Page 15 of Monkey Business

They stared at the man, waiting for the words to truly sink in, for him to perhaps make some connections.

“People?” he whispered.

“The entire trailer was filled with men, women, and children, Gus. They all died, and you were nowhere to be found. You’re still wanted for their murders.” He stared at all of them, shaking his head.

“Never. I would have never done such a thing. I mostly hauled for the O’Noth Circus. They were based out of Arizona. I wouldn’t have done such a thing.”

“Gus, is it possible you don’t remember? There could have been a reason that you made the decision to carry that load. Maybe you were forced to do it. Is it possible that you needed the money?” asked Nine.

“Never. Never! I’m telling you I wouldn’t do it. You know why?”

“I know why,” said Code. “Because a woman that you knew, who was pregnant, attempted to come across the border and died in a van in the desert. She’d married a Mexican man, who wasn’t a nice person. He was involved in drugs and prostitution. She was your sister.”

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.

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