COULROPHOBIA By Phillip Layton (Farzwhal)

The smell of elephant excrement filled Fremont's nostrils as he followed his partner into the main arena.

He had been lumped on this pot case by the captain due to his partner Wallace's predisposition for baton throwing - she had caught a running crack dealer in the back of the skull with the point of a baton. The poor miscreant had developed a numbness in his right arm that wouldn't go away, even with the $500,000 of damages paid him by the state.

As a result, they had been moved from the heavier narcotics dealers to the dope runners. Fremont himself cared little about the demotion, only the fact that his first case had to be at the Galston Brothers circus.

Take a hold of yourself, he thought. The clowns have probably already been on. It will just be acrobats and jugglers, that's all.

He entered the main arena tentatively behind his partner and slid into a back seat in the stands.

"Get a hold of yourself," said Wallace. She had noticed her partner's forehead sweating profusely.

Fremont composed himself. "I'll calm down, as long as the perp is not a clown. If it is, we'll agree that you have to take it down, OK?"

"Agreed."

A person approached them from the side. "Ten bucks is the entry fee tonight, people."

At first Fremont noticed the big red shoes. His heart leapt into his throat and he began to shiver. The lime green baggy pants sent him into a screaming panic.

He leapt backwards instinctively, not caring that he was in the rear seat of the stand and there was a fifteen feet drop behind him.

The last thing Fremont saw was the concerned face of his partner, and his demented nemesis smiling and frowning at him at the same time.

300 Words