Lot Lizards Read Free Page B

about no girl, mister. 'Cause, y'know, we don't let none of them girls back here, know what I mean? None of them lot lizards." He began to back away, squinting at Bill's face. "Thass, um...thass why you gotta pay to come into the lot, so's we can keep 'em out, y'know? Um, if you want, I can call a cop. We got security guards here, y'know, I can tell one of 'em you're—"  
    "No," Bill said, still touching his bloody neck. "No, that's...that's okay." He shuffled back to his truck, and when he looked back, the boy was gone. It took an effort just to open the door of the cab and he stood there a moment, still, silent, fingering his wound and listening... to something... something ...  
    It wasn't another truck...it wasn't an engine at all... in fact, it was very close, whatever it was...
    He got into the cab, slammed the door and sat behind the wheel for a few minutes, taking deep, slow breaths. The storm in his gut calmed after a while, leaving behind it a strange emptiness. It wasn't exactly hunger, and it wasn't quite a thirst, and yet...  
    He found the jerky the girl had left behind and lifted it to his mouth but, an instant before he took a bite, he gagged and dropped his hand to his lap, suddenly taking rapid breaths to keep from retching again.  
    Water. That would help. He found the container of water and lifted it to his lips, sucked in a mouthful and—
    —his throat closed, spraying the water over the windshield and dash. He coughed and gagged for what seemed a long time, then put the jug down.  
    And he heard it still... that sound that seemed so close...so unidentifiable...
    He rolled down the window and inhaled deeply, hanging his head limply through the opening. The sound was louder.
    He lifted his head... squinted...
    It was a thick rushing sound... a throbbing...
    Almost like a heartbeat.
    He turned slowly to his left to the truck parked beside his...to the livestock trailer that reeked of cow shit. Even in the poor light, he could detect the movement of the cattle through the round ventilation holes that lined the trailer.  
    Much to his surprise, he could even hear their breathing.
    And the throbbing sound continued...
    Westbound Interstate 40, just west of Williams, Arizona...
    Christmas had ended nearly five hours ago and the interstate was a corpse. The lights of a truck scale just off the freeway-glowed like a lonely ghost in the cold dark night. Inside the scale shack, Officer Larry Hauff of the Arizona Highway Patrol sat before a noisy portable heater with his feet propped up on a rickety table reading an article in the Weekly World News ; it seemed a mummified Egyptian pharaoh was still getting erections regularly in a museum in Cairo. He read, chuckled, sipped bitter coffee from a Thermos, then read some more.  
    It had been a slow night and a cold one. As cold as it was, Larry knew it would only get worse; Mother Nature was gearing up for one hell of a winter blitz, all the weather forecasters said so.  
    He heard an engine slow and turned to see a blue Kenworth pulling off the freeway; it was hauling nothing—no trailer, no truck—just the stubby, sawed-off-looking tractor. Larry stood, slid the door open and stepped out of the shack into the bone-chipping cold pulling his coat together in front as the tractor veered around the scales and slowed to a stop. The driver got out, leaving the engine idling, and headed toward him.  
    He was a lean man, medium height, and walked with a swagger. At first, Larry thought perhaps he'd been drinking, but realized, after a moment, that the man had a slight limp.  
    "Morning," Larry called, his breath blossoming into a small cloud of vapor before his face. "Can I help you?"
    As he came closer, his face hidden by darkness, ice crunched beneath the man's boots where small puddles had frozen in the night. His hands were in his back pockets and his elbows jutted at his sides; he wore no coat. "I hope so," he said, stepping into the glow of the shack's