Sintown Chronicles III: In Dark Corners

by David O. Dyer, Sr.

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  Renaissance

  www.renebooks.com

  Copyright ©2003 by David O. Dyer, Sr.

  * * *

  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  THE SINTOWN CHRONICLES

  Volume III

  "IN DARK CORNERS"

  BOOK 7

  Bawdy Talk in Dot

  &

  BOOK 8

  The Nutcase Chase

  &

  SPECIAL BONUS NOVEL

  Whatever

  (Written as “Dale Doty")

  By

  David O. Dyer, Sr.

  A Renaissance E Books publication

  ISBN 1-58873-234-7

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 2003 by Estate of David O. Dyer, Sr.

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.

  For information contact:

  Renaissance E Books

  Email comments@renebooks.com

  A Sizzler/Scorcher Edition

  BOOK 7

  Bawdy Talk in Dot

  By

  David O. Dyer, Sr.

  Chapter One

  Julie kicked a beer bottle to one side and stepped behind the dust covered counter. Her eyes surveyed the dismal scene—row after row of empty shelves, rusting refrigerated units and ancient signs on the walls advertising tobacco products and soft drinks, many of which were no longer available. She glanced to the left at what used to be the small adjoining restaurant. She pictured the smiling face of her blond-haired mother, moving from table to table taking orders, then rushing to the grill and back to the tables; arms loaded with plates of delicious food.

  She pictured her dad, pumping gas and ringing up sales on the old cash register. She ran her fingers over the typewriter-like keys of the huge, outdated monster. She pushed the No Sale key and grinned at the “ca-ching” sound as the cash drawer popped open.

  "That'll be four fifty,” she said to an imaginary customer. She stretched out her hand to receive the offered ten-dollar bill. “Four fifty out of ten,” she said, placing the phantom bill on the ledge of the cash register and pulling nonexistent change from the drawer. “Thank you, Mr. Brewster,” she said and she imagined her father looking up from the shelf he was restocking.

  "Come again, now. Ya hear?” he would have said.

  Those were good days, Julie thought as she squatted to examine the all but empty space under the counter.

  "Anybody home?” a male voice boomed.

  Julie screamed and jumped to her feet, her hand pressed against her pounding heart.

  The sandy-haired man grinned sheepishly. “Take it easy,” he said. “I'm not going to molest you. I just need some gas."

  Julie forced herself to chuckle. “You startled me, mister. Rape is one disaster I never have to worry about. As far as gas is concerned, you're out of luck. There hasn't been any gas in these tanks for years."

  "I ... I didn't realize you were closed. I saw the car outside and just assumed..."

  "The little town of Dot is down the road about fifteen miles. You'll find a couple of service stations there."

  The stranger shifted his weight uncomfortably and looked at the floor. “What I really need is a restroom."

  Julie smiled at his obvious discomfort. “You guys have it all over us gals when it comes to that kind of problem.” She gestured towards the door. “Just hide behind a tree next to the building and have at it. I promise I won't peek."

  His eyes remained focused on the toes of his shoes. “Sometimes it isn't that simple, even for a guy."

  "Oh,” she said as she felt her face coloring. “There are restrooms in the back of the restaurant, but there may not be any toilet paper. Hell, I'm not even sure the water is running.” She retrieved her handbag from the counter and produced a small packet of tissues. “Better take these with you, just in case."

  The man accepted the tissues while avoiding eye contact. “I'll check the water before making a mess,” he muttered.

  Julie smiled at his embarrassment, roamed to the dingy glass front of the store and peered out at the old Ford pickup, parked next to her new Cavalier. She noted that the bed of the pickup was loaded and covered with a tarpaulin. She fantasized briefly about the man, trying to visualize him as the handsome hunk he was, but all her mind's eye could envision was his muscular body sitting on the porcelain throne with his pants around his ankles.

  She heard water running in groaning pipes and turned towards the entrance to the restaurant area. She grinned when he appeared through the opening. “Everything come out okay?” she joked.

  He looked away, but he, too, was smiling. “Pounds lighter,” he replied. “Water works fine. I flushed twice just to be sure I didn't leave any, uh, souvenirs behind. I appreciate it,” he concluded as he moved past her towards the exit door. He paused.

  "Forget something?"

  He turned, faced her and cocked his head to one side. “I know it's none of my business, but you said something earlier that I can't seem to shake. May I ask you a personal question?"

  "You may ask, but I may not answer."

  He nodded. “Fair enough. I'm sure you read the papers and watch TV news. There are a lot of crazies running around in this old world of ours. Even kids rape kids these days. Why is it that you are not afraid of being sexually assaulted?"

  "You thinking about proving me wrong?"

  "Of course not. That's not what I meant at all."

  "Look at me, Clyde. You're not blind, are you? I'm six feet tall, skinny as a toothpick, my face looks like a mule and I'll bet your chest is bigger than mine. I can't find a guy willing to be caught between the sheets with me, let alone take me on a public date. My physical appearance is better protection than mace, pepper spray and a shotgun combined."

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. I was not expecting that answer. You didn't impress me initially as a woman with such low self-esteem."

  "I'm not, damn it,” she shot back. “Man cannot live by bread alone, but a woman sure as hell can live without a man. For your information, Clyde, I put myself through college and make a damn good living as a freelance illustrator."

  "I'm impressed,” he said as he looked into her green eyes. “The name is Cliff—not Clyde."

  "All men are Clydes to me."

  Cliff nodded, no longer smiling. “Thank you for the use of your facilities.” He turned, placed his hand on the doorknob and hesitated. Again, he faced her. “May I kiss you?"

  Julie's eyes widened. Her throat was suddenly dry and her feet seemed nailed to the floor as she watched him approach. She felt his hands on either side of her face, saw his lips drawing closer, and felt them on her forehead, her left eyebrow, her right eyelid, and her nose. What was she supposed to do? His hands moved to the small of her back and pulled her closer. His brown eyes seared her brain. His lips touched hers. They tugged on her lower lip, then the upper. Hell, in the movies, lovers touch tongues, she thought. Is that what I should do? She parted her lips slightly, but it was too late.

  Cliff stepped back with a serious expression on his face and eyes locked on hers. “You either need to buy a new mirror or have your eyes examined,” he said softly. “Man can live without woman too, Pretty Lady, but it's not much of a life."

  Julie was speechless. She watched h
im walk through the door to his pickup. As he opened the truck door she recovered and stepped outside. “Julie,” she shouted. “My name is Julie, not Pretty Lady."

  He climbed into the pickup, closed the door and rolled down the window. “All women are pretty ladies to me,” he replied with a smile on his face that caused her to tremble. He touched his finger to his eyebrow in a parting salute, cranked the engine and drove away.

  Julie watched the truck disappear and stepped back inside the decaying building. They say a girl never forgets her first kiss, she thought, and I'll bet they're right. She shook her head sadly. Thirty-seven years old and a total stranger gives me my first real kiss.

  She wandered through the restaurant area and, with childhood memories flooding her mind, could not suppress the tears. The restaurant and motel have been closed for fifteen years, she recalled. God, how I'd love to restore everything. She shuddered when she saw the filthy men's room. Sorry, Clyde. It's the best I had to offer.

  She sat in the corner booth where she ate her meals as a child and reminisced. They worked so hard all those years—twelve, fifteen hours a day seven days a week—but there was so much love. I worked hard too, she silently recalled, but it seemed like play. It wasn't play, though. Not for Mom, at least. She worked herself into an early grave. Now Dad is resting beside her.

  A horn sounded in the parking lot and Julie glanced at her watch. “Right on time,” she mumbled. She walked to the front door and watched a nice looking man hold open the door of an old, restored, red Mustang convertible. A gorgeous woman, about Julie's height, emerged. Damn, Julie thought. She's as flat chested as I am. I wonder if I fixed myself up a little ... She laughed. Naw.

  She extended her hand as the couple approached. “I'm Julianna Wilson,” she said. “Please call me Julie."

  "Tim Dollar,” the man said, firmly gripping her hand. “This is my wife, and the brains of Dollar Enterprises, Sandy."

  "The place is filthy,” Julie apologized, “but please come in."

  "Our condolences, Miss Wilson,” Sandra said sincerely. “Are you sure you want to discuss business just hours after your father's funeral?"

  "I mean no disrespect for my father, Mrs. Dollar. He knew how much I loved him. I visited every weekend the three years he was in the nursing home and was by his side the two weeks he was in the hospital. I was holding his hand when he went to be with mom. Now it's time for me to wrap things up here and get on with my life."

  "You live in Charleston I believe you said,” Tim offered.

  "I'm a freelance illustrator, so it doesn't matter much where I live. Charleston is an artist's dream with its old mansions and hanging moss.” Julie motioned with her head towards the open archway. “I've cleaned up the back booth in the old restaurant area,” she said as she turned and led the way, “but I'm afraid I don't have any refreshments to offer you."

  "Not a problem,” Sandra replied while sliding across the torn plastic seat.

  Tim coughed and pulled a small notebook from his pocket. “On the telephone you mentioned an offer I once made to your dad."

  Julie nodded. “In the hospital, Dad said you offered to buy the entire place. It's been in the family for generations and I know he would prefer for me to keep it, but I have no desire to reopen the business and I can't afford to pay taxes on land I don't use."

  Tim nodded. “Miss Wilson, after your telephone call, I looked up my notes on your property. I hate to tell you this, but it just isn't worth much. You have one thousand acres, the motel, service station and restaurant—all in a terrible state of repair. When I initially made an offer to your dad, I was thinking of building a housing complex on the land. Your dad refused my offer, so I went in another direction."

  "Our only interest at this point, Julie,” Sandra said, “is in tearing down the buildings and putting up a new service station and, perhaps, a gift shop."

  Julie's brows creased. “I don't understand."

  "We have no use for the restaurant and motel. Frankly, it will probably cost less to tear down the structures and rebuild than it would to remodel."

  Julie shook her head. “What I meant was, why would you want to own a service station on Highway 13? The Interstate took all the traffic off 13 and destroyed Dad's business in the process."

  Tim nodded. “It did, but things have changed. Sandy and I built a large recreational complex on the other side of Dot. It is very successful and draws people from several states. Those coming from the east have found 13 to be a shortcut to Dot, Lake Norman and Charlotte. That's why the highway department upgraded and repaved the road."

  "Then all the traffic I've noticed on the highway is not my imagination."

  Sandra smiled. “Would you consider selling us about ten acres of highway frontage?"

  Again, Julie frowned. “According to Dad, you wanted the whole thing."

  "That was then. This is now,” Tim said apologetically.

  "But I wouldn't accomplish anything by selling just ten acres."

  "I know,” Tim sighed. “Sandy and I discussed it at great length. We just don't know what we would do with all this land, but if you must sell it all, we are prepared to offer you a hundred dollars an acre."

  Julie stared in disbelief.

  "That's one hundred thousand dollars, dear,” Sandra cooed.

  "That's an insult,” Julie replied without thinking. “Oh, wait. I'm sorry. That didn't come out right."

  Tim smiled. “Yes, it did, Miss Wilson. Our offer is an insult, but it's the best we can do. You said it doesn't matter where you live. Why don't you move here permanently and reopen just the service station? Hire somebody to run it for you and see what happens."

  Julie was near tears. “I appreciate you coming out here today. I really do. It's just that I think the land should be worth much more. I'm going to have to rethink the whole process. Just so I can consider all angles, what will you offer me for the ten acres of road frontage?"

  "A thousand dollars an acre,” Sandra replied.

  "But that's the same total you're offering for the whole place."

  Sandra reached across the table and placed her hand on Julie's. “Think about it, dear."

  What I think, you bitch, is that I'd like to cram my foot up your scrawny butt, Julie thought as she forced a smile to her lips.

  Julie watched the Dollars depart, paying particular attention to the extremely short shirt the woman was wearing and the way her buttocks swayed as she walked. She moved towards the dingy counter, trying to imitate Sandra's sexy gait and burst out laughing. “I don't have a tail to wag,” she said to the empty room.

  She looked once more at the familiar surroundings and saw things as they used to be, not as they actually were. There must be somebody in Dot who will give a fair price for Dad's ... my land, she thought as she turned off the lights. She chuckled when she remembered a realtor's ad in the Dot Courier. “Creasy Green Real Estate and Insurance,” the ad proclaimed. Well, Mr. Creasy Green, I think I'll see what you can do for me.

  She locked the door, climbed into her Cavalier and headed for her motel room in Dot. The FM station on the car radio was fading in and out. She punched the “seek” button and listened to the next station just long enough to realize it was a National Public Radio broadcast. She again punched “seek,” and listened to the concluding familiar strains of a Budweiser commercial.

  "You are listening to the voice of Dot, North Carolina, WFNS, your friendly neighborhood station."

  Damn, Julie thought. Dot has it's own radio station. How about that!

  A sultry female voice caused Julie to turn up the volume.

  Okay, boys and girls, it's time to turn off the radio and go watch cartoons on television. The next four hours are for adults only.

  Julie grinned, turned the volume up another notch and noticed in the rearview mirror a car quickly overtaking her.

  This is Delilah Delight with another four hours of Bawdy Talk. Thanks for turning me on. Now all you guys stuck in Charlotte traffic,
honk your horns if you want the delicious babe in the car next to you to flash her breasts.

  The approaching car with horn blaring whipped around Julie and then slowed to keep pace. The driver pointed at his chest and then at her. Julie shrugged her shoulders, pretending she didn't understand and, as the car zoomed ahead, she thought, I wish there was something to show you, Clyde.

  Here's a letter drawn randomly from today's fan mail. J. T. writes, “I have something I'm willing to share with you, Delilah. It's thirteen inches long with a diameter of a silver dollar and, believe me, it's really a delight."

  Sounds tempting, J. T. but thirteen is my unlucky number. Sorry, Sugar. Tell you what, send me a photo and I might change my mind.

  Now let's see. Here's one from Baby Doll. “Please don't read this on the air.” Hmm. Sorry, Baby Doll. Scuse me a minute everybody while I see what Baby Doll has on her mind. Dum, dum, dum, de dum. Okay, Baby Doll, here's your answer. Of course I enjoy doing it. Guys do. Why shouldn't us gals? And I'll bet you're delicious down there, aren't you?

  Julie blushed when she realized what Delilah Delight was talking about. She reached for the “seek” button but changed her mind.

  I know you guys and gals have your speed dials programmed, but just in case we have new listeners today, Delilah's number is 555-WFNS. You horny toads on the highways, be very careful. Today's topic is going to raise a bumper crop of boners and soak some panties too.

  As I sit here with earphones on my head and a microphone just inches from my lips, I am stroking the naked flesh of my left arm with the fingertips of my right hand. It feels soooo good. Sometimes we just have to pleasure ourselves. Right guys?

  Give me a call and tell me when and where you do it and, if you're brave enough, tell me how you do it. Remember, my horny friends, the FCC may be listening and they don't like naughty words used on the airways. Make up a word if you need to. Delilah will understand.

  Uh, oh, the phones are already ringing. Let's take this one first. Hi, there. You're on the air.

  Delilah? Is that you?