Con Artist Legacy

Chapter Twenty: The Real Eric Matthews

Chapter Twenty:  The Real Eric Matthews

For the second time in a week, I found myself stationed in the empty parking-lot located directly in front of the old fairgrounds…contemplating life (although this time it wasn’t my doing).

We’d actually arrived quite a few minutes ago, and were just chilling in the car. Matthews displayed no intentions of getting out; he hadn’t even turned the engine off yet. And since I’d no reason to make the first move, I let the man sweat.

Matthews clearly expected Bubba and Harriet to be guarding the front gate, and that was the number one reason he’d brought me along (that and his crazy idea that I knew where the jewels were, and might retrieve them at any given moment). He appeared terrified of having to deal with them; an ornery midget and a bearded a lady, that’s all it took to bring Matthews down. 

He was probably contemplating how much he actually wanted to speak to my grandmother, and whether it was too late to turn around.

I took the opportunity to case the front lot. The Nonnies circus gave a vastly different impression during the daylight hours. The temporary fence surrounding the camp seemed less menacing and jail-like, while the interior resembled a quaint and colorful trailer park instead of a horror movie set.

It still sat in the middle of nowhere, but as Matthews and I observed all the normally dressed people milling around, it all seemed so mundane.

“I thought you weren’t afraid of clowns,” I said.

“I’m not.”

“Oh, so you’re scared of short people?”

“No.”

“Extremely tall people?”

“No.”

“Bearded ladies?”

“NO, I’m not afraid of any part in a circus,” he said.

“You’re afraid of something…”

Exasperated, Matthews slammed the driver’s side door and stomped towards the front gate. I giggled at his reaction, and it soon turned into full blown laughter as I watched Matthews trying to deal with Bubba.

Standing at slightly more than six feet tall, Matthews towered over Bubba, who I’d swear was less than four feet (no matter what he said). There was a lot of wild (and rude) gesturing on Matthews’s part, along with a slew of what I’d assume were curse words in his fancy language. At some point, he had both hands tugging at his long locks, as he paced around the lot, his boots clanking with the hard gravel.

Bubba, on the hand kept his cool; tiny hands firmly placed over his stomach and feet dug into the ground. I suppose if I had a wife taller than Matthews, I wouldn’t be scared of much either.

Realizing Bubba had no intention of moving from the gate, Matthews moved on to ‘phase two’ of the operation…simply walking around the man; a common mistake that most new visitors made. He hadn’t taken two steps forward when the ground shook, and Harriet emerged from a small booth near the door.

Fear was the only word to describe Matthews’s face, and I knew it was my cue to get out of the car. Remembering to throw my costume to the back of the car, I stifled down my laughter as I approach the ‘guards’ (knowing it wouldn’t be appreciated by either of them). 

“Hey guys,” I said, greeting the odd group.

“Ehh,” Harriet grunted. She walked towards me, and awkwardly hugged me. Apparently after three visits, we were friends now and I didn’t know how I felt about it.