19
Showdown in Old California
Bronson ran out the employee entrance, pulling Cindy out behind him. “Come on. That suit of armor won’t slow them down for long,” he said.
They slipped through the crowd, ran up the walkway, then crossed the wooden bridge leading away from Happy Town. When they made it to the other side, Bronson stopped at a movie poster mounted on the nickelodeon theater. The poster showed a basketball court late at night. Two headlights pointed at the “camera.” A hoofed foot stood in the foreground. The title, WILLOWWOOD, was rendered in a Gothic typeface.
“Do you really think now’s the time to catch a movie at five frames a second?” Cindy said.
“Wait. The title of the movie there. Willowwood,” Bronson said. “You remember Mr. Morgan and our big case ‘Danger on Liberty Pier’?”
“Danger on Liberty Pier?” Cindy said. “Do you make up corny names for all your cases?”
“’The Case of the Smart-Alec Girlfriend’,” Bronson said. “But you remember Mr. Morgan, right?”
“Yeah, that old friend of your dad’s.”
“He told me my dad used to say a word when he would go into these weird trances. This word. Willowwood.”
“What does it mean?” Cindy asked.
“Beats me, but it’s weird that it’s here. Now. When we are. That’s gotta mean something, right?”
“Can’t you figure that out later?” Cindy said. She tugged on his sleeve. “In case you forgot, we’ve got two psychos on our tail.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “But don’t you think—” Cindy grabbed his shoulders and turned him to face the bridge.
“No, I mean they’re right there. You can literally see them. We’d better go or they’re gonna pound us into funnel cake batter.” They ran up a stone walkway that turned into a dirt road near the top.
A hand-painted sign welcomed them to OLD CALIFORNIA. White and red adobe buildings ran around the town square where a marble cross laid flat on the ground. An obelisk rose up from the joint of the cross, casting a long shadow across the rusty dirt. Three cowboys stood around the saloon spinning their ropes and whips.
The P.A. chirped on. “This here’s Zeph Curley, owner and proprietor of Curleyworld. We’re closing things up now, ya hear? Seems we got an animal control problem we gotta tend to. Stop out front for some free passes to Curleyworld, the place where dreams come true. Bye now.”
The collective sound of a hundred slighted children combined with the low grumble of the adults drowned out the “Good Night” song playing over the speakers. The performing cowboys pushed people along, leaving their props behind in a feeding trough.
“We should be safe in here while they get everybody out,” Bronson said, pulling Cindy through the swinging double doors into the saloon. He handed Cindy back her horn-rimmed glasses. “Guess these were a flop. Thanks, but I think I’ll stick to a mask from now on.” He dumped his costume out of his backpack onto a poker table.
“Wonder who recognized you: The geek or the freak?” Cindy said.
“Hey who,” said a voice from the stairs. “Who heh he.” Blaze came down. The front of his plaid shirt was open, revealing several small charges strapped to his chest.
“The cowboy?” Bronson said, throwing the mask behind the table.
Blaze ran to the chalkboard behind the bar and started writing: DOGBOY?
“Yeah, that’s me,” Bronson said. “Remember that time they tied you up in that subway car and I saved you? Pretty sure you owe me one for that. Can you help us find our friend? He’s here in Curleyworld somewhere.”
GET A WIGGLE ON, Blaze wrote. AIN’T SAFE HERE NOW.
“Osbert and Hot John? We can handle them, especially with you on our side,” Bronson said.
NOT THEM. ZEPH CURLEY. WANTS YOU CAUGHT. He erased the board. TOLD US AT A BIG SHINDY LAST NIGHT.
“Shindy?” Cindy said.
“Zeph Curley? That sounds familiar,” Bronson said.
“It should,” she said. “He’s the guy who just kicked everybody out of the park.”
Blaze tapped his nose then pointed at Cindy. He started scribbling again: HE PUT A HEX ON MOST OF US. NOT ME. NOT OSBERT.
“Hex?” Bronson said.
“Maybe you can call this case ‘The Dogboy Spooktacular Special’,” Cindy said.
Blaze put his arms out straight ahead, grunting like a zombie as he scuffled toward them.
“How about ‘Dogboy of the Dead’?” Bronson said. “So, cowboy, you seen an old guy with a turban around here?”
Blaze nodded then turned back to the board. ENCHANTING TOWN.
“Can you take us there?” Bronson asked.
Blaze nodded.
Bronson threw on his costume while Blaze dug under the bar. The cowboy popped up with a rifle in his hands. He swung the heavy oak stock in Dogboy’s direction.
“Woah, woah,” Dogboy said, holding up his hands. “I thought we were friends here.”
Blaze laughed then pointed the gun at a shelf with several brown liquor bottles lined up. He pulled the trigger— BANG! A puff of smoke blew out the barrel. The bottles remained intact. Blaze held the gun upside down then swung it around like a club, beating an imaginary attacker.
Dogboy crept over to a window facing the street. He peered out through the soaped-up glass. The town square was quiet. Not a thief in site.
“All clear,” he said. They all walked out together then hustled back to the entrance.
“Say hello to yer old pal Joe,” came a voice from the Chuck-Wagon Restaurant’s roof garden. In amongst the palm trees and sharp-bladed manzanita shrubs, a clown with a cardboard lunch box for a hat stood mocking them. “Why don’t you come up here so I can throw you off?”
Before Dogboy could react, dozens of familiar characters appeared from the surrounding buildings: clowns, pirates, fairy-tale princesses, and staff members in their bright blue polyester shirts.
Osbert trundled up the dirt road, Hot John following close behind. “Blaze! What are you waiting for? Take down that prattling mutt once and for all.”
Blaze looked down at Dogboy, nodded, then raised the butt of his rifle and chased after his fellow Guild members.
“Jonathan, he’s corrupted our brother Blaze. Retrieve them both at once. Let’s quash this now before it spreads to the others. Leave the whelp breathing though. Our new master will want him when we’re done.”
Dark purple clouds rolled over Old California. The dust kicked up, swirling around between the buildings.
“Go help the cowboy,” Dogboy said, pointing to the knights going after Blaze. “I’ll handle the big dummy.”
Cindy took one look at Hot John approaching and agreed. She grabbed an abandoned umbrella baby stroller leaned up against a post. It folded up into an effective blunt weapon.
Dogboy ran away from Hot John, leading him toward the trough by the saloon. He grabbed the whip he’d seen the street performer leave there earlier then turned around.
“Looks like I get the new toys this round, ya big clown,” Dogboy said, smacking the whip across Hot John’s ankles. He fell to the ground, the dirt mixing in with his white makeup. It reminded Dogboy of an old person’s skin all pale and folded.
Hot John scooped up a rock and chucked it at Dogboy. It smacked against his temple. He lost his balance, but Hot John jumped up and caught him before he could fall. He lifted the boy into the air, rearing back his mallet hand to strike.
Then nothing.
Hot John stood there still as the street beneath his feet. The earth quaked, cracking the metaphor. The obelisk on the cross vanished in a cloud of green smoke, leaving a transformed Zeph Curley in its place. Gone was the old codger in bib overalls, replaced by an even older codger in a baggy tan tunic. The fur lining matched his beard, which was tied in a tight braid. Arcane symbols hung on gold chains around his neck. His mop was now a carved wooden staff with a glowing blue gem mounted on top.
“Put your ears on, fancy pants. I don’t much like folk who don’t keep their word,” Zeph said, floating over to Osbert leading with his mop–staff. “Why you trying to put harm to the boy?”
Osbert smiled, taking his glasses off and wiping them off on his sweater vest. “We had every intention of bringing him to you in one piece after we’d finished. Would you deny us our vengeance? As Nietzsche said ‘It is impossible to suffer without making someone pay for it.’”
“From what I seen, you done some awful things to this boy already,” Zeph said, slapping Osbert’s glasses from his hands with his staff. “You think he oughta pay for what he done to you? I reckon he might owe you more than you owe him. Seeing as his powers is all jacked up, I’ll be happy to lend him a hand with it.”
“What do you mean?” Dogboy said, twisting out from Hot John’s frozen grasp. “My powers are as good as they’ve ever been.”
“You’re lying, boy,” Zeph said. “Ain’t no sense lying to a guy like me. Makes me mighty angry. Ain’t no shame in admitting it neither, specially since I’m fixin’ you up anyhow.”
Osbert picked his glasses up out of the dirt and put them back on his face. He smiled at Dogboy. “Dogboy, let’s consider this for a moment. You barely know this man. We’ve worked together to understand your powers before. We can do it again. Help me defeat this—” Osbert sneered, disgusted by the words forming in his mouth. “Swamp wizard… Then I shan’t rest until your powers are fully functional again.”
Dogboy picked up his whip then cracked it on the ground near Osbert’s feet. “After everything Andrus did to me… to this city… you really think I would ever agree to that?”
Zeph held out his staff. A blue energy blast shot out, hitting Dogboy in the chest. The mighty mongrel disappeared in a puff of smoke. “My heart wouldn’t sit right on that none, neither,” Zeph said before he vanished as well.
“No. Bronson,” Cindy screamed, slamming the umbrella stroller across Old Joe’s jaw. His cardboard hat flew off his head as he hit the dirt. She ran over to the spot where Dogboy had been standing then dug through the dirt. “No. There has to be a trap door or something.”
“Hey, Osbert. I remember this chick,” Hot John said, stretching his arms up over his head with a yawn. “Uh… Yeah, I know. She’s the one who was helping the mutt yesterday. Whuduya want me to do with her?”
“Our dear leader must be avenged,” Osbert said. “If Zeph won’t give us Dogboy, I suppose she’ll have to pay for his transgressions. Kill her, Jonathan. For Andrus.”
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