“Here comes the welcoming wagon,” said Miles, referencing the prostitute.
Hoffman saw the woman and sighed. “Hopefully she’s just a hooker and not someone waiting to ambush us.”
It had happened before: fake hitchhikers, tenants in other hotels, broken down on the side of the road shams. All of them tricks in the hopes of getting their guard down so they could be attacked and overcome. Hoffman was normally a genius at telling the real ones from the fakes.
Hoffman pulled the keys from the ignition, watching the woman stop in front of the door to wait for them. “We’ll know in a second, though. If she is a prostitute, then just like all the others, she’ll see my face and run off.” Hoffman turned the light switch, the cab light came on.
The woman leaned down, eyes narrowing as her face twisted into a grimace. She turned around and hurried away in the opposite direction.
They laughed.
“Come on,” Hoffman continued. “Let’s get in there, so we can get some shut-eye.”
Miles nodded. He wanted sleep but was terrified of the nightmares that would return during the night.
Chapter Four
Andy saw the slanted sign for Eagle’s Nest Trailer Park and slowed the car down. He’d come here to see if Nicole was home. When he’d peeked into his bedroom this morning, he’d found his bed empty. The blankets were bunched together, but Nicole was nowhere to be found. Her car was gone, her cigarettes, and the cup with the drowned cigarette butts had been emptied and left in the sink.
Because I was on the couch.
Maybe. He supposed that might have motivated her to leave. Maybe she’d taken offense, or was embarrassed. He knew as well as her what would’ve happened if he’d stayed in the bed; nevertheless, there were many times he’d been tempted to go back in there. He was glad he hadn’t, though. Neither of them needed any extra guilt. They’d caused each other enough grief because of Danny. It needed to stop at some point, and that time had come.
Driving through the tumbledown trailer park, passing rusted trailers on each side of him, he made his way to Nicole’s on the right, in the curve of the horseshoe road. From where he was, he could see it atop the small slope. The weed-choked driveway was empty.
He turned in regardless, putting the Camaro in park. His car was the only thing he’d splurged any of his parents’ money on. Raven-black with a wide purple racing stripe on the hood, roof and trunk, he cherished this car and treated it better than most men did their wives. He’d even named her Ebony, for no reason other than her dark color.
There were no trees in the yard, so the sun blared through his window. It was a muggy hot day, sticky and thick that made it hard to breathe. The five day forecast said it would be like this all week. After a brutal winter, he was happy summer had finally conquered the cold, but days like this were a bit too much. Even in the A/C-filled car, he felt sweat beading at his hairline. Checking himself in the rearview mirror, his wavy hair was slightly damp in the front, a line of perspiration stretching all the way across that glued curly sprigs to his forehead.
The urge to smoke a cigarette was hard to ignore. Luckily, he’d thought enough to bring along some nicotine gum. He took the blister pack from his pocket and squeezed. A yellowish block popped through the foil. Raising the tray, he tongued the gum into his mouth and started to chew. He felt nicotine secrete into his mouth, tingling his tongue. Then, as if it was a wad of dip, he packed it against his gums. His body trembled slightly as the effects of the gum took hold.
His anxiousness began to settle, and his hands stopped trembling with craving. Andy looked at the trailer. The storm door was missing its screen. He could see the dents in the tin surface of the front door from multiple kicks. He assumed the majority of those were caused by Danny’s feet, bashing the door in after Nicole had locked him out. Three windows on the front had slashed screens. The aluminum siding was peeling back, curled like fungus-infested toenails. Most of the bushes were dead or dying, weeds slithering up through the brown bushels as if trying to pull them into the moldy ground. Hanging in the air was a twinge of septic odor. He assumed their tank had flooded and badly needed to be drained.
Why did they stay here? Surely there were other places to rent for the same price as this shithole. He guessed the reason they were still here was mostly due to lack of inspiration. They’d become too comfortable to leave, even if the place was disintegrating around them.
Should he wait for Nicole to get back? What if she didn’t come home anytime soon? Instead of coming here, what if she’d driven back to his house and was there waiting in his driveway while he was waiting in hers? Maybe she had to work today. She hadn’t said anything about it last night, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t on the schedule.
I’ll go by the grocery store and see if her car’s in the parking lot. If not, I’ll head home.
With that decided he dropped the gear in reverse, turned slightly in the seat to see through the rear windshield, and started to back up.
A truck whipped into the driveway, blocking him in.
“Shit!” shouted Andy, stamping the brake. “Who the hell is this?”
He faced forward, shoving the gear back to park. He killed the engine. Throwing open his door, he was about to climb out when he spotted activity in his rearview mirror. In the small box of glass, he saw both doors on the truck swing open. A man dropped out of each side. They dressed nearly identical: tank tops that strained to support their wilted guts and sagging chests, pale arms furry with dark hair. Mullets capped their crowns, spiked up tall and stiff in the front, wavy and long in the back. Both wore giant mirrored sunglasses with pride.
Manchu’s boys.
Wayne and Larry—two idiots, but still dangerous, even though their stupidity was their greatest feature. Andy took their arrival very seriously.
He got out of the car to meet them.
“Love this car, Andy,” said Wayne. His goatee was a thick ring of gray and brown hair around his mouth, making him look older than his thirty-eight years. “I’ve seen it around town and gotten a hard on every time it rode by.”
Andy grimaced. “Wow. Thanks, Wayne, I think. Should I give you a moment alone with it?”
“Might not hurt,” said Wayne.
Andy nodded. “I’ll keep it in mind.” He glanced at Larry. The tubby man’s left hand hovered at his hip, his fingers behind his back. Andy wondered if he had a pistol tucked into his pants and his fingers were itching to snatch it free. “So, what brings you by my brother’s place?”
“We were about to ask you the same,” said Wayne. “We’ve been watching it all goddamn day and you’re the first person we seen yet.”
“Nicole hasn’t come by?”
“Nope. Not unless it was b’fore nine.” Wayne eyed him suspiciously. “Why? You lookin’ for her?”
“Well…I was looking for Danny, actually. Nicole came by and said she hasn’t seen him in a couple days. I was thinking about riding out to Lou’s so I could check if he was there.”
Wayne shook his head. “He’s not.”
“Hmm,” said Andy. “Why do you want to talk to Danny?”
Larry’s lips started to move. Andy could see the indention of his tongue prodding from the inside. Then he leaned forward, spitting out a brown wad of snuff that spattered when it hit the ground. “Lou hasn’t seen Rosco in a few days and he’s a little…concerned.” His tongue went back at it, working to get the loose bits of tobacco that remained clinging to his browning teeth.
“Becoming a goddamn psychopath about it is more like it,” said Wayne.
“It’s his brother, what you expect?” asked Larry.
Wayne turned to Andy. “Last he seen him was on Friday, when he got in your brother’s car. Both acting giddy as a couple of bitches. So, you haven’t seen them?”
Andy shook his head. “I said earlier, I haven’t. Nicole’s worried about Danny.”
“Came to big brother for help, huh?” said Larry in a mocking tone.
&n
bsp; “Something like that,” said Andy. “Why don’t you tell me what they were doing? Nicole says Danny was spending a lot of time with Rosco lately. Maybe I should ride by and ask Lou what’s going on.”
A scowl distorted Larry’s plump face. “You go see Lou; you might not walk away from it. He’s still pissed at you.”
“He’ll get over it. Eventually.” Andy noticed a dark skinned Mexican guy walking a Pit Bull in the road. Stopping to let the dog do his business in the ditch, he was now watching the exchange.
Great. Now we’ve got an audience.
Wayne shook his head. “Best damn runner he ever had, Lou said. You just turned your back on friends for a edge-ee-cation?” Wayne shook his head as if an education was the ultimate betrayal.
Andy had seen what was happening to Danny early on and stopped working for Lou, getting away from drugs altogether. Being old friends, Lou had let him go without much argument, but what real friendship they’d had was destroyed in the process. Andy blamed himself for Danny’s problems. Not only had he allowed it, he’d supported it. Instigated it.
Looking at the ground, Andy put his hands on his hips. He felt the urge to throw a punch brewing inside of him like a freshly lit fire needing to be poked. Wouldn’t take much before the calm spark turned into an inferno. “What’s my brother been doing spending so much time at Lou’s place?”
“He ain’t been spending no damn time at Lou’s,” said Larry. “That’s what we’re trying to make your dumbass understand. The asshole didn’t even get out of the car, just rides up, honks once, and Rosco went runnin’.”
“Where do you think they went?” asked Andy, immediately realizing how pointless of a question it was.
“If we knew that, do you think we’d be watching Danny’s trailer like we have been?
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Andy laughed.
The other two men stared at him, deadpan.
Larry looked at Wayne. “Think Lou would be pissed if we kicked the shit out of Andy right here in his brother’s yard?”
Wayne shook his head. “Naw. I think he might even give us a reward if we kick his ass, then smash his car up a little.”
Andy felt a chilly claw grip his bowels. They would do it, too. Pissed at Danny for the extra work he’d caused them, they would take it out on Andy. A calling card for his brother to see. Plus Andy’s sarcasm had helped push their anger.
Damn mouth getting me in trouble again.
“Listen guys…” The two beefy men took a step forward. “Let’s not do anything out of line.”
“Out of line,” repeated Wayne, then laughed. “That’s exactly what we’re about to do.”
Andy glanced past them and caught the Mexican running away, tugging the dog by its leash behind him, its paws scratching at the gravel road. He didn’t want to fight these guys, but it was inevitable. Passive feelings aside, he wasn’t going to just allow them to beat him up. If he was going to stand any chance at self-defense, he needed to act quick.
Catch them off guard.
Which he did, with a quick punch to Wayne’s jaw. The blunt connection sent a numbing jolt through Andy’s arm. His hand stiffened, fingers gnarling back into a claw, unable to reform a fist. It’d been a very long time since he’d hit anyone.
Wayne stumbled back. Momentary shock washed over him. Rage quickly overpowered it. He had no trouble clenching his hands into fists…
And neither did Larry.
Andy, clutching his injured hand to his stomach, backed away from the two approaching men. He bumped against the Camaro, feeling the door handle jutting through the back of his pants. He thought about trying to get inside the car.
He wouldn’t make it in time. And if he did, Wayne and Larry would take great pleasure in smashing their way inside.
Wayne raised his arms. “Son of a bitch, this is gonna be fun.”
Distracted by Wayne, Andy didn’t notice Larry moving in until his fist was about to crash against his face. He leaned back, just not fast enough. Instead of Andy’s mouth, Larry’s fist struck his ear. The blow spun Andy around, flinging him against the fender. His knees knocked the wheel well. Folding over, his chest slammed on the hood. He pushed against the hood, trying to get himself upright.
Hands shoved Andy back down, bouncing his head off the hood like a flimsy open-handed slap of fiber glass. Then he was held there, flush against the car. He felt the heat of the engine through the hood, burning his cheek. His hands slapped the hood’s sleek surface, squeaking as his fingers fought to grip.
He leaned his head up. Fingers gripped his hair, pinning him down on the hood. A hand swatted his upraised ass.
“Damn,” sighed Larry from behind, following with a whistle. “If I was a faggot, I’d take advantage of this sitch-eation right now...”
“What you mean?” said Wayne.
“Well…there’s a tight ass in front of me. And, if I was homo, I’d have a little fun with it. Know what I mean?”
“Go head,” said Wayne, as if permitting Larry to change the channel on TV. “What’s the harm?”
Andy wriggled against the two beefy arms pressing him to no avail. He wasn’t getting out of this hold. “Larry? Really? Come on, man…”
Ignoring Andy, Larry said to Wayne, “Shee-it. I’m not a fag.”
“Fucking an ass doesn’t make you a fag. It’s just a hole to stick your cock in for a little while.”
“Even if it’s a man’s?”
“Hell no. A hole is a hole. Now if you was kissing all over him, sticking your tongue in his ear, shit like that, then you’d be a fag.”
“Think so?”
“Hell yeah. Don’t treat em like a chick or nothing.”
There was a pregnant pause of Larry considering what Wayne had told him.
“Larry?” Andy’s voice cracked, rising in pitch on the second syllable. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Larry, man, come on. You’re not really considering…”
Stepping over Andy’s pleads, Larry said, “Well, I guess if I don’t play with his balls or nothing, I’m safe.”
“There you go,” said Wayne.
“You gonna hold him down for me?”
“I’d be delighted.” His grip on Andy tightened.
“You ain’t gonna tell on us, are ya, Andy?” teased Larry.
Before Andy could respond, Wayne said, “Shit no. He ain’t gonna tell nobody.” He laughed. “It’s gonna be a hoot watching Andy Raab get it in the ass.”
Andy had originally thought they were just saying these things to intimidate him. And, it had been working. But, when he felt his pants being tugged, and the mild breeze drifting across his bare buttocks, he understood Larry was going to carry the threat to fruition.
“Larry, don’t do this!” said Andy, pointlessly.
Another stinging slap on his ass, and this time Andy let out a little squeal. The laughter he heard behind him humiliated him more than his partial nudity. He squirmed harder, rubbing himself across the hood. Thankfully his shirt didn’t have buttons, or he’d be leaving rents in the paint of his car. He felt his penis brush against the fender. It felt warm and smooth, burning slightly like a carpet welt.
He heard even harder laughter behind him at his meager attempts to free himself.
Larry groaned. “Does it make me a fag if I’m getting off on watching him wiggle like that?”
“Not at all,” assured Wayne. “You’re just really into the power play.”
Andy wriggled his shoulders violently. He was not going to allow Larry to—he wouldn’t even allow the thought to take form. It would not happen. He wrenched an arm free.
“Dammit!” shouted Wayne.
“Hold him still!” Larry shouted back.
“I’m trying!”
Andy waved his arm back and forth, avoiding Wayne’s grasping hands. “Help! Help!”
“Shut him up!” ordered Larry.
Wayne released Andy’s shoulders, lunging for his mouth. Shoving Wayne, Andy stood up, then tur
ned around. He spotted Larry trying to latch the belt on his pants.
Andy yanked his own pants up, and holding them there with one hand, he charged. He planted his left foot, throwing his right foot up on the run. It bashed the open V of Larry’s legs, crushing his testicles. A yell died in Larry’s throat. His eyes froze wide, his mouth locked open as his hands cupped his crotch. Knees folding, Larry dropped.
Wayne slapped his hands down on Andy’s shoulders, hurling him against the car again. He felt a section of the fiber glass body cave in and wanted to cry.
“Dirty fucker!” growled Wayne. “You kicked him in the balls?!”
Gasping, Andy spit. Then he held out his hands to each side. “The bastard was trying to…you know what he was doing!”
Wayne waved his hand, as if someone had tried to convince him Bigfoot was real. “I’m gonna kick your nuts into your ears!” He charged.
Andy sprung off the car, throwing a wild punch. He missed Wayne’s face, as expected, but caught him somewhere on the neck. There was a sharp smacking sound, like punching a raw turkey. Andy’s feet slid in the dirt, shooting out in front of him as he fell. He landed on his side. The point of a rock jabbed his hip.
Wayne staggered back, clutching his throat and making sounds as if he were trying to hock up a thick bubble of phlegm. Another hand groped madly at the empty space around him.
Hoping he hadn’t crushed Wayne’s gullet, and not bothering to check, Andy scrambled to his feet. He started for his car. As he neared the door, he remembered their truck had trapped him in. A quick look around, and he decided he’d drive straight through the damn yard. His hand fumbled for the door handle. Fingers slipped underneath, and he yanked the door open. About to get in the car, the quick double chirp of a siren stopped him.
He looked down the driveway as a police cruiser parked at an angle behind the truck, lights twirling.
Andy let his arms drop, dangling limply by his sides. He muttered, “Shit,” then looked around. Larry, still on the ground, groaned as he rocked side to side with his hands clutching his genitals. Wayne wandered this way and that, walking short paths, making gargling sounds.
The Skin Show Page 5
