The Skin Show Read online

  The Skin Show

  Kristopher Rufty

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  The Skin Show

  First Digital Edition

  Copyright © 2014 by Kristopher Rufty

  Cover Art Copyright © 2014

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  For Angie.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Special thanks go to Heather Graham for her annual Writers of New Orleans Conference, where the original idea for The Skin Show originated while I was sitting on a balcony, watching the reverie down below. And many thanks to Brian Moreland, Tod Clark, John Foley, Paul Synuria II, and the countless others supporting and influencing me along the way.

  Prologue

  Tennessee. One Year Ago.

  Eleven-year-old Miles Faircloth watched the husky truck driver stick a credit card into the gas pump, and quickly yank it back out. He dialed something on the keypad, snatched the fuel dispenser off the pump, and pushed it into the eighteen-wheeler next to him. Done with that, the man leaned a shoulder against the rig, his back to Miles.

  Out of all the truckers Miles had seen come and go tonight, this one was the first he felt bold enough to approach. Something about the man reminded Miles of his grandfather. Dead four years now, and Miles still missed him, though his memory of him faded a little more each day.

  Raising his hands to his mouth, Miles huffed hot air against his palms. They felt warmer as he rubbed them together, but quickly became cold and numb once again.

  Get over there before he leaves.

  Miles had been hiding behind the dumpster beside the truck stop for an hour, possibly even longer. After parking his bike, he’d taken shelter here and hadn’t moved since. His bones ached with cold. And it stunk—a combination of garbage and old burnt food.

  Standing, his knees felt tight and sore. He stretched. It helped his muscles relax, but did nothing for the aches in his joints.

  Deep laughter from nearby caused him to gasp. Looking around, he didn’t see who the booming chortle belonged to. He looked at the trucker again. He hadn’t moved from his spot next to his rig. Taking one last deep breath, Miles started across the parking lot, hunched over as if sneaking. Being as late as it was, there wasn’t much flow-through traffic. Just a couple rigs parked here and there, and a green beat-up truck, a clamshell camper over the bed, sat unoccupied at another pump.

  The closer Miles got, the weaker his legs felt. They wobbled as he tried to keep his pace steady. He knew if he wasn’t careful, he’d fall. With all the spilled gasoline and sand and broken glass sprinkled across the concrete ground, he didn’t want that to happen. Finally, he arrived at the truck, stopping as he reached the driver side door.

  Miles took another step. “Excuse me. Mister?”

  The broad-shouldered man glanced over his shoulder. When he spotted Miles he frowned. “I don’t want to buy any candy bars. They’re overpriced and usually stale. The peanuts taste like cardboard.”

  “I’m not selling anything.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  Miles gulped. He’d gone this far, now wasn’t the time to chicken out. “C-can you guh-give me a ride?”

  The truck driver heaved himself off the truck, turning to face Miles. A toothpick extended from the heavy man’s lips. Hands in his vest pockets, he stepped over the hose connected to the pump handle that jutted out from the rig’s gas tank.

  Miles took a step back as the man approached. The heavy tang of gasoline hung around him. He usually liked the smell, but right now, it was twisting his already nervous stomach.

  Squinting, the man leaned slightly forward. His eyes looked heavy and swollen, probably from lack of sleep. Mom looked like that after working what she called a double. This close to the man, Miles could see tiny black and gray whiskers on his chubby face. He hadn’t recently shaved. “A ride?”

  Miles nodded.

  “What’s a kid like you doing out this late at night, anyway?” the man asked. His hands came out of the puffy vest’s pockets. It reminded Miles of a life preserver, but instead of bright orange it was navy blue. The long-sleeved flannel shirt he wore underneath matched. A trucker’s cap with the outline of a curvy woman festooned to the front was on top of his head. Oily brown hair arched out from underneath the brim.

  A cool breeze cut through the pump island, causing Miles to shiver. Even under his zip-up hoodie, his arms stippled with gooseflesh. Could also be from how scared he was talking to this guy.

  You can do this.

  “I asked you a question, kid.” The man’s head tilted like a dog that had just heard a strange noise. He studied Miles just as a dog would, too. Sizing him up, curious.

  “Just looking for a ride,” answered Miles.

  “Oh? Just looking for a ride?” The man poked out his bottom lip, nodded as if considering the answer. “You do know this isn’t a safe place for a kid, right? Hell, it’s not so safe for adults, either.”

  Miles knew the risk of being here at Rick’s Truck Stop. His Mama worked the dayshift as a waitress. He’d heard her comment, more than once, that nothing but bad truckers and lowlifes came here.

  The sudden roar of an engine caused Miles to flinch. He looked to the right and saw the battered green truck pulling away from the pump. The tailpipe puttered plumes of exhaust as it drove off.

  Miles nodded. “I know.”

  “Oh, you know? Then you’ve got it all figured out, do you?”

  Miles shook his head. “No, sir.”

  The man was about to say something else, but stopped. “Sir?”

  “Um…” Miles didn’t know if it had been a good idea to call him that or not. Some folks didn’t mind, but others, when spoken to respectfully, seemed to get offended.

  “That’s a good kid, there. Don’t hear many kid’s your age calling adults sir or ma’am these days.”

  Miles didn’t respond. He only stared at this big man. He kept one foot inching out in case he needed to sprint at any moment.

  “All right, I’ll listen to your story. Why do you need a ride, and where to?”

  This was where Miles needed to be careful. If he told too much, this man might do like the police officer had done last night and just take him home.

  “Let us handle it,” the officer had said after walking Miles to the door of the singlewide trailer he lived in with his parents.

  Mama hadn’t even noticed Miles had left. She was too drunk to notice much, other than the drained bottle of booze in her lap. It had a gold label on the front, but Miles didn’t know the name. He just knew it made her talk funny and say mean things. She was passed out in the recliner when he’d come home. Miles wasn’t angry at her for her problem. He understood it stemmed from not knowing how to handle Dad leaving.

  His anger was directed at his father, for causing Mom so much pain.

  “I want to go to this place…and I can’t find it on my own.”

  The man smiled. “What place?”

  “I think it’s called…” Miles paused.

  “Yeah?”

  “I think it’s called The Skin Show.”

>   Mouth drooping open, the toothpick fell from the man’s mouth. It landed on a tacky mound of sand that had been poured on a puddle of gasoline. His mouth hung partly open. His eyes looked lost, like he couldn’t remember what he wanted to say. Shaking his head, he straightened himself. “The…Skin Show?”

  “Yeah. I’ve heard it’s somewhere near Black Creek, but that’s a really long ride to make on my bike.”

  The man gave a quick look around as if afraid someone might be listening in. Then he focused on Miles again. “Did someone put you up to this? How do you know about The Skin Show?”

  “Um…I’ve heard about it.”

  “Uh-huh…did someone tell you to come over here and ask me about it?”

  “No. I swear.”

  “How did you hear about it?”

  “My dad.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “Your dad?”

  Miles nodded. “He’s there now, I think.”

  If Miles wanted to elaborate, he’d have explained that his dad hadn’t come home from The Skin Show. A trucker himself, he spent many nights at places he shouldn’t, coming home at sunrise, pale and sickly, sleeping all day, only to wake up again in the afternoon. While at home, Dad was mean, cranky, and violent. Around dinner time, he would leave, starting the process all over again.

  Miles had overheard his dad talking to another trucker on the CB in their shed. The gravelly voice had asked Dad if he was going to meet him at The Skin Show on Friday. Dad had said he was and asked the man on the other end if he knew where it was.

  The voice had said: “All I know is what the woman told me. ‘Drive west to Black Creek’.”

  That was a week ago, and no one had heard from Dad since. And now Mom was becoming just as mean and abusive as Dad. Here recently, she’d begun comparing Miles to his old man, and he didn’t like that at all. So, he was going to go to this place, no matter what, and either make his dad come home, or kick him in the balls. Either one would suit Miles just fine.

  If this guy didn’t want to drive Miles there, he’d start pedaling.

  “Listen kid…”

  “Miles.”

  The man held out his hands, signaling him to stop talking. “I don’t need to know your name.”

  “Miles Faircloth.”

  “I said I don’t need to know your name. If your daddy’s out there, then it’s best to just let him go. He ain’t coming back.”

  “You know where it is?” Miles’s voice squeaked with eagerness.

  “I didn’t say that, did I?”

  “But you know the place…”

  “I know Black Creek and it’s a ghost town. Kid, my advice, just let it go.”

  “What?”

  “Let it go.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “He ran out on my mom and me. And, Mom’s going nuts without him. She don’t know what to do about money…”

  The man frowned, a long sigh hissed out his nostrils. He looked at Miles sympathetically. “I’m sorry about that, but…”

  “I want to bring him home.” Tears stung Miles’s eyes and he cursed himself for starting to cry in front of a stranger. He’d wanted to come across as tough. He’d failed. He used his sleeve to dry the tears sliding down his cheeks.

  “Damn,” said the man.

  “I’m sorry I bothered you…”

  Miles turned away from the man and started walking. Another drifting breeze tickled his face, cold on his wetted cheeks.

  “Hey kid,” called the man from behind him.

  Miles stopped. Turned around. “Yeah.”

  “Get in.”

  Ten minutes later they were driving on Route 91, heading away from the town of Leafbranch, Miles’s hometown. Miles watched the lights of Rick’s Truck Stop shrink in the large side-view mirror.

  Jerry had crammed Mile’s bike in the cargo compartment under the cab. Miles sat up front, snacking on animal crackers and drinking coffee from a thermos. The truck bounced and rocked each time the transmission was shifted. Unlike some of his friends who got sick riding in a big rig, Miles enjoyed it. Even now, knowing why he was riding in the truck heavy on his heart, he was still having a good time.

  “I know your old lady,” said the man, who’d introduced himself as Jerry once they were departing.

  “Really?” Miles had asked Jerry if he knew Rhonda Faircloth, and to his surprise, the man did.

  Jerry nodded. “Yep. She’s one of the sweetest waitresses that place has. The food isn’t much to speak about, but they have good coffee, and well…your mom’s good people.”

  Hearing that about Mom caused Miles to smile. It also confirmed that Miles had made the right decision. Not just by going out to The Skin Show, but choosing Jerry as the one to ask for the ride. He’d been taught since pre-school not to talk to strangers, and no matter what, never take a ride from one. He’d broken both those rules tonight. It was worth it, however, if he found his dad.

  “I’m sure I probably know your daddy, too. The name doesn’t ring a bell, but I bet I’d know his face.”

  “You’ll see him tonight.”

  “Oh no, I agreed to give you a ride, kid. I’m not going in that place.”

  “You’re not?”

  Jerry shook his head. “Hell no. Pardon my language.”

  “Have you been there before?”

  “No. Just heard some murmurs about it. I got a wife with cancer at home, so I don’t need to be messing around a place called The Skin Show.”

  Jerry stopped talking as his focus switched to the darkened windshield, his arms hugging the large steering wheel.

  Miles could see that Jerry wasn’t being completely honest with him, but he wasn’t going to pester him about it. Miles faced forward, seeing faded yellow lines in the truck’s wide stretch of beams. Tarred cracks snaked in all directions over the blacktop. There were rundown houses spaced far apart on each side of them. It wasn’t long before Miles didn’t even see that.

  He put the bag of animal crackers in the console and screwed the cap back on the thermos. He didn’t want them anymore. The crackers didn’t taste quite as good as they had moments ago, and the coffee was suddenly bitter on his tongue.

  Jerry watched him from the corner of his eye. He looked as if he wanted to ask why Miles had stopped eating, but he said nothing. They drove the rest of the way in silence, the only sounds being that of Jerry’s snore-like breathing.

  An hour ticked sluggishly by.

  Miles felt his body relaxing, his mind starting to drift. His eyes became heavy and droopy, so he blinked a few times, then looked out the window. The moon was nearly full, hanging above the fields like a washed out island. The blackness outside looked as if it was swallowing the truck, as if it would bust the glass to get inside and take him. He knew it was stupid to imagine such a thing, but it didn’t stop him from scooting away from the door.

  The grumble of the engine dropped a few notches as the truck slowed down. Miles turned from side to side. There wasn’t anything around that suggested a club existed. All he saw was darkness and the black smudges of trees beyond the field. “What are you doing?” he asked Jerry.

  “This is as far as I go, kid.”

  Miles leaned forward, looking past Jerry out his window. More darkness. No flashy lights, no parking lot packed with cars. Nothing.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  Jerry groaned. “Black Creek is on the other side of that field, a barren town that us truckers like to avoid.”

  “You can’t leave me here. It’s really dark, and…” Miles realized he didn’t bring along a flashlight. Some smart tough guy he was. Didn’t even bring what he needed.

  “There’s a dirt road to my left.” He nodded his head towards his window. “It should lead you to what you’re looking for. If I was you, I wouldn’t take my time walking on it, if you know what I mean.”

  Miles didn’t, but nodded as if he did.

  The truck slowed to a halt. There was a loud gustin
g hiss of the airbrakes. Jerry flung his seatbelt to the side, then opened his door and jumped down. Leaving his door open, Miles saw him walk around the front, becoming momentarily painted in the headlights bright beams. Then he vanished into the shadows.

  Miles was looking for him when the door on his side was suddenly yanked open. Gasping, he leaned back.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you, kid.” Miles tried a smile. He failed. “Come on. Let me help you down.”

  Miles could climb down without help, and had done so many times in his dad’s truck. He didn’t tell Jerry that, though, allowing the man to lower him down to the road.

  Outside seemed twenty degrees colder than it had been at the truck stop. A sharp squall of wind threw Miles’s clothes against his body, rustling his hair, as he followed Jerry around the front of the truck to the other side. He pulled the hood over his head, only for the wind to blow it right back off.

  While Jerry worked to retrieve the bike, Miles checked both directions for any cars. There were none. The dark road stretched endlessly on each side like a dead black tongue. The back of his neck tingled with goose bumps and it wasn’t the wind’s doing.

  He turned around as Jerry dropped the bike onto its wheels. The man used his boot to nudge the kickstand down. “There you go.”

  “Thanks,” said Miles. He reached for the handlebars and noticed his hands were shaking.

  Jerry looked down at Miles, frowning. “I couldn’t talk you out of going there, could I?”

  Miles shook his head. Scared as he was, he needed to find his dad, even if he might not like what he saw.

  Jerry sighed. “Don’t hang around that place any longer than you have to. If you don’t see your daddy, hop on your bike and pedal your ass home and forget about him. Got me?”

  Miles gulped, nodded.

  “Good. Go on. Best of luck to you, kid. ”

  Slowly, Miles mounted the bike. His legs acted as if they wanted to work against him. Stiff and difficult, he had trouble getting his feet on the pedals, his butt planted on the narrow seat. Once he’d mounted the bike, he turned to tell Jerry bye. The man was no longer standing behind him. The door slammed. He heard the gears groan as Jerry put the truck into first gear. His eyes started to well up, making his vision blurry. He blinked away the tears and pedaled across the asphalt.