Free The Call of Distant Shores by David Niall Wilson, Bob Eggleton Page A

Largest Cockroach.   Don't MISS THIS - 5 Miles to the Vermin from HELL.   1 Mile to Go - Exit 16A - Produce and souvenirs.   You get it?"
    Jasper didn't.   He was still staring at the roach.
    Bobby leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially in his friend's ear.   "It's simple, Jasper.   We sell tickets.   Folks stop to see, buy a ticket, maybe buy some tomatoes and some corn, and they drive on.   They won't be able to help themselves."
    "You have got to be fucking kidding," Jasper said, turning to meet Bobby's earnest gaze.   "I mean, who would PAY to see ... THAT?"
    "They won't see it," Bobby said.   "Not right off.   It will be in the shed.   That's the key.   And the answer is simple.   We make our money," Bobby looked around, as if there were someone to see him, or to overhear a great secret, "off suckers.   Cockroach suckers."
    There weren't no words for how Jasper felt at that moment, so he turned away, sort of tripped back to his chair, and reached for another beer.   "Cockroach suckers," he muttered.   "Jesus fucking Christ on a Popsicle stick."
    Bobby Lee trailed after him, reaching in to get his own beer this time, and Jasper didn't stop him.   There was plenty of beer, and it took too much effort to think and yell at the same time.
    "You really believe," Jasper said at last, "that folks'll pay good, hard-earned money to see the world's largest cockroach?"
    Bobby Lee's grin was full wattage again.   "I know they will, partner.   I know they will.   Hell, if I didn't OWN it, I'd rather see the thing myself than the world's largest link sausage, and I paid for that."
    "How long you think it'll take us to get that tin shed up?" Jasper asked.
    "Not more'n a day," Bobby Lee speculated, getting serious.   "I helped my Pap put one up in his yard last spring.   Not much to it, once you get started."
    Jasper nodded, and the nod worked itself naturally into a slow rock.   He stared up at the truck, meeting the multi-faceted gaze of Martha Stewart's worst nightmare steadily.   He wanted to tell Bobby Lee to take the damned thing and hit the trail.   It was a damn-fool idea.   He knew it, and Bobby Lee should know it, but – damned if it didn't sound as if it might actually work.
    "Shit," Jasper muttered.
    Bobby Lee let out a whoop, knowing he'd won.
    "You be here first thing in the morning," Jasper growled.   "Be ready to work, no hangover.   If we're a' goin ' to do this, we're a' goin ' to do it quick.   I still got fields to plow, and produce to get in.   If I let it go, we won't have a thing to sell except tickets, and I doubt that's gonna work out too well."
    "I'll be here," Bobby Lee promised.   Then he turned back to the truck and grabbed the ties on the tarpaulin, pulling them tight and cinching them to the truck bed.
    Once the huge bug was covered over, Jasper felt a little better.   There was something in the smooth, wooden surface of the things eyes that was unnerving.   He knew it was silly, but that didn't change a thing.
    "Damn thing gives me the willies," he said, reaching for another beer and staring at the blue-draped figure.
    "Hope it gives everyone the willies," Bobby Lee commented.   He reached into the cooler and fished out another beer for himself.   "I'll have this one more, then I'm gonna hit the road.   Smackdown is on tonight, and directly after that I'll be gettin ' me some shuteye.   I feel destiny callin '."
    "That ain't destiny," Jasper chuckled, "it's indigestion from all them Hally Penyas you ain't feedin ' to your truck."
    The two laughed and drank their bears in silence.   Both of them kept giving the truck sidelong glances, but neither of them mentioned the thing in the back of the truck again.   Not much later, Bobby Lee mounted up into the cab of his pickup and, honking like an idiot, backed up in a cloud of dust and trundled his huge cargo off down the dirt road toward the highway.   Jasper cleared his produce, locked what he could in his