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“Best book I ever bought.” Herb said. The book had a two inch rip in the cover that went three quarters through the thickness. “If it wasn’t filled with so many pages of unrelenting horror, the knife would have gone through and killed me.” Herb grinned. “God bless authors who write long descriptions of gratuitous violence.”

“We should all go out right now and buy copies,” I said.

“I’m buying two,” said Kelley.

Al barked in agreement.

Turns out, the little kid was the daughter of Wilkerson, the fight promoter. They reunited tearfully in the parking lot. Al, messy with blood, remained as healthy as an eighty-five pound hound could be. The scumbag and his three buddies from AJ’s got arrested. Things got even worse for them when Kelley found a shoe box full of heroin in the hotel room. They wouldn’t taste free air again for quite some time.

I cleaned Al up with a thick Holiday Inn towel. He began to bark incessantly, his polite way of telling me he was hungry. I guess finger food wasn’t enough for him.

The cops took reports and interviews and I changed into a pair of sweats and a hoodie I had in the trunk.

The chick cop in the fancy suit came over to the Cadillac. She reached down and scratched Al under the chin, then looked up at me.

“No hard feelings.” She extended her hand.

“No hard feelings.”

Her hand may have lingered just a bit. Or maybe mine did. She was much cuter when she wasn’t trying to kick my ass.

“Akido?” I asked.

“A little. Training’s in taekwondo, but I’ve tried to pick up as much as I can.” She smiled, which softened her features even more.

“Not bad. You ever box?”

“Nah. Too rough for me.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

She looked down at Al. “Your dog protected that kid, didn’t he?”

“Probably.” I thought about it for a second. “Might’ve been something else too.”

She wrinkled her brow. “What?”

“He doesn’t like bullies, and there’s something inside him that goes bad when he sees someone getting mistreated.”

She nodded and stood up. “He’s not the only one.”

We stared at each other, maybe for a little longer than we needed to, and then she turned to leave.

“You know…” I said. She paused. “Every once and a while I’m on a fight card in the Windy City. If you’d be interested, I can get you some tickets.”

“I’d like that.” She reached into her purse pulled out a business card, and handed it to me, offering one last smile before walking back over to the fat guy.

I looked down at the card.

Lt. Jack Daniels.

And for all these years, I’d been drinking Jim Beam.

Maybe I’d have to give Jack Daniels a try.

But first I had to go out and buy that book everyone was talking about.
Afraid
by Jack Kilborn.

Al loved a good book, too. He’d already eaten most of mine.

I tucked the card into my pocket, herded Al into the Caddy, and headed straight to my nearest all-night bookstore. If your town doesn’t have an all-night bookstore, you can also order
Afraid
at many fine online retailers.*

*Konrath put that ending in. In the ending I wrote, Duffy takes Jack back to his place and rocks her world—Schreck**

**I like my ending better. And I’m Jack Kilborn, if you haven’t figured it out—Konrath

TRUCK STOP takes place before the events portrayed in AFRAID by Jack Kilborn, SERIAL UNCUT by Jack Kilborn & Blake Crouch, and FUZZY NAVEL by JA Konrath. Reading the authors’ previous work isn’t necessary to enjoy TRUCK STOP, though both authors encourage you to buy everything they’ve written. They also encourage you to buy them beer.

“He who is unjust, let him be unjust still; he who is filthy, let him be filthy still; he who is righteous, let him be righteous still…”
—REVELATION 22

-1-

T
aylor liked toes.

He wasn’t a pervert. At least, not
that
kind of pervert. Taylor didn’t derive sexual gratification from feet. Women had other parts much better suited for that type of activity. But he was a sucker for a tiny foot in open-toed high heels, especially when the toenails were painted.

Painted toes were yummy.

The truck stop whore wore sandals, the cork wedge heels so high her toes were bent. She had small feet — they looked like a size five — and her nails matched her red mini skirt. Taylor spotted her through the windshield as she walked over to his Peterbilt, wiggling her hips and wobbling a bit. Taylor guessed she was drunk or stoned. Perhaps both.

He climbed out of his cab. When his cowboy boots touched the pavement he reached his hands up over his head and stretched, his vertebrae cracking. The night air was hot and sticky with humidity, and he could smell his own sweat.

The whore blew smoke from the corner of her mouth. “Hiya, stranger. My name’s Candi. With an I.”

“I’m Taylor. With a T.”

He smiled. She giggled, then hiccupped.

Even in the dim parking lot light, Candi with an I was nothing to look at. Mid-thirties. Cellulite. Twenty pounds too heavy for her skirt and halter top. She wore sloppy make-up, her lipstick smeared, making Taylor wonder how many truckers she’d already blown on this midnight shift.

But she did have very cute toes. She dropped her cigarette and crushed it into the pavement, and Taylor licked his lower lip.

“Been on the road a long time, Taylor?”

“Twelve hours in from Cinci. My ass is flatter than roadkill armadillo.”

She eyed his rig. He was hauling four bulldozers on his flatbed trailer. They were heavy, and his mileage hadn’t been good, making this run much less profitable than it should have been.

But Taylor didn’t become a trucker to get rich. He did it for other reasons.

“You feeling lonely, Taylor? You looking for a little company?”

Taylor knew he could use a little company right now. He could also use a meal, a hot shower, and eight hours of sleep.

It was just a question of which need he’d cater to first.

He looked around the truck stop lot. Pretty full for late night in Bumblefuck, Wisconsin. Over a dozen rigs and just as many cars. The 24 hour gas station had a line for the pumps, and
Murray’s Eats
, the all-night diner, appeared full.

On either side of the cloverleaf there were a few other restaurants and gas stations, but
Murray’s
was always busy because they boasted more than food and diesel. Besides the no-hassle companionship the management and local authorities tolerated,
Murray’s
had a full-size truck wash, a mechanic on duty, and free showers.

After twelve hours of caffeine sweating in this muggy Midwestern August, Taylor needed some quality time with a bar of soap just as badly as he needed quality time with a parking lot hooker.

But it didn’t make sense to shower first, when he was only going to get messy again.

“How much?” he asked.

“That depends on —”

“Half and half,” he cut her off, not needing to hear the daily menu specials.

“Twenty-five bucks.”

She didn’t look worth twenty-five bucks, but he wasn’t planning on paying her anyway, so he agreed.

“Great, sugar. I just need to make a quick stop at the little girls’ room and I’ll be right back.”

She spun on her wedges to leave, but Taylor caught her thin wrist. He knew she wasn’t going to the washroom. She was going to her pimp to give him the four Ps: Price, preferences, plate number, parking location. Taylor didn’t see any single men hanging around; only other whores, and none of them were paying attention. Her pimp was probably in the restaurant, unaware of this particular transaction, and Taylor wanted to keep it that way.

“I’m sorta anxious to get right to it, Candi.” He smiled wide. Women loved his smile. He’d been told, many times, that he was good-looking enough to model. “If you leave me now, I might just find some other pretty girl to spend my money on.”

Candi smiled back. “Well, we wouldn’t want that. But I’m short on protection right now, honey.”

“I’ve got rubbers in the cab.” Taylor switched to his brooding, hurt-puppy dog look. “I need it bad, right now, Candi. So bad I’ll throw in another ten spot. That’s thirty-five bucks for something we both know will only take a few minutes.”

Taylor watched Candi work it out in her head. This john was hot to trot, offering more than the going rate, and he’d probably be really quick. Plus, he was cute. She could probably do him fast, and pocket the whole fee without having to share it with her pimp.

“You got yourself a date, sugar.”

Taylor took another quick look around the lot, made sure no one was watching, and hustled Candi into his cab, climbing up behind her and locking the door.

The truck’s windows were lightly tinted — making it difficult for anyone on the street to see inside. Not that Candi bothered to notice, or care. As soon as Taylor faced her she was pawing at his fly.

“The bedroom is upstairs.” Taylor pointed to the stepladder in the rear of the extended cab, leading to his overhead sleeping compartment.

“Is there enough room up there? Some of those spaces are tight.”

“Plenty. I customized it myself. It’s to die for.”

Taylor smiled, knowing he was being coy, knowing it didn’t matter at this point. His heart rate was up, his palms itchy, and he had that excited/sick feeling that junkies got right before they jabbed the needle in. If Candi suddenly had a change of heart, there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She was past the point of no return.

But Candi didn’t resist. She went up first, pushing the trap door on the cab’s ceiling, climbing into the darkness above. Taylor hit the light switch on his dashboard and followed her.

“What is this? Padding?”

She was on her hands and knees, running her palm across the floor of the sleeper, testing its springiness with her fingers.

“Judo mats. Extra thick. Very easy to clean up.”

“You got mats on the walls too?” She got on her knees and reached overhead, touching the spongy material on the arced ceiling, her exposed belly jiggling.

“Those are baffles. Keeps the sound out.” He smiled, closing the trap door behind him. “And in.”

The lighting was subdued, just a simple overhead fixture next to the smoke alarm. The soundproofing was black foam, the mats a deep beige, and there was no furniture in the enclosure except for an inflatable rubber mattress and a medium-sized metal trunk.

“This is kind of kinky. Are you kinky, Taylor?”

“You might say that.”

Taylor crawled over to the trunk at the far end of the enclosure. After dialing the combination lock, he opened the lid. Then he moved his Tupperware container aside and took out a fresh roll of paper towels, a disposable paper nose and mouth mask, and an aerosol spray can. He ripped off three paper towels, then slipped the mask on over his face, adjusting the rubber band so it didn’t catch in his hair.

“What is that, sugar?” Candi asked. Her flirty, playful demeanor was slipping a bit.

“Starter fluid. You squirt it into your carburetor, it helps the engine turn over. Its main ingredient is diethyl ether.”

He held the paper towels at arm’s length, then sprayed them until they were soaked.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Candi looked panicked now. And she had good reason to be.

“This will knock you out so I can tie you up. You’re not the prettiest flower in the bouquet, Candi with an I. But you have the cutest little toes.”

He grinned again. But this wasn’t one of his attractive grins. The whore shrunk away from him.

“Don’t hurt me, man! Please! I got kids!”

“They must be so proud.”

Taylor approached her, on his knees, savoring her fear. She tried to crawl to the right and get around him, get to the trap door. But that was closed and now concealed by matting, and Taylor knew she had no idea where it was.

He watched her realize escape wasn’t an option, and then she dug into her little purse for a weapon or a cell phone or a bribe or something else that she thought might help but wouldn’t. Taylor hit her square in the nose, then tossed the purse aside. A small canister of pepper spray spilled out, along with a cell phone, make-up, Tic-Tacs, and several condoms.

“You lied to me,” Taylor said, slapping her again. “You’ve got rubbers.”

“Please…”

“You lying little slut. Were you going to pepper spray me?”

“No… I…”

“Liar.” Another slap. “I think you need to be taught a lesson. And I don’t think you’ll like it. But I will.”

Candi’s hands covered her bleeding nose and she moaned something that sounded like, “Please… My kids…”

“Does your pimp offer life insurance?”

She whimpered.

“No? That’s a shame. Well, I’m sure he’ll take care of your children for you. He’ll probably have them turning tricks by next week.”

Taylor knocked her hands away and pressed the cold, wet paper towels to her face. Not hard enough to cut off air, but hard enough that she had to breathe through them. Even though he wore a paper face mask, some of the pungent, bitter odor got into Taylor’s nostrils, making his hairs curl.