The Nightcrawler by Mick Ridgewell Read Free Book Online Page B

vibrated through the entire garage and then backed out smoothly. He smiled as the tires squawked from the slightest pressure on the gas pedal.  
    When he got to the sidewalk, a fine mist of water on the windshield blurred his vision. A man reached across the hood and removed the water with a squeegee. The guy leaned up close to the open driver side window with an outstretched hand.
    “Jesus Christ,” Scott blurted out.  
    Scott didn’t expect to see him again. Yet there he was inches from his face, smiling. The teeth that were there were a decaying yellowish color. Scott’s sinuses were now flooded by the bum’s breath, the smell turning his stomach.
    Offended and a bit shaken, Scott yelled, “Get the fuck away from me!”  
    The guy’s smile never waned. He backed up a step. Then made the same finger gun gesture and clicking sound with his tongue.  
    Scott squealed the Uniroyals as the back end of the Charger fishtailed a bit, and narrowly missed an oncoming car.
    “Fucking freak. Smelly fucking freak.” he said to no one in particular.  
    He drove in silence for fifteen or twenty minutes, more than a little creeped out by too many encounters with the bum. Gradually his mood returned to where it was when the morning air first hit his face. He got to the I-94 with no traffic headaches. The sun was brilliant. The sky was as blue as he could ever remember it being. The wind rushing through the open windows of the car was exhilarating. The familiar drone of the Charger’s V-8 was very calming. He reached for the radio.
    “Well that isn’t original equipment Thomas,” he said, not caring that he was alone in the car. AM/FM, four-disc CD changer. He turned it on and pressed the scan button. He stopped when he heard “You’re listening to Karen Savelly on 94.7 WCSX and here is Fleetwood Mac.”Then Stevie Nicks started to sing “Gold Dust Woman.” What rock and roll loving American male doesn’t turn up the volume when Stevie starts singing? Thomas’ stereo was up to the challenge. Stevie came through loud and clear.

Chapter Eight  
    It took Roger about five hours to get to the rodeo grounds. He had spent the last hour riding with Bill Hicks. Now there’s a man who can talk. From the time he picked Roger up until the time they got to the rodeo he rambled about everything from the weather to the thrush in his favorite horse’s front feet. Roger made a sympathetic sigh at that news having no idea what thrush was. He just assumed by the tone of Bill’s voice that it wasn’t good. One bonus to catching a ride with Bill was his pass to the rodeo. In addition to getting Roger in free, he also offered to show him around after his calf-roping event. With his horse being lame, Bill didn’t expect to make the second round.
    After Roger adjusted to the smell of livestock, he had a good time wandering around the rodeo. Everywhere the aroma of cotton candy and farm animals hung in the air. The announcer’s voice rang out with enthusiasm from cone shaped speakers mounted high on weather beaten wooden poles. Roger enjoyed the bull riding. He hung on the fence like the real cowboys, some of them with large paper numbers pinned to their backs. They all had a sense of purpose in their gaze, studying how the other riders handled each bull and how the bulls reacted.  
    Roger had just heard the bell indicating the release of the next competitor when he heard the voice of a young woman.  
    “Hey, you a cowboy?”  
    Everyone on Roger’s section of fence turned to see the source of that inquiry. They all looked down on two girls. Neither girl looked a day over twenty. Both had long dark hair that glistened in the sun. They were gorgeous, their tight jeans hugging their hips and thighs then disappearing into cowboy boots. The one on Roger’s left was wearing a white T-shirt that fit like a second skin, the one on the right a denim shirt rolled up in the middle and tied in a bow exposing her flat midriff. They were both