The Lankville Daily News

Dick Oakes, Jr.

Dr. Yothers peeled off the gauze bandages. I let out a muffled cry. Then the air hit my legs and I let out another.

“Chrissakes, I’ve tried everything, Doc. Gone near to broke with these creams and lotions from the god damn pharmacies.”

He poked the weeping sores with a tongue depressor. He leaned back in his little swivel chair and thought about it. Then, he leaned too far and fell flat on his ass. The chair went scuttling off into some dark corner of the filthy office. Who knew what the hell to make of it?

“Mr. Oakes, the pharmacies– they deal in mere parent medicines. They are the snake charmers of the modern era.” He giggled strangely.

“You mean patent medicines, Doc?”

“No matter.”

He was a squat shithouse of a man in a worn white lab coat. There were bleach discolorations all over the damn thing. But he moved nimbly.

He tore an entire drawer straight out of the battered desk. It was full of pills.

“The mind is set at ease Mr. Oates on the fate of humanity when one contemplates the great work of the pharmaceutical companies of Lankville.” He giggled again strangely. “Just think of the selfless research that went into the creation of all these marvelous concoctions.” He ran his hand over the pills. I stared down at the myriad of colors. Many weren’t even in bottles. I couldn’t figure on any of it.

“You got anything in there that’ll clear this up, Doc?”

“Oh, there MUST be,” he said. But he continued to hold the drawer in his lap, staring mindlessly out of the long-uncleaned picture window. You could see the tops of the skyscrapers far in the distance.

I picked up a bottle. Some long senseless brand name. The expiration date was November of 1998. I read the patient name– Herm Mount-Vince.

“Oh, he died,” Yothers said. “There used to be a file on him but I believe it was swept away. We have these foreign people that come in and clean up.”

I looked around. There were ancient sauce spots on the linoleum floor. There was an area in the corner where it looked like a cat had thrown up.

“Yeah, when the hell was that, Doc? November of 1998?”

He giggled.

“Anyway, Mr. Oakes. These are what they call “antibiotics”. I prefer another term but that’s another story. I would try these for two weeks. The sores will clear up and you will find that you have clear, rubbery skin again. It will be good for you. And for me.”

He handed over the bottle. There was no label at all on this one. The pills were green.

“Do you have twenty dollars?” he asked suddenly.

It had been awhile since I looked in my wallet. I decided to bluff.

“I’ll pay you next time, Doc. Let’s see if this horse medicine works first.”

“Fair enough.” He giggled. “I wonder what became of my little swivel chair. Do you remember?”

I stared at him a moment. “Over there, Doc. Remember? You fell clean off it.”

“Of course.” He smiled mildly. “What an affair this has been.” He giggled again.

I got the hell out of there.

Dick Oakes, Jr.

We were sitting at the end of the bar near the jukebox. The old drunk had the corner.

“We’re all dying,” he said. “But man, Oakes, you show it like nobody I ever seen.”

I looked up at the mirrors behind the bottles. There, on my forehead, were the distinct red splotches. They had appeared overnight. Several teeth throbbed mercilessly. My legs were covered in sores. The blood came through the bandages, through the pant legs. It was all a hell of a mess.

“Your face looks like my piss in the morning, Oakes.”

That was it. I started unbuttoning my shirt. “Let’s settle this outside in the weedy area.” The bartender stopped buffing a glass. “On the lot behind the knives and puzzles shop, boys, not on my lot, not on my god damn lot.”

The drunk got up. He had a huge head and squinty eyes. He was a big guy but I figured I could get a knock in. A bunch of people materialized out of the shadows– followed us out.

Some guy came over and drew a circle in the dust with a stick. He had a huge head too. I couldn’t figure on any of it.

A couple of hours later I awoke in some motel room. There was a dull ache on one side of my head and in my belly. When I tried to sit up, the pain knifed me back down.

The room was done up all in brown. There were two queen beds with white vinyl headboards. There was a giant picture on the wall of the exact same room but with a family in it. The father was on the phone and the mother was standing around in a blue dress. The father looked like a drunk. A couple of kids were lounging on one of the beds. Below, in bold letters, it said AMPLE FREE PARKING. I thought about that for awhile but came up empty.

There was a TV and I struggled over to it and pushed it on. A blue glow came up, then some assholes were standing around talking bullshit. I tried another station and it was the same assholes. Then, there was a station that came up that just had the word “ADULT” on the screen. Below, there were instructions on a number to call. I called it.

A female voice answered. “What’s all this about, this adult business?” I asked.

“We have movies for men,” she said. She had a deep, sultry voice– I thought about messing around with myself but figured on it being indecent. “Your bill will be charged at the end of your stay.”

“Alright, then, give it to me, who gives a damn.”

The screen changed. It said, “NEXT UP: RUBBEROUS BUTTOCKY PUMPING. “What the hell?” I thought, “that don’t sound bad.” Some music started up and then there was a couple walking down a sidewalk towards a house. Then, they went inside the house. The camera remained on the house for a long time. Fifteen minutes passed, maybe twenty. Then, the couple came out of the house. The woman’s hair was all tussled. Then the movie ended and the same ADULT screen came back up.

“What the hell is this?”

I called the girl back.

“That wasn’t nothing,” I said.

“Well, it was implied sir. Didn’t you understand the filmmaker’s implication?”

I was too tired for an argument. They all wear you out and then they get you one way or they get you the other way.

“I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy the movie,” she said. She sounded legitimately sorry.

“Skip it. There ain’t no merit in it.” I hung up.

I lied there awhile. Started to think that maybe I really was dying.

Dick Oakes, Jr.

I was waiting for a bus when I saw her. Across from Grant’s they had a closed car dealership and she pulled in there. I leaned back a little against the front window. Grant had a bunch of old cakes in there that had melted and some patriotic bunting that was creased and tattered to hell. I couldn’t figure on any of it.

It was hot and the little bit of breeze did nothing but blow dust everywhere in this fuck-all town. I looked up at the little faded bus sign and wondered if the damn thing was ever going to come.

I looked back at the girl. She had put on an enormous straw hat that hid her face but was really selling a black strapless number and she had great legs. You’re a bum Oakes, a bum with fucking sores on your legs and nine dollars in your wallet. I thought about the night before, in the motel room. Couple of foreigners screaming at each other upstairs and me in the bathroom with a razor to my neck. Easy now. Easy. I had backed away, gone upstairs and told the assholes to can it. They did.

And now here I was, in the daylight watching a pretty girl with amazing legs cross a baked desert road at high noon.

She stopped under the overhang and looked at the cakes. I turned around and as I did, one of the cakes collapsed into the bunting.

“What a queer event,” she commented.

“Something you don’t see everyday, a cake collapsing into some bunting.” Oakes, you stupid shit. You got nothing else to say to this woman?

“How is the food here?”

I got a look at her face then. It was an exotic face, only pushing thirty but there was pain on it. The eyes were large and distant.

“It says good food on the banner.” Oakes, for fuck’s sake, you’re one king hill asshole.

“Do you suppose they mean it?” she asked. She eyed the cake again– it was melting quickly into the bunting. Nobody gave a damn.

“I figure they might. Why don’t we see about that?”

“What is your name?”

I thought about that. Dick Oakes– not a strong name someone had once told me.

“It’s Buck…” I was floundering. “Buck Tubbs.” You Christ-all stupid shit. You shoulda’ done it last night, Oakes. You shoulda’ done it.

“Buck…Tubbs?” she said. She removed a cigarette from a little pink case and lit it. The smell was agonizing– it had been days.

“What sort of last name is Tubbs?” she said. A little wry smile appeared at the corners. She offered me a cigarette and I could have married her right there.

“Skip it. Let’s go inside.” I thought about the nine dollars in my wallet, the bus ticket that was only good for the next ride, whenever the hell that came. I thought about how the bus would slow down and there wouldn’t be anybody and it would pick up speed and bust off in a fury of dust and smoke. It didn’t matter none though. Here was a girl that didn’t come along everyday.

We got a booth in the back by the air conditioner. The waitress was wearing a white uniform with a giant stickpin shaped like a basketball. I couldn’t figure on it. We ordered and she went off somewhere.

“You married?” I had noticed the ring on her finger.

“No. Well, yes.” She took out another cigarette. “My husband was killed in a challenge six months ago. I can’t get the ring off.” She looked down at it. “I think my hands have grown fatter.”

“Everything else looks just right.” Steady boy, steady.

She tossed me a little smile. A garden salad was brought.

“He was kind of a turd. He threw trash everywhere. Toilet, kitchen sink, behind the radiators. I don’t miss it.”

“Sounds like a Class-A asshole.” I took a cigarette from the case and sat back in the booth. I glanced down and got a good look at my slacks– they were bright orange and stained to hell. You got no business sitting here, Oakes. No business.

“He was terrible in bed,” she said suddenly. She stared out the side window at a parking lot alongside a hardware store. Some guys pulled up and quickly unloaded a piano against the store. Then they peeled out of there. YOU MOTHERFUCKERS, the hardware store owner screamed, running after them. I couldn’t figure on any of it.

“He was interested in everything in the world but me.” She crushed out the cigarette. “A little crack in the ceiling could occupy him for hours. I’d just be lying there waiting and he’d be worried over that little crack. It grew tedious.”

“A slob and fastidious at the same time, huh? What do you call that, a conundrum?”

“Yes, yes, a conundrum!” The steaks were brought.

We ate. I thought about asking her to marry me. You gotta get some high-end pants first, buddy. 

I excused myself and went to the counter. The waitress was back there fooling around with some ketchup containers that were shaped like tomatoes.

“Where’s a men’s store?”

“What, you mean, like a place that sells them magazines?”

“No, no, a clothing shop. For men.”

She thought about it. It wasn’t coming easy.

“Maybe two, maybe three towns over.”

“Alright.” I went back to the table.

I didn’t have no money anyway. I looked at her gnawing the tough steak. Made me start thinking about a job.