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CHAPTER ONE
jackson
The unrelenting sun beats down on me as I pull another metal beam from the back of a rusted tractor trailer, sweat dripping down the back of my neck. It’s hot for October. Too fucking hot.
I can’t stand the South.
In a few short hours these beams will stand over thirty feet tall, the massive red and white canvas of the big top tent cascading around them like a cloak of mystery for all to see.
Becoming a carny wasn’t exactly a lifetime ambition of mine, but criminal records make your options dwindle to nothing.
“Hey, pretty boy, you got them beams out yet?”
I also can’t stand the local nobodies we hire on for the two weeks we stay in each town. He looks like he’s less than a half hour away from sneaking into a port-a-potty for his next fix. He’s not the first to call me pretty boy, though it typically only takes one time for them to never want to make that mistake again.
Even under all the sweat and dirt I still attract people like a magnet. It’s always the ones who want nothing to do with other people, isn’t it?
I bear down on my teeth, gritting them tightly together so I don’t say something that ends with me back in Sylvester’s office getting my ass chewed. I have a tendency to write checks with my mouth that my fists have to cash later.
The last of the beams clang loudly against the others when I drop it, the sound of metal hitting metal the only response he gets.
“Careful, Mac. That one’s testy,” Hank calls over his shoulder with a chuckle.
Hank is probably the only person in this place I can stand, and even that’s debatable sometimes. He’s twice my age and always drunk, but decidedly less stupid than the rest of these fuckers.
I shoot a warning glance over at Mac, and unsurprisingly, he backs down. A bead of sweat collects over my lip and I wipe it away with the back of my arm.
My eyes train onto the shitty trailer I call home, the cold shower inside calling my name louder and louder with each passing second I stay in this heat.
“You draw a straw yet?” Hank asks when he comes to my side, his voice sounding more throaty than normal, probably due to the endless cigarettes he smokes.
I shake my head.
The people here always rush to draw straws as soon as we land in a new place. I could care less what job I get stuck with.
I’ve done it all by now, and they all suck.
“What did you get?” I ask.
He pulls a soft pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and sticks one in between his teeth. “Fucking kiddie coaster.”
I take it back. All the jobs do suck, but the ones where you get trapped around screaming children are the worst.
“At least I can chat up the hot moms while their snot goblins ride. You may wanna go draw, kid. Livestock is still up for grabs and we both know how much you love shovelin’ shit.”
No one else really likes that one, but I don’t mind it. It’s quiet and I don’t have to deal with the public.
I shrug. “Maybe I’ll volunteer.”
“And miss out on all these sweet Southern belles the glorious South has to offer? Fuck off. Go get your straw.”
Hank knows good and damn well I don’t occupy my time with the miserable women who throw themselves at the few of us worth looking at for a night of meaningless fun.
I’m not fucking interested.
“Only a few are still up for grabs,” Sylvester says after taking a long drag off the cheap cigar wrapped in his fat fingers. “Gino put his up for trades if you’re interested. He got concessions again.”
I reach into the brown paper bag and pull my straw.
