Louie said, as he bent his head to climb up into the pickup truck, “I am going to
go down to the Oasis and get drunk and then I am going to Willies and see my girl.”
Deke snorted disdainfully. “Your girl! Jesus
Christ, can you imagine if you brought her home to see your mother?”
“Hey, it is cheaper than a date,”
Louie said. “Fifty bucks ain’t bad,” he argued. He started the pickup.
“What the hell. What else are you supposed to do? Read friggin’ PLAYBOY?”
They drove down a dirt road past a host of trailers
and then below a railroad overpass.
“You got it easy,” Louie commented. “You got a wife. Me—what
do I have?”
“Masturbation is better,” Deke said, grimly
surveying the scenery of junk yards heaped with industrial rubbish.
“Yeah, sure it is,” Louie said.
“It is! Christ, I am telling you! I would rather beat off than
go with the old lady! That’s no shit.” He lit a Camel non-filter cigarette. The
cigarette looked tiny between his huge fingers.
Louie cut a laugh short after a glance at Deke. Deke
looked at his cigarette as if in wonderment of how it had arrived between his fingers.
He took a quick puff and blew the smoke out as if trying to get rid of it. “I am
serious,” he stated.
Louie looked at Deke: Deke’s massive cinder block-sized
head scraped the roof of the cab. He turned to Louie. “I am serious!” he barked.
His eyebrows arched below the brim of his ball cap—MACK TRUCK written across the
“Okay, okay,” Louie conciliated. His face
became unnaturally grave. “I know you are serious.”
“I AM. I AM TELLING YOU. I AM SERIOUS,”
Deke shouted. “I am considering the gay scene,” he
sputtered. “Seriously considering it!”
Louie fought to wipe the smile off his face.
“I AM! I am thinking about checking out the gay
Louie pulled the truck into the Oasis parking lot.
“It can’t be any worse!” Deke angrily
flicked his butt out the truck window.
The naked girl lay on her back on the mattress on the
floor of the small room. Louie looked at her while he pulled his clothes off. She had a
snouted face with heavy Slavic features. Everything about her was big: big shoulders, big
breasts, big hips, big and solid-looking barrel-shaped legs. Big everything—even
her face was big—too big for the little puckered mouth and small eyes. She watched
Louie throw his work boots into a corner, on top of a pile of work-dirty clothes—all
that was in the room besides the mattress and a clock radio next to the mattress.
“We got to make this fast,” Louie said,
approaching the girl. “Where is Deke?”
The girl smiled with her eyes as she looked between
Louie’s legs. “He is home,” she said.
Louie lay down length-wise on top
of her. Like a stick on a slice of bread. His white butt shone between the spread of the
He guided himself into her; she moaned. He stroked
once, twice, then froze; he cocked an ear toward the door opening. A noise on the stairway.
He exchanged a frightened glance with the girl. The heavy tread of footsteps grew louder:
the feet crushing each wooden step. Louie felt himself shrivel; he scrambled over the leg
and slid his hand beneath the mattress, feeling for his .22 pistol. The girl pulled the
blanket over herself. The staircase groaned. Louie swallowed hard and looked wildly around
the windowless room, seeking an exit.
Deke’s broad shoulders filled the available door space. He stared
blankly at the couple.
Louie felt his heart thumping; his sweaty hand gripped
the handle of the gun.
Deke blinked twice, as if trying to comprehend the
scene. He opened his mouth to speak, then drew his lips together. He turned away with a
disgusted wave of his hand at his old lady.
He began to trudge
back down the stairs.
Wayne F. Burke's fiction has appeared in
Alien Buddha magazine, Dumpster Press, The Gihon River Review, Puckerbrush
Review, Synchronized Chaos, and elsewhere. He is author of a short story collection,
Turmoil and Other Stories (Adelaide Press, 2020). He lives in Vermont (USA).