Lot Lizards Read Free Page A

The man froze; his head jerked toward Bill and his lips curled into a snarl. He was grossly obese and his face was broad and lumpy; his dark hair was greasy and receding above his enormous ears and what teeth were left in his head were stained.  
    "The hell d'you want?" the man growled.
    "The girl," Bill gasped, leaning against the corner of the trailer. "The girl who was...just standing...in front of the truck..."
    "What girl?"
    "The girl...the one you were—"
    The man slammed the trailer door shut and jerked the latch, turning fully to Bill. "I dunno what th'fuck yer talkin' about."
    Overcome with dizziness again, Bill staggered, slid down the corner of the trailer and landed on one knee as he wheezed, "No-no-no...the girl...I saw her...sh-she stole muh-my—"  
    The man slapped a meaty hand onto Bill's shoulder and pulled him away from the trailer, grumbling, "Go sleep it off, buddy." He slammed Bill against the truck parked beside them and headed for his cab.  
    Scrambling to his feet, Bill followed him, panting, "Nuh-no, n-no ! Wait! Please! You were juh-just t-talking to her, you were juh-just—"  
    The man turned and faced him and Bill froze. The man's lips curled up around his dirty teeth and his tongue moved restlessly behind the gaps between them; his eyes were small and dark, buried in flesh like a pig's. He lifted a hand to his round belly and scratched himself through the taut material of his dirty grey shirt. "Tell y'what," he said; his voice was the sound of a clogged toilet. "You get away from me an' I won't rip yer fuckin' head off."  
    Bill tried to back away but only fell to his knees again, weak and dizzy.
    The man opened the door of his cab and climbed in. A moment later, the truck's engine shifted into gear and began to move slowly out of the parking slot.  
    The truck was black, jet black, a 1980 Peterbilt. Its 1693 Cat engine rumbled with the power of a volcano and the refrigeration unit on the white trailer, the side of which read in black letters, CARSEY BROS. TRUCKING, gave a steady, hollow hum.  
    Bill dragged himself up and stumbled forward as the black truck rumbled slowly out of the parking slot. He squinted at the license plates on the rear of the trailer as the truck rolled away, but his vision was blurred and his stomach was churning again and he leaned forward, clutching his abdomen and retching. He staggered half way to his truck, then fell, curling into a ball on the pavement, dry heaving.  
    "Hey-yum...you okay?"
    Bill looked up through tears at a red-haired freckle-faced boy wearing a powder blue shirt and black pants, the uniform of the truck stop's shop workers.  
    "You-um...you don't look so well, man."
    Bill was frightened; something was definitely wrong with him and he didn't know what it was, but something told him to keep it to himself...for now.  
    "Fuh-fine," he gasped, getting up. "I'm fine, ruh-really."
    "You sure? You look...well, awful pale. I can call somebody if—"
    "No-no-nuh-no...really. I'm fine. "He tried to smile as he stood, clutching his stomach. "Just...flu. Thassall. Got the flu, I think.  
    "Aw, shit, man, that sucks. Y'know, they got some stomach stuff in the travel store if you wanna...sweet Jesus ! What the hay-ell hap'nuh y'neck?"  
    "My...my..." Bill looked down at himself. The hair on his chest was matted and slick with something that was dribbling down from his neck. He touched four fingertips to his jaw...a little lower...felt more blood coming from two small punctures. "What... what the... what'd she do to me?"  
    "What? Who?"
    "That... girl ." He pointed to his blue Kenworth. "She came to my..." He pointed to the empty space where the black Peterbilt had been minutes before, "...she was just standing right... she said she was..." He touched the wound again; it was sore and he winced, hissing, "She bit me."  
    "Well, uh, I-yuh..." The boy was looking at him very oddly now, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other."... I don't know