Mime

It was just past midnight and there was a mime trapped in an invisible box behind Donatello’s.  Pauli had just been commenting to Mouse how there had been a dumpster there a few years ago, back when this was a regular drop.  But the dumpster was gone now, relocated because the police had found too many bad things in it, which was why Don’s had been off the drop list for so long.  The place was cold now, safe.  Except for the goofy painted street rat feeling out some ghostly prison where the dumpster used to be. 

The mime smiled at Mouse and Pauli as they came out the back door.  His face was white and his hair such a pale blond it looked like bleached bone, all contrasted by a red scarf and black leotard.  He stood under the alleyway street lamp like it was a spotlight, waving now with one hand and propped against the air with the other.

The two men shared a look.  “You think he saw anything?” the smaller man, Mouse, asked his friend.

“Saw what?” Pauli said, approaching the clown.  “We’re just two dish washers closing up late.  Ain’t that right, Smiley?  You didn’t see nothing, did you?” 

The mime jerked his head back and forth like a cartoon character. 

Both thugs laughed, though the humor died quickly as they crowded into the dim spotlight.  All three stood within the ring, very close, very quiet.  Pauli folded his thick arms and glared.  Mouse smoked his cigarette, the red glow reflected in his steady eyes.  The mime just smiled lazily. 

Mouse finally flicked the smoldering butt into the clown’s chest.  “What the hell you doing here this late?” he demanded.

The mime made a pillow of his white-gloved hands and laid his head there, asleep for a moment.  Then his eyes popped open; even his eyes were almost white, so light was the grey of his irises.  He straightened his neck and shook his head, as if disappointed. 

“Couldn’t sleep, eh?”  Pauli slapped Mouse’s shoulder with the back of his hand.  “Hey, what do you know, I speak mime!” 

Mouse looked the alley up and down but it was dark and empty, save their own silver Cadillac.  “What’d you do, walk here?  Ain’t no houses ‘round here, no buses running this late.”

The mime made like he was running in place, stumbled and recovered, then shook his fist back at whatever invisible obstacle he’d just tripped over.

Pauli cracked up.  “Oh, I think I like this guy.”

“Yeah?  Well I don’t.”  Mouse groped him, feeling around his skintight clothes, pinching the soft red fabric at his neck. 

Pauli became serious.  “You ain’t wearing a wire on us now, are you, friend?”

The white face also became serious and moved in the negative.  He drew an X over his heart and held up one hand.

“You know what would happen if you were?” Mouse asked.

One finger cut the air across his red scarf.

“That’s right,” Pauli said.  Then he back-slapped Mouse’s arm again.  “Hey, you know who this guy reminds me of?  Remember Lexi?  Sexy Lexi?  Thought he was a funny man.”

Mouse rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, he thought he was fucking funny.  Don’t miss that guy.”

The mime thumbed at himself and shook his head, as if to say, Me neither.  His face drew into deep frown, fingers fluttering down like tears from his eyes.  He tugged at his legs, which were now fast to the ground.  Then he started swaying, hands flat and rising to show the water level.  The silent crying became mute pleas for mercy, until his fingers brushed his mouth and he blew up like a blowfish to keep from drowning.  But he could only hold his breath so long.  His grey-white eyes roamed to and fro, mouth finally popped, and he silently gasped in a death swallow of ethereal water.