"What do you care about?" said Thaddeus. "It sure as hell isn't money." He turned to us. "You know that I send his paycheck home to his mama every week?"

He started laughing again, but something about the Dancer's expression made him stop.

"You feed me and house me and pay for my bullets," said the Dancer after a long, uncomfortable pause. "What do I need money for?"

"Everyone needs money," said Thaddeus fervently.

The Dancer shook his head. "Everyone wants money. That's not the same thing, Thaddeus. What would you do if you had all the money you wanted?"

"Get the hell out of this business," said Thaddeus devoutly.

"No you wouldn't, Thaddeus," said the Dancer.

"Oh?"

"You like fleecing marks, and you love playing God," continued the Dancer. "Money's just a measure of how well you do it."

Thaddeus stared at his glass for a long moment. Then it was his turn to shrug. "Maybe you're right. About staying, that is. Not about the money, though. If nothing else, money buys you a higher class of woman."

"A higher class of woman would dump you quicker than Dancer can draw his gun," laughed Monk. "Not everyone is as understanding as Alma, or as hungry for a spotlight as some of the locals you drag in here, Thaddeus."

Thaddeus uttered a harsh, contemptuous laugh.

"Not all women will put up with being treated like shit," persisted Monk.

Thaddeus stared hotly at Monk and the Dancer, then turned suddenly to me. "Well?" he demanded.

"Well what?" I said.

"Everyone else is dumping on me. How about you?"

"I don't think you treat women any differently than you treat men," I said cautiously.

"That's my whole point," said Monk with a smile. "Tojo, it's a shame you're such a tongue-tied little bastard. They could use you in the State Department."

"He's my emissary to the freak tent," said Thaddeus.

"Speaking of the freaks, how are they doing?" asked Monk. "I haven't had a chance to drop by for a couple of days."

"All right," I said.

"How about the rainbow man?"

"He's better."

"Hey," said Monk, "that's not a bad name for him."

"The Rainbow Man?" repeated Thaddeus, toying with the suggestion.

"Oh, not for the marks," said Monk hastily. "Whatever you're calling him is good enough for them. But on the assumption that you don't intend to return the freaks to Mr. Ahasuerus"—he paused to see what Thaddeus would say, but Thaddeus just stared at him—"we ought to give them carny names. I mean, who the hell is going to walk up and say, 'How's it going, India Rubber Man?' I think we ought to call the sick one Rainbow."

"Fine by me," said Thaddeus. "And the India Rubber Man?"

"Easy: Stretch," replied Monk.

"Maybe they already have names," I said.

"Maybe we all do," said Monk. "Is your name Tojo?"

"It is now," I said.

"And mine's Jupiter now," said Monk. "So what's wrong with giving names to the freaks?"

"All but the Blue Man," said Thaddeus.

"You know his name?" asked Monk.

"No," said Thaddeus. "I just don't want you talking to him."

Well, they tossed ideas around for half an hour while I listened and Billybuck Dancer stared off into space, and they came up with seven more names. Along with Rainbow and Stretch, the Dog-Faced Boy was Snoopy; the Human Pincushion was Bullseye; the Missing Link was Dapper Dan; the Horned Demon was Scratch (for Old Scratch, I guess; they agreed on it so quickly that I was never quite sure of the source); the Cyclops, with true carny logic, became Four-Eyes; the Human Lizard was Albert the Alligator (Monk was a passionate Pogo fan, even though the strip had ceased publication years ago, and he once showed me a scrapbook in which he had pasted a three-year run of daily strips); and the Sphinx was Numa (though Thaddeus thought he looked more like a horse than a lion, and put up quite a fight for calling him Seattle Slew before yielding when Monk started explaining what a Sphinx was supposed to be).

That left the two women.

"You look at the head of the Elephant Woman, and what pops to mind?" said Monk.

"That I'm having a bad dream," replied Thaddeus.

"Well, when I look at her, I think of a watermelon," said Monk.

"Yeah, I can see that," agreed Thaddeus.

"So how about calling her Melon?"

"No good," said Thaddeus, shaking his head. "When I look at the Three-Breasted Woman, all I see is melons."

"You've got a point," said Monk. "Hey, Dancer—what do you think?"

They both turned to the Dancer, but he was staring off at some vision only he could see, oblivious to everything that was being said.

"He's a little worse than usual tonight," remarked Thaddeus.

"Don't knock it," replied Monk. "We all try to shut the carnival out of our minds. He just does it a bit better than most."

"I knew a kid like that when I was growing up in California," said Thaddeus. "Finally one day he just stopped eating and talking and moving. They had to carry him off to the funny farm; I mean, they just lifted him where he stood and hauled him away. I don't think he even knew what was happening to him."

"You grew up in California?" asked Monk, dropping the subject of Dancer's trance-like state.

"Yeah. Can't you tell a beach boy when you see one?"

"What did your parents do?"

"They were divorced. My mother was a nurse. I never knew my father well."

"Dead?" asked Monk.

"I suppose so. MIA."

"What does that mean?"

"Vietnam. Missing in action. They never found out what happened to him. He was there when they still called us advisers."

"Tough break," said Monk. "Do they have carnies in California?"

"Not like this one," said Thaddeus.

"Now that we've got those freaks, I don't imagine any body has one like this one."

"That's not what I meant," replied Thaddeus. "They've got games and Ferris wheels, but it's all kind of scrubbed, if you know what I mean. Gotta compete with Disneyland."

"No meat shows?"

"Uh-uh. Strange, isn't it? Seems to me they'd figure out that the only way to compete is to give 'em what they can't get at Disneyland, like meat shows and freak shows."

"Maybe we ought to head off for California," suggested Monk.

"Too many cops to pay off," said Thaddeus.

"You've got the freaks now," Monk pointed out. "You could get rid of the girls and go legit."

For just a minute a strange look came over Thaddeus' face, as if he was actually considering it. Then the wistfulness vanished. "Too many problems," he said at last, and I knew he was thinking of Mr. Ahasuerus. "Besides, the girls bring in more money than you and the Dancer do."

"Well, I'm a little past my prime, but I'd venture to say that if Billybuck let the ladies do to him what the men do to the strippers, he'd match them dollar for dollar."

I shot a quick glance at the Dancer, but he was still oblivious to what was being said.

"He'd probably shoot them all," replied Thaddeus with a dry chuckle. "I wonder how the hell he ever got to be so good with a gun?"