He tested its weight in his hand, the feel of it across his palm. “How does it connect?”

“Well,” said Hep, “I suppose it connects like a hammer. You know, ‘cause it’s a hammer.”

It felt better than most. “No,” said Slesh. “To the show, I mean.”

Hep looked the hammer over, traced its handle to Slesh’s arm, and followed that line to its natural conclusion. “Right,” said Hep. “It connects to the back of my head. Right here.” He tapped the base of his skull with his knuckles. “It can come off at the end of the dime store bit. Knock ‘em dead—a real show stopper.”

Slesh dropped the hammer on the stage. “I won’t do it.”

“Do you think she’ll wear the green dress?”

“This will kill you.”

“I know,” said Hep, “a real show stopper. I hope she’ll wear the green dress.”

“She won’t come.”

“We played the World’s Fair.”

“I know, Hep. I know.”

“Then whadda you mean, she won’t come?”

“I mean just that, what I said.”

“But this is Cincinnati. Besides, Slesh, this is us—you and me. We played the World’s Fair. Don’t you wanna go out with a show stopper?”

“Course I do, but not by killing you.”

Hep grinned, if only inwardly for a moment. He felt the sweat gathering at the corners of his mouth. “But,” he said, “you said—”

Slesh interrupted. “I didn’t mean it. I was hot. That’s it. I was hot and I didn’t mean it. I’m tired and I just wanna sit out by the old lake for a bit, not worry about shoes or hotels for a bit. I don’t want this. It’s all what I said, already.” He’d been backing toward the wings as he spoke. He was nearly out when Hep hollered, “You owe me, buddy.”

Slesh stopped. “No,” he said. “I don’t owe you a thing.”

“It’s hot,” Hep said, pulling a kerchief from his breast pocket and mopping his cheeks and forehead. “You think she’ll wear the green dress? She was always pretty in green.”

“You’ve lost it,” said Slesh before turning to follow through on his exit. “Lost it.”

“True. True. I’ve lost everything, I think, but you owe me on account of that. Besides, you said—”

Slesh froze mid-step. “What?”

Hep idly kicked the hammer. “I said,” he said, his eyes on the stage boards, “that you sai—”

Slesh crossed the space between them before Hep could make the “d” sound and slapped his partner across the mouth. “Don’t say that,” he said. “I said don’t say that. I was hot, was all.”

Past the lights there was an odd grumble, even something close to a gasp—no laughs, though.

Hep didn’t respond much to the slap. He gave the hammer another little kick, kept his eyes low, and said, “OK, Slesh. You win, buddy. ‘Sides, we played the World’s Fair—right pal?”

Past the lights, a cough.

“If she comes,” Hep continued, “if she wears the green dress, let’s open with the dime store bit.”

“She’s not coming,” Slesh said, placing his hand on Hep’s sore cheek. “I know it hurts, but she’s never coming again.”

Hep sat down where he stood. The spot narrowed in. Slesh leaned close, whispered, “You’re falling apart, here, buddy.”

Hep looked out over the footlights, traced the outlines of the cloudy shapes beyond. There was too much motion, no laughs. “Done that already, pal.”

Slesh stood straight.

Wiping some sweat from his neck, Hep said, “Full house.”

“Yep,” said Slesh. “Solid night, I suppose.”

“Let’s end it,” Hep said, “finish this out.”

Slesh turned, once more, to exit the stage. “It’s already done. You finished it for the both of us.”

Hep stood. “Take that back.”

Slesh made no response, keeping, instead, to his silent ascent to the wings.

“Take it back,” Hep said, “or I’ll take this to you.” He’d gathered the hammer at some point. There were unmistakable gasps—fewer sounds of fidgeting, too.

Without turning, Slesh said, “Go on and do it, then.”

Hep charged him, even made it halfway across the stage before it set in that he couldn’t follow through. He dropped the hammer, hunched over with his hands on his knees.

Slesh, his back to everything, said, “Never had the nuts for the real stuff.”

“Please,” said Hep, sweat dripping from every part of him. “Let’s give ‘em a real ending.”

“She said you never had the nuts.”

“Please,” Hep repeated. “Please.”

“You want your ending?” Slesh said, motionless. “Tell them you want it, then.”

Hep hung his drenched head and moved downstage. The spot followed. Reaching the edge, he looked out, squinting. “I want it,” he said. “I really want it.”

A cough. Another. The creaking of seats.

Slesh turned. He took time to walk to the hammer, took time to pick it up.

Hep continued to speak. “I want it,” he said. There was no telling the sweat in his eyes from the tears.

“They can’t hear you,” said Slesh as he approached. “You’ll have to say it louder.”

“I want it!”

The sound of the hammer against the skull was perfectly clear throughout the theater, a dull crack, wet and full. Hep fell gracelessly into the pit. A commotion began, mostly silent, mostly hushed and fast, a rustling.

“What’s this supposed to be?” called some voice from beyond the lights.

Slesh bowed with a smile before making his exit. Hep remained where he fell, as still as anything, despite the rules of spectacle. Screams came, in time, sharp and meaningful.

Timestamp: 02.19.08 at 08:31 AM. Filed under: Fiction.