Fun House

46

When I first met layla Shapiro, back in June at the Rolling Thunder, I thought she was ballsy and brave.

She kicked a psycho killer’s shotgun across the floor to me so I could take the bad guy down.

Now I realize she wasn’t being brave.

She’s just crazy. Whacked. Insane. All of the above.

She looks extremely ghoulish, lit up by the blinking red, white, and blue tracer lights trimming the deep-fried candy stand. They dance across her twisted features like a hundred flickering ghost-story flashlights.

“Is someone else going to be killed tonight?” asks Ceepak.

“Of course,” says Layla with a grade school giggle. “But not until the very last minute. You have to draw out the suspense, never take your audience where they want to go right away, and always give yourself just enough time for a tidy denouement that will leave them breathlessly anticipating next year’s show. This is what I promised my new business partners.”

“The Lombardo family?”

Another grade school giggle. “You don’t think I could actually scrape together one million dollars to take out Marty, do you, Officer Ceepak? So I made Mr. Lombardo a very sweet deal. A sixty-forty split. He gets the sixty, I get the forty and full producer credits, of course. I take over Prickly Pear … we’re talking about a whole slate of new shows.…”

“Danny, we need to shut this down.”

“No,” says Layla. “Don’t be an idiot, Officer Ceepak. If you in any way interfere with my storyline, a lot of people will die. I gave very specific instructions. If there is any deviation from the script, the shooters are to use their weapons and explosives and whatever else they brought with them to take out as many civilians as they can to give me my thrilling conclusion without getting caught, because these sorts of people never get caught.”

“All right,” I hear Chip Dale’s voice over the outdoor speakers.

“If you tamper with my narrative,” says Layla, “trust me: they will retaliate.”

“Mike and Dave are upstairs in the second mirror maze, battling the baffling black lights.”

“But no fucking smoke,” mumbles Layla, more interested in her upside-down, hall-of-mirrors reality than what’s happening out here in real reality.

“The tumbling tunnel slowed them down a little.…”

“Who are your shooters?” asks Ceepak.

Layla shrugs. “I don’t know. Nobody knows. Not even Bobby Lombardo. It’s all very hush-hush.”

Ceepak glances at his watch.

“When is the big finish?”

“Ha! Even I don’t know that, which makes it even more exciting, don’t you think? It’ll be raw and real. A total surprise. Sort of like when Jack Ruby shot Lee Harvey Oswald. Talk about a historic live-TV moment. Nobody saw that one coming.”

“So, ladies, think you can beat Mike and Dave’s time? You ready to rock, Soozy?”

“You bet!”

“I just asked for a death between nine fifty and nine fifty-five. Before we cut to the final commercial pod. I have a feeling the network will stay live when we hit ten. Push back the rest of their lineup. This is going to be so fucking huge, they’d be idiots if they just tossed to the local news.…”

I glance at my watch. It’s nine-freaking-forty.

“I wish I could be more specific about the timing, but I wanted to build in some flexibility. After all, the two players are artists. They can’t be boxed in.”

Ceepak shoots me a glance. Holds up two fingers.

Layla has confirmed our suspicions and narrowed down our list of targets.

“Becca? You ready to win some money for SPF?”

“Let’s do it, Chip!”

“Okay. You two are going in … right after the break!”

“Who do you intend to kill next?”

“Who do you think?” says Layla with a perverted playfulness.

“Soozy?” I say.

Layla laughs. “And that’s why you’ll never be anything but a flatfoot cop in cargo shorts, Officer Boyle. Do you know how hard it is to get a job in television or any of the glamour professions? How impossible it is for someone in their twenties to become an executive producer on the number one hit show in the country? I had to be smarter and hungrier than every other wolf in the pack. I don’t have the luxury of being a slow-witted idiot like you. No, Danny. We do not kill Soozy. We need Soozy. Next season. Her character arc is vital to.…”

Geeze-o, man.

It’s Becca.