CHAPTER EIGHT

They watched Gus, his head down in shame, walking toward the bayou with Matthew and the other male ghosts. His shoulders were shaking with grief, embarrassment, and memory. Most of them didn't even know that ghosts could cry.

"He didn't remember. I'm sorry I brought it up," said Code.

"It's alright, brother. He needed to have that memory. It might help us to figure out what the hell is going on," said Nine.

"Angel? You and Trak head to the circus fair. See if you can find the O'Noth Circus and get a feel for them. I'd be curious what kind of operation they run," said Gaspar. The two men nodded, taking off toward town. Matthew came back toward them.

"He's upset. More than upset. He's struggling with the knowledge that his trailer might have been the final resting place for those poor people. I can't be certain, but I don't think he knew they were there."

"I wonder if someone could have swapped trailers on him," said Noah. "I mean, trailers are fairly generic. He said he went to eat and then came back. Maybe they used his trailer to collect the victims, and the dummy trailer was filled with regular cargo. Either way, blame would come back to him."

"It's quite possible," nodded Ghost. "We used to run trucks on ops, and I remember Whiskey picking up the wrong one once. Turned out okay for us because it was loaded with ammunition and whiskey, but the base wasn't happy about it."

"I wouldn't be either," smirked Gaspar. "I want to help him find his way, but what if he killed those people intentionally? What if he picked them up, got scared, and left them out in that desert to die."

"I don't know, brother. I know he's not in his right mind. At least, we don't think so, but I can't picture him doing that. Especially if Code is right about his sister," said Miller.

"What if he was trying to find his sister's killer?" asked Whiskey. All eyes turned toward him.

"I don't think that's it," said Code. "She died twenty years before he did. Why wait?"

"If he's truly suffering from dementia, he could have thought that it happened only recently," said the big man. He shook his head, staring out at the image of Gus. "It's such a horrible, terrible disease. It robs you of every memory, everything that was good in your life. It's all suddenly gone. And the cruelty of it is that once in a while, you get a glimpse of what your life was like. Fleeting moments of visuals, like photographs, scanning through your mind. It's there for a few minutes, then gone again.

"I cannot fathom waking up one day and not knowing who Sara is or my girls. I would sooner die than not be able to remember the life we've had. My daughters, my grandsons erased from my mind. The likelihood of him killing those people and not remembering at all is low. He would remember something."

"We'll figure it out, brother," said Nine, gripping his shoulder.

Trak and Angel walked around the fairgrounds, stopping once in a while to watch as the different acts competed. It was like the Olympics for circus performers. Best clown acts, best daredevils, best acrobats, everything you could think of. Even best circus food.

"Funnel cakes," muttered Trak, pointing to the trailers.

"Trak, what are you doing?"

"I'm hungry. I want a funnel cake," he said, shrugging.

Angel followed him toward the trucks, where Trak carefully inspected each offering. He finally chose the truck called ‘Funneltown.' You could smell the fried dough and powdered sugar hot from the fryers. He paid for his funnel cake, taking a huge bite out of the confection. Angel laughed at his friend, shaking his head as powdered sugar covered his face.

"What?"

"Dude, you look like a seven-year-old. You've got sugar all over your face."

Trak wiped a napkin across his face and took another bite, not really caring that he was making a mess. As they continued to walk, Angel spotted the trailers for each of the different circuses. There were dozens from all over the world. In the center was O'Noth Circus.

"How are we going to tell who their people are?" asked Angel. Trak just stared at the groups for a while, then turned to his friend.

"They're wearing blue. The teams of performers are all in specific colors. O'Noth is dressed in blue. Dark blue."

"I'll be damned, they are."

"Let's go find the animal cages," said Trak.

The massive fields of cages with animals and their handlers were out in the open for all to see. Approaching a ring where monkey acts were performing, they arrived just in time to see the O'Noth monkeys. Two trainers were in the middle of the ring, one male, one female. They were dressed in dark blue velvet with sequins, and the monkeys all had dark blue velvet bow ties.

"I just need one volunteer," said the woman in her microphone. "Just one!" Everyone laughed, but no one stepped forward.

"Nado, help us get a volunteer," said the man to one of the monkeys. The monkey immediately scurried toward the audience. Trak and Angel watched him carefully.

"Pickpocket?" frowned Angel.

"I don't think so," said Trak. "He's looking at them, not touching them yet."

The animal went to a small group of girls and grabbed two by the hand, pulling them toward the center of the ring. The trainers did several tricks, including getting the girls to dance with the monkeys. When they were done, they took a bow and were given a circus coin that they could spend on concessions.

When the crowd dispersed, they followed the paths around the entire event, stopping occasionally to watch performances. Nothing seemed out of order. Approaching the main trailer for the owners' section, there were two older men seated outside a large motorhome.

"Excuse me, we're looking for the owner of the O'Noth Circus," said Angel.

"That's us," smiled the older man. "I'm Sean, and this is my brother, Patrick. Two Irish boys who ran away to the circus." The men laughed, Angel smiling at them but not nodding. Trak just stared.

"I'm Angel, and this is Trak. We run a private security agency and were recently asked to help with some cold cases around the country."

"That sounds exciting," smiled the old man.

"Well, it can be. It can also be frustrating. We're investigating the case of a man by the name of Gus Presley." The two old men said nothing at first, then Sean pursed his lips, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry. I don't know that name."

"How long have you owned the circus?" asked Trak.

"Thirty years now," smiled Patrick.

"Thirty years, yet you don't know the case of the man who was hauling equipment for you and is accused of using his trailer to kill more than sixty Mexicans in the desert?"

The silence was deafening. The two men glared at Trak with a hatred that even his thick skin felt.

"Right. Now, I remember," said Sean. "Sorry, it's been a long time. Besides, he didn't work for us. He was a contractor. We hired him on occasion to haul our equipment for us from location to location."

"So, do you remember this incident? The incident where he's accused of killing those people in his truck," asked Angel.

"Sure, sure, I remember now. The police were everywhere. I don't think they ever caught the old guy," said Sean.

"No. In fact, we believe he's dead," said Angel.

"Dead, you say?" said the brother. "Well, can't say I'd be upset about that, killing all them innocent people. Besides, he wasn't right in the head. He was getting forgetful, sometimes missed deadlines. He'd go on a tirade about his sister dying, and we'd have to calm him down. We couldn't let him be around the customers any longer. He was just acting strangely, and he wasn't getting any better. We felt sorry for him, so tried to give him work now and then."

"You seem to remember a lot for a man who remembered nothing moments ago," said Trak, staring at him.

"I think we've been cooperative," said Patrick, standing beside his brother. "We've got a lot happening here this week, so if you'll excuse us. We hope you catch him or figure this out. Those poor people deserve justice."

Angel and Trak watched as the brothers walked away from them. Although it wasn't uncommon for two men with Irish names, it seemed odd that they both had black hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin.

"Did you believe any of the bullshit coming out of their mouths?" asked Angel.

"Not one damn word."