Julius Rosenthal will make candy no more and other short stories by Nicholas Russell (tools of titans ebook .txt) 📕

was now. The circus was close to bankrupt and he was failing her. Frank turned to Mickey and the two stared for a moment before Frank motioned to the lights “Turn’em off when you leave… I need to go check the trucks we are rolling out early tomorrow.”

Frank stepped from the RV, the flannel shirt kept his body warm but a cold breeze brightened his cheeks. The festivities had gotten underway. As Frank crossed the field to the loaded trucks he was forced to dodge drunken clowns and tipsy acrobats. Louis and his crew were gone but a quick glance showed the trucks had been loaded. All Frank had to do now was glance in and make sure it was all tied down tight. As he approached the trucks a tall woman in a deep blue gown approached. She kept her face taught and her back straight as she approached Frank. Frank couldn’t help but smile.

Most anyone who looked upon her assumed she was royalty of some kind, to keep the façade going she spoke as little as possible in her act. Her assistant did most of the talking, her accent was better. She stopped directly in front of Frank and her taught face curled to a sneer, when she was angry it was harder to hide her deep southern twang “Where is he, Frank?”

“I don’t know Frannie, I promise. Did you check with the Clowns?” Frank knew the question would send her over the top but couldn’t help it.

“He ain’t with the damn clowns and you know it.” Frannie stormed off in a huff making a line for the animal trailer. Frank watched her leave, the heavy dress dragging through the grass.

The moment and the smile it brought stayed with Frank as he checked the trailers. Louis had done an expert job as always everything was down tight and ready for the move. Frank left the trailers and moved to the only group not partying tonight, the drivers. The circus had six full time drivers they handled the big rigs while the performers would switch out driving the RV’s. The drivers would usually crash out early before a move and try to get on the road ahead of local traffic. A few of the drivers were still awake and they waved as he walked past.

With everything checked Frank started back towards the RV hoping for a few hours of sleep in a warm bed. The clowns were still running about half in costume and half in street clothes. Sweet voices called back to him to come and play voices that reminded Frank of the sea nymphs in old sailor stories. He turned to see the young woman calling out to him, waving him back to play. “Not tonight ladies, in fact you should get some rest too we have an early day tomorrow.”

The cold air was starting to get to him as he neared the RV. The light was still on but he hadn’t expected Mickey to remember to turn it off. As he opened the door a gust of warm air rolled over Frank. Stepping in quickly, Frank closed the door behind him. Mickey had passed out on the table. He debated waking him but decided to let him sleep. Besides once he turned the heat off the room would chill pretty quickly. He turned the switch on the small space heater to off and flipped the lights. Mickey grumbled something undecipherable but never woke.

Sleep came quick for Frank. It had been a long day with another one he thought just around the corner. Frank was a heavy sleeper and the old RV was practically a matchbox. An old frayed wire started the blaze but there wasn’t enough left for anyone to figure that out. Within six months most of the performers had left and Millie was selling what little still held value. Millie tried to keep the circus running but having lost both her parents, her heart just wasn’t in it anymore.

An Unnecessary Life

Have you ever wondered why someone would take their own life? Jack Trefero asked himself that question almost every day of his life. On Jack’s seventh birthday, his father after a small party took him for a ride. The ride itself was a treat as the Treferos did not own a car. Jack’s father rented a silver Cadillac Seville. The car smelled new, it was a smell that still brought back flashes of a sickening wet red whenever Jack caught the scent. The ride was long, long enough that Jack fell asleep in the back seat. He curled himself into a ball, his head resting gently on the leather bump in the center of the rear bench seat.

The car jerked to a stop startling young Jack awake. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes Jack pulled himself up and peered into the front seat. The pistol was polished to a mirror finish. His father’s face was wet with tears, he mumbled a few words before sticking the pistol in his mouth. Jack’s heart thumped hard in his chest, and his legs tingled as his arms turned cold.

Replaying the event over in his mind, Jack wondered how long his father kept the pistol in his mouth. In his memories Jack’s father sat quietly, the only sound filling the car was his teeth chattering against the barrel. Breath misting along its length. The hammer pulled back slowly reaching the end of its arc and clicking in place. It didn’t make any sound when it slammed back down, or if it did the sound was eclipsed by the crack of the bullet firing. Jack flinched at the sound squeezing his eyes closed as tight as his body would allow. He didn’t open his eyes again for hours. Not until a passing motorist saw the mess