a death swallow of ethereal water.
Then he took a bow.
The two thugs regarded one another. "Yeah, that's right," Pauli said suspiciously. "Lexi's swimming with the fishes."
"Hey, Pauli, while we're strolling down memory lane, you remember Tanner?" Mouse glanced around,
then nodded at a nearby fire escape. "Might be a good night for remembering Tanner, eh?"
"Yeah, might not be a bad idea."
The mime held the tail of his scarf aloft and dropped his head, hanging dead, just like Tanner.
The next instant he was smiling casually again, pointing at himself and shaking his head: You don't want to hang me like that.
"You're pretty fucking smart for a homeless circus freak," Mouse growled.
"Think he's a cop?"
"Nah. This ain't no cop style. Maybe some wiseass thinks he's got money coming.
That it? You keep on being quiet if you get paid, that what you think?"
The mime rolled his eyes at such a ridiculous idea.
Pauli leaned in close. "No, wait. You know who this guy really reminds me of? Whitey Brown."
He gave the obligatory chuckle at the name. "Remember that albino fuck? Looks a lot like him."
"Except Brown's dead."
"Yeah," Pauli said, not quite sure.
The mime nodded in agreement and drew another invisible line across his throat.
The thugs' eyes met and decided on action. Mouse seized their victim, twisted his arms
to the rear, and kicked the back of one knee. The mime fell into a kneeling position.
Pauli pulled a switchblade. "Fun's over, Smiley. You should know, I fucking hate mimes."
He popped the knife and let the lamp light play on its edge. "Hey, Mouse, you know
the best thing about killing a mime? No one hears him scream." He gave a humorless laugh
and jerked the red scarf out of the way. Underneath, a fine bloodless slit gaped in the mime's throat.
The clown's smile widened, his eyes now burning with an inner fire.
No one heard Pauli or Mouse scream.
Jeremy Brink received his BFA in creative writing from Bowling Green State University,
Ohio, in 1999. From there he served four years in the Navy as a cryptologist, collecting intelligence
on a cruiser home-ported in Japan; worked briefly as an insurance adjuster in Santa Fe, New Mexico;
got his teacher certification and substituted in three different states; then finally returned to
school himself back in Ohio. He completed his BSN last May at Capital University, Ohio, and has
returned to the Navy. He currently serves those who serve as a nurse on Camp Pendleton Marine Corps Base in California.
His superhero tale "Dreams of Flying" appeared in Tales of the Talisman in November of 2007,
and his horror story "Lonely" was recently accepted by Cemetery Moon magazine.
Email: Jeremy Brink
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