The Lankville Daily News

By Dick Oakes, Jr.

I woke up on a sweat-stained cot in a shed.

There was a little dust-encrusted window. The light coming through made it look like early evening.

I heard a sound outside the door– it was like a balloon slowly being deflated. Who knew what the hell to make of it.

There was a little portable fridge and it was stocked with nothing but cans of FUN BEER and little plastic containers of soup. I drank two of the beers down and felt a little better.

I pushed the door open. It didn’t come easy. The twilight desert landscape unfolded before me. Off about a hundred feet, there was Tibbs, deflating a beach ball and holding it up to the heavens. It was all hell ridiculous.

MR. OATES! GOOD EVENING, MR. OATES! WOULD YOU LIKE TO MAKE AN OFFERING?

“Think I’ll skip it, Tibbs.”

OH, THAT’S FINE, THAT’S FINE. EACH OF US WILL RECEIVE QUITTANCE UPON DEATH, AFTER ALL! I AM MERELY TRYING TO ACCELERATE THE…WELL, EACH OF US WILL FLOURISH LIKE THE PALM TREE, DON’T YOU THINK?

Tibbs suddenly drew a circle in the sand with a stick. My head was pounding.

“What happened last night, Tibbs? What kind of jackpot are we in here?”

He laughed– the loud, weird booming laugh that petered out into hysteria.

MR. OAKES. LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THE STORAX ROD.

I threw up suddenly against the shed. Tibbs darted forward and held me by the ears, shaking my head from side to side. I pushed him away.

I crawled back into the shed and opened another FUN BEER. I noticed again the open case in the corner– the machine gun and a pile of spent casings. And the thought hit me– maybe not the best idea to hitch your wagon to this guy, Oakes.

After awhile, I went back outside. It was dark now. I saw nothing but could still hear the sound of the beach ball being deflated and Tibbs’ desperate wheezing.

“Tibbs? I…I need to talk.”

OWWWWWWLLLLLLLLLSSSSSSS

“Tibbs?”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. OOOOOOOOOOOOOO, THE TREASURE OF VIRGINITY, SKY GOD!

Get the hell out of here, get the hell out of here, now I can’t see anything I don’t know where I am I don’t have anything 

THE FIERY PIVOTS ARE TURNING IN MY EARS. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Yes

I took off running towards nothing.

Must have been four hours. Spent and exhausted, I arrived in a sleepy desert town– one main street in darkness with some senseless back roads that went off into oblivion.

Near the end of the town was a two-lane highway that seemed to pop up out of nowhere. And there was a motel with a pool.

I scanned my wallet. $37.

The guy at the counter had a bingo drum and he was spinning it way too fast and calling out the numbers to nobody. There weren’t no sense to any of it.

“Can I get a room for $37?”

He thought about that. It took him awhile.

“Well, on account of us being slow, I guess’n I can accommodate ya.”

“I need…I need to stay for a few days. How about giving me a few chores, little custodial work or something?”

He took his time thinking about that one too. “I guess’n I got some gutters that need cleanin’. Plus, I got this bingo here. Got to keep it spinning but my arms is starting to hurt.”

That wasn’t no good. I had to stay out of sight.

“What about something inside?” I fished.

“Well…I got Mary-Betty for that. She comes five hours a week. Sometimes ten if’n I need help with the bingo wheel.”

“Painting? Interior?”

“Yeah, I guess I could use some painting. Couple of the rooms have mold all over the walls. Tell me, how the hell do you get mold all over the walls in the god damn desert?”

I couldn’t answer that one.

But I slept like a baby that night.

By Dick Oakes, Jr.

It had been months of driving back and forth from the Murray to the Towels by the Pound joint. Months of collapsing into bed with a skull-cracking headache, months of nausea, months of thinking about that straight razor on the sink edge.

Then, suddenly, I felt pretty good. Felt like eating, maybe taking a walk in the sun.

I went downstairs.

Tibbs was there. He was in the process of dumping an entire container of bleach on the front counter. There was strange electronic music issuing from the speakers in the ceiling.

“MR. OAKES, WHY, WHY, IT’S A FINE DAY, ISN’T IT? HAHAHAHAHAHA. ARE YOU HAVING BREAKFAST WITH US TODAY?”

The bleach was dripping off the counter and onto the carpet. Who knew what the hell to make of it?

“Listen Tibbs, I was thinking of maybe taking a little walk somewheres. Maybe getting something rich and sweet to eat. I’m sick to Christ of those saltines you’ve been leaving by the door.”

“INDEED, MR. OAKES! HAHAHAHAHA”.  Tibbs started trying to collect the bleach in a bucket with a large squeegee. There was no merit to it.

“DO YOU KNOW OF THE KRAZY KOLOR KANDY KORN HOUSE, MR. OAKES? WHY IT IS A DELIGHT! JUST A MAGNIFICIENT WHIMSICAL DELIGHT FOR ALL THE SENSES, MR. OAKES!”

“Sounds alright. I mean, the kandy korn. I could skip the whimsical delight for all the senses,” I said.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.”

The laugh got crazier as it progressed. I figured on trying to cut it off.

“Say, Tibbs, where’s this Krazy Kolor Kandy Korn house at?”

He was trying to wind it down– it was almost as if he couldn’t. The bleach was running down the counter in long, thin lines. A phone was ringing somewhere.

“OH, MR. OAKES, MR. OAKES. YOU ARE SUCH A DELIGHT. MY FAVORITE GUEST IF I MAY SO, NOW THAT MRS. STOCKSDALE HAS DIED.”

Don’t ask about that Oakes. Don’t touch that one with a ten-foot pole.

“ANYWAY, MR. OAKES, YES– THE KRAZY KOLOR KANDY KORN HOUSE IS ON HALSTEAD STREET. WHY, IT’S JUST A QUICK FIVE-MINUTE STROLL. WHAT AN UNSURPASSED DELIGHT!”

I got the hell out of there.

The day was warm but comfortable. I passed a couple of gun shops, a hardware store with a guy standing outside wearing a sandwich board sign, a couple of half-empty pool halls. I came to Halstead but didn’t know which way to turn. At first I went left and it was just a bunch of sprawling houses ending at some kind of strip mall. I doubled back and came to a public park.

There was no missing it– the place was decorated in jagged colored shapes and sat off in a dirt lot under a tree. Strange streams of smoke, accompanied by occasional bursts of fire, emerged from the chimney on top. The whole place reeked of candy corn.

I walked over. A girl came to the window. A brunette with huge eyes and a sweet face.

“What’s the options?” I asked. I didn’t see a sign anywhere.

“We have Krazy Kolor Kandy Korn in three sizes. We also have sno-cones.”

“Is the Krazy Kolor Kandy Korn pretty sweet? Melt in your mouth?”  Cool it down Oakes, careful here.

“It does melt in your mouth,” she shot back. “Every time. That’s Sammy’s guarantee.”

“Who’s Sammy? Husband?”

She laughed. “No, my God no. He’s…well…I just work here.”

“Well, gimme’ the large size.” I started fishing around in my wallet.

She disappeared and there was a weird sound from the back. Then the window opened again and she pushed a bucket the size of a car tire towards me.

“Jesus Christ. I’ll need a god damn dolly to cart this thing around.”

“I could help you with it. I’m on my break.” She smiled. God damn Oakes. God damn.

A kid with acne and a paper hat appeared at the window. “This guy bothering you?” he asked.

“Shut up, Skip,” she said.

I found a bench nearby and started watching some guys out in a field throw a ball around. The ball was some lightweight plastic affair and eventually it got stuck in a bush. They gave up on it and walked away. I couldn’t figure on any of it.

The girl came over with a smaller bucket. We both tried to dump some of the candy corn in there but a lot of it didn’t take. Ended up in her lap.

She stood up and shook it off.

God damn Oakes. God damn.

“I think I’m pretty glad that I came to get this candy corn,” I said.

“This place used to be a hot dog stand,” she said. My God, she’s cute Oakes. “I came here once with my father. We expected some hot dogs, a few laughs, maybe some buns. But it turned into a nightmare.”

I let her go on.

“I don’t care to talk about it. But I’m here…I’m facing my fear.”

“Good for you. Christ, this is good candy corn.”

“Oh, yes. Sammy makes good candy corn. He really does. He has many business ventures.”

It hit me. “Little fat guy, built like a brick shithouse?”

“Yes, that’s him exactly. Yes.”

“Yeah, hell. I know him.”

She didn’t say nothing on that. I could hear her crunching on that candy corn.

Twenty minutes passed.

“I have to get back to the Krazy Kolor Kandy Korn House. Maybe I’ll see you again?”

“Maybe.”

I watched her walk across the dirt lot.

By Dick Oakes, Jr.

It was morning. There was a massive clock radio on the bureau (it glowed a sickly green color at night) that read: 8:07. There was something about that time.

C’mon Oakes. What the hell is today?

There was a little leather bound notebook in the side table. It was mostly just pillow counts and there was a little chart about different qualities of firmness that I couldn’t seem to commit to memory. I flipped to the front where there was a calendar.

It’s another birthday, Oakes. 8:07: The time of your birth.

I counted off the years and realized I was 58.

I picked up the service phone. Tibbs was there instantly, as though he were waiting. There was some sort of strange slow bubbly electronic noise behind him. I couldn’t figure on any of it.

“GOOD MORNING MR. OAKES! WHAT A LOVELY SUMMER DAY IT IS TODAY! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Yeah, listen Tibbs. Send up a case of FUN BEER and maybe a bottle of gin, whatever’s cheapest.”

“OOOH, MR. OAKES! IT SOUNDS AS THOUGH YOU’RE PLANNING A PARTY!!!” He started laughing so hard I thought he had dropped the phone for a minute.

“It’s my birthday, Tibbs”. I instantly regretted the announcement.

“WHAT AN OCCASION, MR. OAKES! WHAT A DELIGHT! AN ABSOLUTE DELIGHT!”

Tibbs, Sr.

He was gone from the phone for a few seconds and when he came back, he blew one of those plastic party horns in my ear.

“THIS IS SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE, MR. OAKES! LET ME CALL ALL THE ROOMS!”

“No, no, no,” I stopped him. “Listen, Tibbs, I just want to…I want to stay here and just drink and…maybe you could roll a teevee in or something.”

“WHY, I WOULD BE DELIGHTED TO ROLL IN A TEEVEE!” he said. “I WILL EVEN MAKE SURE THAT YOU GET OUR COLOR SET, MR. OAKES!!!”

He was suddenly quiet.

“Even if I have to kill Ms. Stocksdale to get it.”

“Listen, Tibbs, take it easy. Just, just bring me whatever you got. Let’s…leave Ms. Stocksdale alone, alright.”

“OF COURSE, OF COURSE, OF COURSE, OF COURSE, MR. OATES. WHATEVER YOU WOULD LIKE! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! WHAT AN ABSOLUTE, OUTRIGHT DELIGHT TODAY IS!!!”

“Alright, listen, connect me with an outside line.”

I called the towels by the pound shop. I let it ring about 15 times. Finally, the crazy old broad answered.

“Listen, I ain’t feeling too good today,” I said. “Musta’ been them shrimps from last night.”

“We’ll get along,” she said. I could hear a lighter going, another cigarette. She smoked them like they were going out of style.

“Alright, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Dick…?”  I paused a second. I could hear her exhaling.

“Happy Birthday, Dick,” she said.

God damn, she’s a sweetheart, Oakes. Too bad she’s so fat, there just ain’t no desire there.

“Thanks. I’ll…I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I don’t know what it was, but I broke down then. Just started crying lightly. There wasn’t nobody that had wished me an unsolicited Happy Birthday in years.

Dick Oakes, Jr.

I had put in a couple of weeks at the towels by the pound joint when the crazy old broad that owned the place asked if I wanted to go down to the shore. “We’ll get a motel room on the beach,” she said. “You can get drunk.”

I figured on that being alright.

She had an ancient old car painted gold with big rusted fins off the back. The seats were torn to living hell– you sank about two feet when you sat in them.

“I don’t know how to drive,” she said, standing there holding a battered cardboard suitcase and a bag full of towels. “My husband did all the driving but then they murdered him. He went quickly.”

Who knew what to make of it?

I took the wheel and she guided me south through a bunch of fuck-all towns. There was a place called “Memory Pool” and another one called “Budget Pillows”. Nothing but highway and mean stone structures– lived in but with the appearance of dereliction.

“Who came up with the name for these places?” I was trying to figure out what was going on with the speedometer. It would spike up suddenly to 90 even though I was keeping it at a steady 55.

She lit one cigarette right off the last. “Who knows? There ain’t no history here.”

After awhile, she asked me to pull into a gas station so she could pick some suntan oil. “Let’s have a tallboy wrapped in brown paper,” I said.  I watched her waddle off.

There was a guy in the next lane, filling up a pickup whose bed was full of pumpkins. He saw me glance at him.

“Did you want a pumpkin? Maybe one for your wife, there?”

“We ain’t married.”

“You can give a pumpkin to her. It’ll be nice.”

I looked at the guy a second.

“You like living here,” I asked. “This country?”

He ignored the question. “Be real nice. Nice picnic on the beach. Pumpkins.”

There weren’t no merit in any of it.

After awhile, the crazy broad wandered back with a big bag of junk. She had picked up three tallboys, all wrapped in paper. Shit, that’s about the nicest thing anybody’s done for you in a long damn time, Oakes.

I looked at the can. FUN BEER.

“Who came up with this name?”

She was opening a bag of chips and smoking a cigarette at the same time.

“I don’t know. My husband drank it. It’s made in the East.”

I cracked one open and pretended it didn’t matter none.

We pulled into the Tropic Shores around dinnertime. It was another one of those disjointed modernist places painted a bright blue. There were a couple of palm trees in the grassy yard and a bunch of lounge chairs scattered about. She gave me a couple of twenties and sent me towards the office. I watched her stare at the sea.

It was a little balding guy behind the counter. He had a bunch of horse racing programs spread out all over the counter. There were a couple spent cans of beer. FUN BEER.

“Well, now, we only got the one room that faces the parking lot. Ain’t no kind of view really.”

I threw one of the twenties at him. “That seal it?”

“Well, now, no, we usually ask $27.50.”

“What kind of bed you got in there?”

“It’s got two singles. But you can push them together. If you stand on the left side of the left bed and your wife there stands on the right side of the right bed and then you both…”

I cut him off. “We ain’t married.” I threw the twenties at him. “How about getting me a couple of six packs of that Fun Beer? Tall boys?”

“Alright. I’ll send them up. But that about kills your change.”

I nodded and looked out through the blinds. The crazy broad was still staring at the sea. A bunch of seagulls flitted around.

“The room got heavy curtains?”

“Yessir, it sure does. My wife made them herself. What you do is you take fabric and you allow for 10 inches to account for the hems. Now your length is going to depend on where the rod is hung. With that room, we went with a…”

“Alright, you get those tallboys for me, right?”

I figured on it being a hell of a long evening.