Curiostiy Industry
Part Five

In his line of work, Crumbell met shysters of every size and shape. At first he thought the boy could be a thief. The flesh on his face pulled so tight that his cheekbones rose up with their full shape defined. Around his eyes, the skin had been tenderized by exhaustion, probably too many nights of sitting up hungry. Crumbell found that hunger turned honest men into thieves and forced folks to do things they ought to refrain from. Still, Herman couldn't give big Jim any trouble. It looked to Crumbell that he was lucky if he had strength enough to pull on his own pants.

"I'm headed up river myself, junior. You can ride with me to Cincinnati." Jim motioned for the boy to get in the car.

"I got money for fuel," Herman proudly produced a wrinkled ten dollar bill from his breast pocket as he shut the car door. Cupping it in his hand, he extended it for Crumbell to examine.

"Hold on to it son," Jim put the car into gear. "We're going to be coming up on Kendricksburgh you can buy me a bottle of whiskey when we get there."

"Only if we get Greasy Tit, that's my brand." Herman announced.

"Hell for ten dollars we can get a month's worth of old GT. I say we go high class and get Berman's. That's my brand." Jim pushed the accelerator pedal down and the car lurched forward.

"You're on mister," Herman thought about life in the big city, of how it must be full of adventure. New automobiles, top shelf hooch, women, parties and money for his family all colored his hopes as they headed down the road.

"What kinda work you headed to the city for?" Jim asked, conversation would keep that dull ache from his head.

"Why you wanta know?" Herman crossed his arms over his chest.

"Just making conversation boy," Jim laughed.

"What do you do?" The boy took a challenging tone.

"I'm a promoter in the curiosity industry." Jim's voice carried a note of pride as he carefully announced his self-appointed title.

"What? You talking in circles mister. What do you promote?"

"Midwest talent in the entertainment industry."

"What? I don't get it. Are you in the movies?"

"Hardly," Jim snorted. "I'm respectable. I work in the live theater."

"Are you that smart ass who tried to put those sacrilegious Shakespeare plays on up in Fosston?"

"No, no I don't go in for them foreign entertainments," Jim explained. "My interests lie primarily in small local amusements."

"Freak shows?"

"I prefer the term Curiosities son." Jim spoke deliberately, a little annoyed at having to explain the complexities of his work. "These folks are my friends, they are not freaks. No more so than a great singer, great actor, or a great musician. They are performers with unusual and spectacular abilities. It's starting to get late," Jim informed Herman, anxious to change the topic. "We'll stop in Kendricksburgh soon and load up with some supplies."

"I need some tobacky too," Herman said.

"Tobacco and whiskey, you live pretty hard for such a youngin." Jim trailed off with a chuckle.

"I work for the family that gives me the right to do what I want, " Herman followed his declaration by spitting through his teeth the way his pa used to, before he got sick and couldn't get out a bed no more, let alone hock a decent luggie.