Free The Dead Don't Speak by Kendall Bailey Page B

face. The attendant, not knowing this wasn't part of the show, returned the microphone to Paul.
    "Is it true?" Paul asked.
    His wife bobbed her head up and down, her hands still clinging to her face.
    "When did you find out?" Paul asked.
    "This morning," she said, her words being picked up by the mic and broadcast for all the crowd to hear.
    Now all eyes turned back to Zach.
    Cayte captured the whole scene on video. Margaret looked over at her daughter with gratitude in her eyes. Tonight that clip would be uploaded to YouTube and sent to various news outlets. Margaret knew the only thing people love more than a good fraud is when a good fraud is caught in the act. Zach would have a show, if not in Vegas then somewhere. Margaret needed to dig her claws deeper into Walter.
    Security arrived a moment later and escorted the four fair workers out of the building.
    *****
     
    Simmons finished his show but the audience was lukewarm at best.
    "What the hell happened out there?" Chris asked.
    "Fuckin' kid," Simmons spat, his face was red and he was sweating. "I should find that little shit and curb-stomp him. What right did he have to interrupt my show?"
    "How'd he know the girl was pregnant?"
    "Hell if I know. Probably knows the couple or something. Went through their trash and found the test. Who knows?"
    Chris smiled now, "I've got a couple girls that'll cheer you up."
    "I'm not in the mood. You go. Bang one. Bang 'em both. I'm going to bed."
    Simon left the dressing room and went straight to the elevator. He rode it up to his floor, went into his suite, and slammed the door. The lights of Las Vegas sprawled out into the night beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Simon marched directly to the bar and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels. He loosened the cap then spun it like a top, hard enough that once it was off it went click-clacking across the tile floor.
    It wasn't his favorite liquor, not even his favorite whiskey, but Simon and Jack had spent some low times together. Now Simon returned to him like an old friend. He tipped the bottle up, taking a long pull. The alcohol slid down hot and warmed his abdomen. It felt like home.
    How could the kid have known that girl was pregnant, Simon wondered. Rooting through the trash seemed the most logical explanation. For a moment, he considered what it would mean if the boy could actually hear the dead. Simon imagined show after show where a little kid would suddenly stand up and make him look like a fool. A little boy stealing his audience away.
    No! He wouldn't let that happen. Simon would have a word with security. There would be footage of the boy coming in tonight. They would capture a still photo and ban him from the theater; his family too. Simon took another pull off the bottle. It burned less this time. The next show would be business as usual. The kid was a heckler, that's all.
    Simon walked to the bathroom, bottle in hand. He set it down and rested both hands on the counter, hunching a little. He studied his face in the mirror.
    "It's entertainment," he told himself. "The little fucker is trying to steal your audience."
    The bottle of Jack Daniels called out to him. Simon picked it up and did a four-second pour down his gullet. The bottle clanked down beside the bathroom sink; Simon tottered a little, his head swimming. Jack didn't waste any time. The guy was all business.
    Moments later, when things had settled, Simon took up his bottle and headed for the living room. He planned to get good and drunk, watch some TV, and figure out how to deal with tonight's embarrassment.
    The arrangement of Simon's suite was such that the living room was only twenty feet from the entrance. He was still on his feet when he heard the zwip of paper sliding on tile.
    The noise had come from the door. Simon turned his head and saw a large, dark yellow envelope coming to rest. His brain, working through the tidal waves of alcohol, told Simon someone had just slipped it beneath his door. He covered the