Three Stories
from CLOWN: a PUNK NOIR Magazine series
Navigating Treachery in the High C’s
by
Offer Kuban
Confident knocking announced Maestro Benigno Cavelli’s guest. French tenor Gérard Charpentier, already in full makeup and costume, strode in, followed by a Royal Concertgebouw waiter.
“Ciao, Beni!” He said, arms thrown wide. He nodded at the drinks on the counter. “Tradition lives on, n’est ce pas?”
The Maestro shared pre-concert salutary drinks with his Amsterdam soloists. Tonight, Prosecco and Amaretto spritz. He felt small comfort with the tiny arsenic vial in his pocket.
“Si, signore. Come. Sit!” He waved a hand. “Your costume. A replica of Caruso’s Pagliaccio, no?”
Charpentier, smugness smeared across his face, plopped himself onto the rich leather sofa. “Oui, mon ami! You have an eye for details.”
“Sadly, some details slip by.” He dumped the manila envelope’s contents on the coffee table. Letters, photos of the couple in flagrante. “Like the affair you had with my wife, Gérard.” He retrieved their drinks.
Charpentier’s expression darkened, undeterred by the white Pagliaccio makeup. He scoffed, then smiled. “Spilled passion, Beni. Ancient history! Meant nothing.”
“Perhaps for you.”
Charpentier gulped down spritz, clicked his tongue. “Hmm, almonds?”
Cavelli watched the clown double over, vomit, then he dialed the phone. “Hej? Seems Charpentier’s taken ill. Call the understudy. And an ambulance.”
Offer works in healthcare by day, and knows he should be spending more time writing. He grew up in Vancouver, BC but now calls Winnipeg, Manitoba home. Offer loves multiple genres, including Science Fiction & Fantasy, but he also dabbles in the shadows of Crime & retro Noir. He has words published in Punk Noir Magazine, Bunker Squirrel Magazine, Shotgun Honey, and Pistol Jim Press. He is the host and producer of “The Speakeasy: Conversations with the Writing Community” podcast, which he’d love for you to check out, and he thanks you in advance for reading and listening.
Twitter: @OfferKuban
BEGGARS NIGHT BY ELIZABETH DEARBORN
Beggars Night
by
Elizabeth Dearborn
Benito smeared cold cream on his face. Next, he drew black lines and teardrops with eyeliner and dusted his cheeks with glitter. Wearing last Halloween’s clown costume and his dead grandfather’s boots, miles too big, he caught the bus to the other side of town. A little girl on the bus wasn’t watching the orange UNICEF collection box beside her. Benito snatched it and ran, ignoring her cries.
“It’s Beggars Night,” he told the lady at the first house. She gave him $5.00, which he added to the UNICEF money. He grabbed a few Snickers bars there, unwrapping one and eating it as he stumbled onto the porch of his next victim.
“Trick or treat!”
“You’re a clown? Gonna make me laugh?”
“Nope. It’s just a costume.”
Benito went around the block collecting money and candy until after dark. Time to go home to the projects.
“Where’s your mom?” the bus driver asked, although Benito paid the full adult fare.
“I’m older than I look,” he lied. He was 10.
Soy payaso, he thought. I’m a clown. I can do anything on Beggars Night! He smiled. The candy and UNICEF money would feed him and his abuela through next month.
BIO: Elizabeth lives near the Canadian border with her disabled veteran husband. Her work has been published in Flashshot, Burst literary ezine, the Drabbledark anthology, the final B.O.U.L.D. anthology, Punk Noir magazine, and elsewhere.
NO RESPECT BY KENNETH M. GRAY
No Respect
by
Kenneth M Gray
The media keeps calling me ‘Son of Krusty’ or ‘Bozo the Ripper’ even though I leave my ‘Bloody Jester’ calling card attached to the balloons I tie to my victims’ bodies.
No respect.
You think it’s easy sneaking up on someone wearing clown shoes? Their first reaction when they see my big red nose is to laugh or pat their pockets. Sorry, no change. Then I spritz them with my giant flower, and they face-plant, just like this guy.
I have to hurry; people will be getting out of the shows soon. I kneel next to my victim and open my bag o’ tricks, and then it’s stabby-stabby, chop-chop time.
Nothing left but to blow up the balloon. I really need to invest in an air pump or quit smoking. I eventually get the balloon with my ‘Bloody Jester’ card tied to this guy’s pinky head to my van.
A drunk staggers into the alley. I lower my head and walk by.
I felt a cigarette hit my back. “Stupid clown.”
No respect.
I stop to look in my bag o’ tricks… yep, one balloon left.
BIO: Kenneth M. Gray is retired and lives in New Jersey with his daughter and two furry overlords, Lola & Lolo. He has kept stories in his head for too long and is now setting them free. He is still working on it and one day hopes to release his illustrated story of Gleepglorp: A Tale of Love and Abduction.
X- @KennethMGRAY2 Instagram- @graykennethm Bluesky-@kennet
Cool series going on here...