Read Online Mark Henry_Amanda Feral 02 by Road Trip of the Living Dead - Free Book Online

surprisingly easy to herd into the motel room; a rolled-up newspaper prod didn’t work but flashing a tit got the hobo shuffling right along. His eyes crinkled as he stepped into the sun.
    Getting him into the tub was another story.
    Bubbles exploded from the rush of steaming bathwater. I’d swiped six miniature shampoo bottles and a can of Ajax off the maid’s cart just to be sure we’d have enough cleansers for his soaking.
    The first step was my obstacle, not his. You see I wasn’t really prepared to see the guy naked. Not after seeing all the dimpled scar tissue circling his neck. I’d seen a show on scarification as the next big body art movement. Looking at Fishhook, I wasn’t buying it. Not for a second.
    The scars tracked down his arms, chest and stomach, a trail of pain marking every bit of flesh loose enough to get a mouth around. Some were fresh specked with the yellowed ooze of infection. Fishhook needed antibiotics and a good plastic surgeon. What he had was me. He watched with those sad eyes, assessing me this time. I imagined him wondering if I was disgusted.
    I was. Probably wasn’t hiding it well, either.
    He undid his belt and dropped his pants, catching me off guard, ruffling me—and not just because he wasn’t wearing underwear. The scars continued down past his waist, a mass of swollen indents blossomed across his buttocks, traveled the length of both thighs and calves, set off against a canvas of mottled bruised flesh. There were even a few bites on the sides of his feet.
    Savages.
    Fishhook did have one thing going for him. He was hung like someone had left the sausage machine unsu-pervised. I found myself staring, mouth unhinged. The sight was moderately frightening, I must say, like someone had traded a normal dick for a fresh kielbasa. I’m not even going to talk about the foreskin.
    Understand this: I don’t do cheese tray. 37
    I must have sneered. Fishhook cleared his throat and formed a coherent sentence.
    “You may not like it, but I’ll bet that friend of yours enjoys a little hood.”
    “Oh … I see. You’re talkative,
now
.”
    “Everyone knows Gummi bears taste like dick cheese.” He rocked his hips, spanking his thighs with the monstrosity.
    “Gross. Just get in the tub, you perv.” I reached to snatch his putrid clothing off the floor but he beat me to it, rummaging through linty pockets, until he retrieved a small green Tupperware container. He gave it a shake, rustling up a muted scraping sound and then hugged it between his palms. He slid into the tub, eyes never leaving the container.
    I sat on the toilet. “Do you remember what you said to me back in the camper?”
    He shrugged.
    “You said, ‘They’re coming.’ Who’d you mean?”
    He closed a fist around the lidded cup. “I didn’t say nothin’ to you.” His words clipped off at the ends like a bad haircut, choppy; defensive or embarrassed, but hard to say as he didn’t have any other social skills that could be construed as normal.
    “Yes you did,” I chided.
    “No I didn’t.”
    “Did, too.”
    “Uh unh.”
    “What’s in the box?”
    “None of your business.”
    I crammed his rags into the trashcan, through withhis bullshit. “I’m going to get you some new clothes, but since you can’t be trusted to clean your own dick, I’m certainly not leaving these filthy rags for you to pull back on after you’ve bathed.” He snickered and I backed out of the room, slamming the door behind me. A moment later, I heard sloshing. “And shave off that goddamn beard. It looks like a badger’s taking a shit on your face. I think there’s a razor on the counter. I’ll be back in a bit and take you to get some coffee and food.”
    “I … uh. I … uh—”
    “Great.” I stepped out of the motel room, nearly falling over a clearly eavesdropping and knee-level Wendy. She dropped over on her side.
    “Dammit!” she squealed.
    “Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry.”
    She snatched her purse from the cement