Luther chokes, turning away, chasing the fresh air. The stench burns his nose and pools on his tongue. He gags at first, but the aftertaste is sweet, like candy. He coughs again and steps closer, curiosity pulling him through the open door.
And suddenly it doesn’t matter what it smells like. He’s not even breathing anyway. His eyes pop open and his jaw falls slack. Again, he thinks of the phone conversation he had with Milton’s son. He had stressed that the town already had a deep, dark secret but that his father would never let it get out.
This has to be it…
“Oh Jesus...”
There, in the middle of the room is a little boy sitting cross-legged on a badly stained, circular rug. He doesn’t even notice them enter the room and just keeps playing with his pile of wooden blocks, slowly stacking them together, careful not to let them fall. At any other time, this would be a completely normal kid doing what a normal kid does and hardly worth a second thought. However, there’s nothing normal about this kid.
This kid doesn’t have any skin. None. It’s like an anatomy illustration come to life. Every muscle, tendon and bone is clearly visible, all held together by a thin membrane that could be cellophane coated in Jello …
“Josey, there’s somebody here to see you. His name is Luther Blacktop.”
Milton’s voice is tender. The boy responds and looks away from his blocks. As he does, his hand plows through the tower he was building and knocks them over. His wrinkled, pink, skinless face distorts, squeezing the tears out of eyes. Luther watches, horrified, while his translucent eyelids begin blinking from left to right. They’re milky and reptilian...
But... he’s not a lizard. He’s a—
Josey suddenly looks away. He starts to cry, sobbing like a completely normal little kid, shaking like a completely normal kid.
But again, this is not a normal kid…
His lips hang loose, jiggling across the front of his bright, white teeth. The muscles stretched between his jaws tremble, glistening behind a layer of translucent grease. Milton crouches down and collects Josey in his arms, lifting him up to his side. The grease spreads from the boy’s body and onto his shirt and his arms. He cracks an odd smile as if he just rescued a newborn fawn from drowning.
“I’m sorry, son. We’ll build it again.” he says, hitching him higher. Josey’s tears quickly dry into sniffles. He’s so small and thin. His whole body shakes as one. He reaches up and rubs his eyes.
“Who ith he, Grandpa?” he asks, his tone and manners mimicking Milton’s almost perfectly, but with a noticeable lisp. His jaws part, letting his tongue probe around the inside of his mouth. Without full cheeks, it looks so unnatural, like some kind of blind snake peeking out from the depths of his throat.
“Well, that’s who I wanted you to meet.” Milton smiles, rocking his arms and rotating back toward Luther. “This man is gonna help us save our town.”
The boy looks confused, but then again, it’s incredibly difficult to read any emotion on his non-existent face. His serpentine eyes drop to Luther’s feet and back up again, sizing up every detail of his suit and jacket. Finally, when he meets face to face, he snaps his head back and buries it behind Milton’s neck.
“I don’t like him, Grandpa. He lookth at me funny.”
Luther is still in shock, watching the shiny little pink boy shy away from him and his shoulders contort their sharp, spindly across his back. His spine weaves down below them with only a thin layer of mucus covering the individual ligaments holding together his vertebrae.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Luther stutters. His brain digging deep to find any type of explanation for the thing he’s staring at. It’s hard to even consider it human. Maybe it is a reptile…
“You’ve never seen anything like him, have you?” Milton answers, his voice remaining soft and patient. “I know you haven’t. And neither has anyone else.”
He then turns away, bouncing the little bag of muscles in his arms a few times and whispering kindness in his ear. He then gently sets him back in the center of the rug. “There there, you’ve no need to worry about this guy. He was just payin’ us a visit from the big city.”
Josey sucks in his last sniffles and smiles, suddenly intrigued by Milton’s final words.
“The big thity?” He asks and looks up again, his eyes wide and filled with wonder. Milton knowingly nods and rubs his fingers through the grease on top of the boy’s skull.
“Yep. The kind with that smelly water you like to swim in.”
Josey’s face lifts higher, his smile bursting into a giggle. He lifts his fingers and covers his mouth while he laughs, rocking his body back and forth on his tailbone. “Oh yeah, Grandpa. That water ticklth me!”
Luther can’t hold himself back from joining in the laugh. It’s beyond comprehension. Josey’s voice crackles with glee bringing the vision of a living skeleton doing a cannonball off the high board into his mind. He imagines the oil separating from his body and coating the top of the water with all the colors of the rainbow. He squats down and begins helping him gather his blocks.
“Let’s start again. Hello, Josey. I’m Luther.” He announces, offering a quick wave.
And this time Josey waves back, opening his palm and revealing it him. The fingers are deeply stained with oil, appearing almost entirely black. “Hi, Mithter Luther. I’m Joethy.”
“Thank you, Josey,” Milton joins in, lifting his hand off the boy’s head. “We’re gonna go talk about the city and I’ll come back for you ‘round suppertime, okay?”
“Okay.” Josey replies, keeping his eyes on Luther and shaking his hand. “Goodbye, mithter.”
Luther waves again just before Milton passes by and ushers him back out of the room. They return to the hallway and close the door behind them. There’s a moment of odd silence as Milton keeps his head down, unable to make eye contact.
“So...” He starts his voice low and quiet. “Can that spare us the killin’?”
Luther waits for Milton to lift his head, but he doesn’t. He’s clearly embarrassed. Or maybe just nervous.
He did just play his ace on the first hand? Maybe he’s got a point. Maybe it’s time to leave and just let this one play out for itself...
“I’m not really sure.” Luther starts, trying to keep an even grip on his voice. He needs to keep it professional, but he can’t resist asking the obvious question still staring him in the face.
“Where is his skin?”
Milton’s body appears to physically break, letting its protective shell crumble away and scatter across the floor. His eyes are nearly rimmed with water. There’s a smile, the breath of relief on his face.
“So you are curious, huh? He keeps it in the closet. Gotta keep the oil on it or it’ll go bad.” He answers politely. “But he never puts it on when it’s this hot out.”
Feeling a bit pinned in the corner, Luther’s eyebrows lift high on his forehead as he’s suddenly drawn to the other four doors in the hallway. Each one is closed and for all he knows, possibly harboring some more otherworldly creatures like Josey. Milton seizes his opening and continues with his pitch.
“Not too many have ever seen that, Mr. Luther. Josey there was born as what they called a grease-monkey. He’s been able to take his skin off like that ever since he was a baby.”
Luther’s eyes return to Milton. All scientific reasoning has nearly evaporated from his thoughts.
“A baby? But how did he… I mean… When did it come off?” He stammers, the questions coming faster than he can process them. “And how does he get back in? And what if he leaves it off too long? Will it die or will he outgrow it?”
Milton just laughs, thoroughly enjoying every moment of his excitement.
“So that will work then? You are taken by idea, I can tell. And so will others. People will come from everywhere to ask those same things, won’t they?”
Luther is pushed further in the corner. His face slams on the brakes, looking directly at Milton and pausi
ng deliberately for that ideal combination of awkward tension and impatient excitement to boil over. Milton holds his ground however, giving him the thousand mile stare from an old soldier.
He’s got a point and he knows it. Nobody would have to die this way and the boy is genuinely intriguing. If they played their cards right and released the information to just the right people, the science community alone would be enough to put a spark back in Mannsville. Josey the living Grease Monkey. I could wor—
“No.” Luther answers, cold. “I’m not here to open a freak show.”
Milton’s face hardens. The broken lines around his eyes sink all the way down around his mouth. The skin on his forehead bunches in the center, squeezed between his eyebrows. All of the frustration from their conversation in the kitchen returns. He pulls in a deep breath and again lets it all out through his nose.
“Then you get out.” He mumbles, holding himself back. “I told you we ain’t killin’ nobody for this town! If Josey ain’t enough for you, then I’ll go about findin’ someone else!”
Luther lifts his chin, flexing his jaw and looking down at Milton with a sort of expected understanding. He’s been down this road before, dozens of times. Most of them finally come around to the killing idea, but for some reason this time it doesn’t feel quite right.
They got something here and they know it. They don’t need me for this...
“I’m sorry, Milton.” He says, offering his hand to shake. Milton doesn’t even acknowledge it and just slowly shifts his eyes over Luther’s shoulder, back to the stairs.
“You can use the same door you came in.”
Luther slowly retracts his hand and begins down the hall. “Okay, then. Good luck with your grandson.”
He leaves Mannsville without another word and checks in to the room he booked a few hours away. He sits there with a half bottle of Kentucky consolation and the rumble of an encroaching thunderstorm. With nothing else to do, he hangs his head back and runs through every possible scenario Milton might take to lever Josey into saving the town. Without killing him…
And of course, none of them are going to work. A freak show will never last.
“Hey, what do you think...” He says out loud, right before the bottle hits his lips. The whiskey splashes down his throat and two large bubbles enter the bottle before he pulls it away and continues. “I mean, c’mon. You’ve done this before. Do you think we should just use that boy?”
His voice fills the room, directed at someone, but there’s nobody else there. Nobody answers. But it doesn’t matter. He just waits anyway, chewing the side of his mouth and staring up at the ceiling in a half-drunken stupor. His eyes narrow, pupils wide and black. The anger starts to spread from the corner of his mouth, gnashing his teeth, pissed off by Milton’s stubbornness, his complete ignorance. Scowling, he turns his head and looks outside. The rain beats against the glass, turning the headlights and taillights of Kentucky into a streaking, blooming fireworks display.
That ain’t Mannsville out there. That’s a real town.
“A freak show in a little dying town. How many times are we gonna hear this from these goddamn old timers? They know what they got, but they just sit on it. A kid like that is a goddamn goldmine in the short run but he’s just not gonna last. Not long enough to save that town. They’ll just take him out of there and then it’ll all be over. And they know it! They know it and they still had the gall to fucking call us. They knew who we were. They knew what we do. So why the hell they call us? We don’t do freak shows. We don’t compromise. We do murders because that’s what sells. The bigger and more bizarre, the better. It’s permanent. What this jackass doesn’t realize is that he’s the one actually killin’ that town. If he’d just step out of our fuckin’ way...”
Luther pulls his head away from the window and snaps himself forward, lifting the whiskey bottle back behind his head. “But he ain’t gonna budge and this whole thing is just another waste of our goddamn time. Let him do his freak show. Go ahead, Milton! You get ‘em to come see you. Show ‘em that boy and have your GODDAMN FREAK SHOW!”
His hand whips forward and sends the bottle sailing through the room. It collides with the bathroom door with a loud, dull thud. The wood splinters around an inverted pyramid-shaped hole and the bottle falls. It strikes the tile on the floor and shatters. A shimmering display of golden spirits and broken glass spills across the floor. Inside the bathroom, there’s a sudden loud terrified squeal...
“Good to know you’re awake in there!”
Luther ignores it and laughs. He snarls and wipes his greasy hair back with both hands, holding them at the sides of his head, as if he were about the crush his skull between them.
BRINNNNG! BRINNNNG!
The phone beside the bed suddenly screams with life, jarring him off balance. His hands drop to his sides, pulling bits of his hair out on either side of his head where it remains as if he had just been hit by lightning. His head slowly rotates toward the phone.
It rings again.
And again. And again. And a—fucking—gain until he finally picks it up.
“Yes?! What is it?”
The voice in the earpiece crackles. The thunder outside echoes a few seconds later through the phone. There’s a cough and a voice begins.
“Mr. Blacktop? It’s Milton from Mannsville.”
Luther pulls the phone from his ear, tempted to smash the receiver straight through the top of the bedside table.
Here he is. They always call back. Always try again.
Lightning flashes outside and the rain begins battering the windows.
“No freak shows. I told you that when I left. That’s not up for negotia—”
“Alright, I understand. You’re absolutely right. It ain’t enough to just show the boy.”
Milton’s voice sounds defeated and hoarse. He’s been up to something since they parted ways. Luther rolls his head to the side, cracking his neck.
“Alright, let’s hear it. What do you want from me?”
There’s a long pause. It’s hard to tell if Milton’s crying or it’s just extra static. He coughs again and then begins.
“If you gotta do some killin’ then I want it to be the boy. He’s fit to bring ‘em back.”
Luther’s face slackens. He can hardly believe what he just heard. The alcohol is purged from his blood by a sudden charge of adrenaline. He feels a smile form on his face.
A full one-eighty. How about that? The old man’s going to do it. Bought it all off of one necklace, too. I knew it. I knew it would work. We’re going to bring this town back, goddamnit!
The rush is bittersweet, but that’s just the way it has to be. That’s the only way it even has a chance. Luther holds his grin, still unable to reply while his brain starts blocking together a brand new plan.
There’s going to be a lot of setup. It’s going to take at least a week to get everything in place, just right. And what’s the distraction going to be? We’ve got to get the other people in town looking the other way…
“Are you there, Mr. Blacktop? I wanna do this, right now when there ain’t nobody watchin’.”
The whiskey in Luther’s gut starts to swirl, reaching up and reminding him of his position with a punch to the back of the throat. He almost pukes.
Wait now, Milton, that’s just plain murder. There’s nothing to be gained from that. But… then again, it’s a start. We’re on the right track... But no, it’s too small. It has to be bigger than that. Without witnesses, it’ll never be more than just another mile marker. No, it needs to be big. A great big billboard. Something that will bring the people. It’s got to make the news... the news brings the people... It’s always the news that saves the town.
“Okay, wait for me.”
Luther tosses the phone on the bed and yanks open the top drawer of the table. He’s frantic now. His neck is sweating. A pile of takeout menus hit the floor first, followed by the King James and a laminated local directory. The bottom of the drawe
r is visible.
“Shit! Where the fuck—”
He pulls harder, ripping the drawer from its track and breaking its two tiny stoppers clean off. One more book falls out, sliding across the carpet toward the door. He takes one glance at it and lets out a sigh of relief. The smile returns to his face, more devilish than ever. He snatches up the phone.
“Milton, are you there?”
“Uh huh. What was all of that?”
“Nothing. Just finding my things. I’ll meet you in Mannsville exactly two hours from this minute.” His voice is hard and precise. The wheels are already turning. Step on it.
“Wait, Mr. Blacktop?”
“Yeah?”
Milton steadies himself, his lips smacking through the phone. He lets out a deep breath and let’s his voice drop, filling it with backbone.
“I’m going to do it. Not you. You can be there to do whatever you need to, but that’s it. Meet me at my service station. I’ll bring the boy and you’ll find us there.”
Luther’s hand begins to quiver. His blood is on fire with possibilities.
“Sure. Okay. Milton, he’s all yours but don’t do anything until I get there, all right?”
There’s just static on the other end. He hangs up the phone and looks up, staring out the window for only a moment while the rest of the night rolls itself out in front of him. Walking to the door he bends over and picks up the book that slid across the floor earlier. It’s the local phone directory.
“Now stay quiet in there.” He shouts, tipping his head toward the bathroom door but keeping his eyes glued to the pages passing under his fingers. “We won’t have much time…”
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe…
The storm continues to pound the road all the way back to Mannsville. There’s not another soul to be seen, just a yellow line to follow into the heart of nowhere. Lightning continues to flash in the sky, drawing jagged silhouettes of the surrounding forest in the car windows. Glancing at the dashboard, Luther knows he’s already late. That goddamn phone call took way too long. Milton’s probably getting antsy. He’s probably deciding if he should do it to the boy or do it to himself instead.
Luther Blacktop Page 2