He leaned back, turning toward the clowns. “Bring them to my tent.”
“No!” Carlo shouted. “Leave me alone!”
They didn’t listen. The clowns grabbed him by the arms and dragged him along while I walked ahead of them, powerless.
We reached a smaller tent beside the main performance one. Inside sat a bearded lady I hadn’t seen before. She was at a desk, butas soon as the man with the skull-painted face entered, she rose to her feet.
The clowns shoved Carlo into a chair in front of the table, and the man leaned against the edge of it, his eyes fixed on my brother.
“What’s your name, boy?” he asked.
“C-C-Carlo,” Carlo stammered.
“Is it true what they said, that you stole from them?”
Carlo shook his head. “No, I...” His voice broke. “I just helped sell tickets.”
“And where is the money?” the man asked.
“They took it,” Carlo said. “The clowns took it.”
The man stood, his gaze cold as he walked toward me. “So that’s your word against theirs.”
“I’m telling the truth, I swear!” Carlo’s voice cracked louder this time.
The man ignored him and stopped in front of me.
“Would you pay for your brother’s mistake?”
“No!” Carlo shouted. “She won’t, because I didn’t steal anything!”
The man turned sharply, grabbed him by the shirt, and hissed, “Shush.”
“What do you want from us?” I finally managed to say.
He turned again, his eyes locking on mine. One brow lifted. He straightened his posture, letting go of Carlo, and walked back toward me.
“To pay,” he said quietly, his tone flat.
“I can call my father, Rocco. He can bring the money. Or my brother, Cristian,” I said quickly. “We’ll pay you back every cent. Just please, leave my brother alone.”
He pressed his thumb beneath my jaw, lifting it until I had to meet his eyes. “I have no doubt you will,” he said softly.
Then he turned away, walking to the table. He picked up one of those old white rotary phones with circular holes you had to spin for each number.
“Call him,” he said with a wink. “Let’s see what your father has to say.”
I stepped closer, standing in front of the table. The phone looked strange in my hands. But I still pressed my palm against the top and lifted the handle. But before I could dial, the man took it from me and spun the numbers himself.
The phone rang once.
Then Rocco’s voice came through. “Yes, Oscar.”
Oscar. Was that his name?
“Dad, it’s me,” I whispered. “I need your help.”
Before I could say another word, the man took the phone from my hand. “Come by my tent,” he said, then hung up.
