Irregulars: Stories by Nicole Kimberling, Josh Lanyon, Ginn Hale and Astrid Amara Read Online Free PDF Page B

flyer,” Lancelot pointed at the grimy paper, “it’s for two different acts. The first one was Theater of Blood. They sucked.”
    “Sucked blood?” Gunther prompted.
    “No,” Lancelot said. “They drank it out of these cheap plastic goblets that looked like they came from the dollar store. They had no style, couldn’t wear makeup, and didn’t know how to play.”
    “Do you know what kind of blood it was?” Gunther glanced up from his notes.
    “They said it was human.”
    “Why didn’t you report this to our agency?” Keith asked.
    “They were humans. All of them,” Lancelot said. “And they were such poseurs I figured that they had to be lying about the blood. I thought they were trying to impress us because we eat raw meat in our act. A lot of guys get intimidated by that. They think they have to be more macho than us.”
    Gunther’s eyebrows shot up. “You eat live meat on stage?”
    “No, nothing like that.” Lancelot backpedaled. “We just get really hungry when we’re shredding and sometimes snack.”
    “So you eat raw but not live meat?” Keith clarified.
    “Right. Beef mostly. Sometimes, if it’s a really big venue, we eat goat because the bones look more, like, human.”
    “Don’t tell them that,” Agnes said.
    “No, it’s okay, Aggie. The first time we did it—ate raw meat, I mean—it was just what we brought for lunch. We were in the green room at a club snacking on frozen hamburger patties and chewing butts between sets and the bartender came back and caught us. We claimed to be from Ethiopia.”
    Keith wondered how that had gone over. Lancelot was white as vanilla ice milk.
    “Ethiopia…Nice one,” Gunther murmured, a hint of a smile curving his lips.
    “Yeah, the bartender—his name is Jordan—Jordan said that he liked our sound but our stage show was boring. It was his idea to incorporate eating raw meat into the act because it would seem hardcore. He came up with the new name too. He’s a good guy. He works at Lulu’s Flapjack Shack. See Spartacus over there? The guy with the cider? Jordan is his first cousin.”
    “Yes, we’ve met Mr. Greenbacks,” Keith said sourly. “So he came up with your new name?”
    “Carnivore Circus. Before that we were called Grand Coulee Mayhem Tennis Project,” Lancelot said sheepishly. “I guess I was drunk when I came up with that.”
    “So did Jordan set up the gig with Theater of Blood?” Keith asked.
    “No, that was our manager, Milton. I can give you his phone number only…” Lancelot shot a sideways glance at Agnes. She was on the phone with someone. Perhaps Jordan, but most likely a lawyer.
    “Only…” Gunther prompted.
    “Milton doesn’t know we’re trans-goblins and I’m worried that if he found out your guys would put some forgetting mojo on him and then he’d forget he’s supposed to be getting us a record deal.”
    “We will make every effort to conceal both your and our identities,” Gunther said.
    “Thanks, man.” Lancelot nodded absently, his attention distracted by a pair of yuppies perusing his recycled knitwear with some interest. “Would you mind if I get back to my stall now?”
    After they released Lancelot, Keith was ready to go, but Gunther insisted on seeing the rest of the market. He bought a dozen light bulbs from one table and three bottles of hot sauce from another. A few vendors gave them nervous smiles as they passed by but most stared stonily or looked away. Before leaving, Gunther stopped by and bought a Carnivore Circus CD from Lancelot, which seemed to smooth things over somewhat. Lancelot shortchanged Gunther three bucks. Keith wondered if that was malice, nervousness, or bad math. There was no real way to tell.
    Their last pass was through a row of food vendors. Keith was hungry but at the same time deeply distrustful of food—any food—prepared by goblins. Fortunately, there was Spartacus and his cider. He bought one and found a place at one of the picnic tables.
    “It