THE LAST RAKOSH
a Repairman Jack story
F. Paul Wilson
© 2006 by F. Paul Wilson
Smashwords edition 2010
“I don’t know about this,” Gia said as they stood outside the entrance to the main tent. A faded red-and-yellow banner flapped in the breeze.
THE OZYMANDIAS PRATHER ODDITY EMPORIUM
Jack checked out the sparse queue passing through the entrance: A varied crew running the gamut from middle-class folk who looked like they’d just come from church to Goth types in full black regalia. But nobody looked threatening.
“It looks like some sort of freak show.” She glanced quickly at Vicky, then at Jack. “I just don’t know.”
Her meaning was clear.
“Truth is, I’m having second thoughts myself.”
“You?” Gia’s faint, pale eyebrows lifted. “If the most politically incorrect man I know is hesitating, we’d better turn around and go home.”
Jack had seen a flyer for the show and thought this might be a unique experience for Vicks, an exhibit of weird objects and odd people doing strange tricks—sort of like a bunch of Letterman’s “Stupid People Tricks” under one roof. But he didn’t want to take an eight-year-old girl to a freak show. The very idea of deformed people putting themselves on display repulsed him. It was demeaning, and people who paid to gawk seemed to come off as demeaned as the freaks on display. Maybe more so. He didn’t want to be one of them.