The Adventures of Dirk and Dick
The neon sign above the bar alternated between the orange outline of a nude girl sitting
cross-legged in a green martini glass, and the words “Cocktails” in bright blue. Day and
night the sign alternated one to the other. Children in passing cars loved to stare at the
glowing neon sign until their strained necks were twisted completely around, like Linda Blair
in the movie The Exorcist, and the sign finally passed from view. The sign was a city
landmark. Everyone gave directions that started from the sign or ended with the sign.
Dirk Reynolds, accompanied by life-long friend Dick Richards, reached for the brass handle
of the red padded door. (The kind of door one expects to see on a cheap Chinese restaurant.)
As his hand closed around the long brass arm the door swung outward nearly knocking him down,
and causing him to jump back two startled steps. Bobo the bouncer and Chako the doorman had
an inebriated-looking gentleman of middle-age between them and were roughly expelling the
patron from the fine, upstanding establishment. The poor guy was supported under each armpit
by bouncer arms the size of small tree trunks. His feet dangled a few inches above the ground.
“Nice looking shoes,” Dirk thought. The drunk appeared to be a successful man about forty
years old with a decent but crumpled suit.
The bouncers carried the drunk across the concrete city sidewalk and tossed him headfirst
between two parked cars in front of the bar. The drunks flailing arms careened off the hoods,
and he seemed to hit his head on one of the bumpers as he landed in a pile on the gutter’s edge.
The drunk made a low groaning sound like a cat frightened at night by a vicious dog. Bobo
laughed, and Chako spit in the drunk’s direction. Luckily for the drunk the spittle turned to
a fine mist in the cool ocean breeze. Dirk and Dick looked at each other with wide eyes. They
were far from the violent type.
“What’d he do?” Dirk asked loudly. The bouncers were halfway inside and the daring D&D Duo
could here seventies disco music coming from the blaring jukebox.
“None of your fucking business, assholes,” Bobo snarled pulling the thick red door shut
behind him.
“That Bobo has attitude,” Dick whispered to Dirk.
“Yeah, he’s always so mean,” Dirk replied.
“I guess they have to keep out the riff-raff and hooligans, but can’t they do it a little
more civily?” Dick asked.
“I don’t know friend. All those steroids make them so aggressive,” Dirk said.
“Yeah,” Dick agreed.
“Come on. Let’s go pick up some dates.” And they went inside.
It took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust to the dimly lit bar and nightclub, and they
stood close to the door waiting for the rods and the cones inside their eyeballs to appreciate
the low-lux environment.
“ID please,” Chako asked. He sounded bored like he was sick of checking peoples driver’s
licenses and throwing out the occasional rowdy customer. Dirk thought that maybe Chako should
get into movie stunt work, or try out for one of those gladiator programs where the steroid
kings pranced around in tiny outfits wiggling their buns for the camera, but he didn’t say any
of this to Chako. Chako could probably get violent with less provocation than that.
The D&D Duo flipped open there wallets exposing their ID’s in synchronized movement like the
old partners Joe Friday and Officer Gannon did on Dragnet. Dirk liked to stay up late at night
and smoke pot while watching reruns of Dragnet. The shows were a gas. Dick didn’t smoke pot,
but he loved the reruns of Gilligan’s Island. Especially those outfits Ginger wore. “Those
clothes were twenty years ahead of their time,” Dick would say. And Dick should know. He had
been designing female clothes since the tender age of fifteen; two years before he gained enough
nerve to suck his first cock.
“Take them out of the wallets, ladies.” Chako commanded. They both silently complied. Chako
pretended to inspect the pictures, read the birthdates etc., but the D&D Duo were regulars on
Friday and Saturday nights.
“You’re such a brute, Chako. First you toss that poor man outside...”
“He’s probably dead.” Dick interrupted.
“Excuse me, bitch. Please don’t interrupt me, OK?” Dirk batted his eyes several times at Dick.
“Sorry,” Dick answered.
“As I was saying, you are such a tyrant. How about coming home and letting me suck that
aggression right out of you?” Dirk asked. They all knew that Chako and Bobo were living together,
but Dirk and Dick were the fun-loving, flirtatious type. Always looking for a laugh.
“How ‘bouts you both come over to the dog shack; I tie yous both up and make you my bitch
slaves?” Chako asked. His tone was a little menacing. It was hard to tell if he was serious or
seriously pissed. The pair gently plucked their ID’s from Chako’s meaty paw and slid them into
their eel skin wallets.
“You’re such a tease.” Dick giggled.
“Yeah, you big tease,” Dirk added.
The dog house was where Bobo and Chako had lived for the last few years on and off. No one
knew why they called it the dog house, and few were stupid enough to ask. Dirk and Dick each
had their own ideas.
“Let’s get a drink. I’m so parched I could drink a Slippery Nipple,” Dirk joked.
“Only if it was his,” Dick said pointing at the half-naked young man dancing on the raised
stage. The dancer wore a black leather motorcycle hat like the one Marlon Brando wore in The Wild Ones,
and a tiny pair of black leather shorts that left nothing to the imagination.
“Is that stuffed?” Dirk said pointing wild-eyed at the tremendous bulge in the front of the
shorts. The young man was spinning around a brass pole extending from dance floor to ceiling.
They both watched him circling round-and-round. Their heads followed his movements like a pair
of frozen dogs teased by a circling steak twirling in front of them.
“I don’t know, but I’d wish it was stuffing me!” Dick exclaimed. They both broke into
hysterical fits of giggling and laughter. They slapped each other on the back and doubled over
slapping their own knees.
“That.. that was.... a good...one,” Dirk said between fits of high-pitched chortling.
“Come on, let’s get good and drunk,” Dick said after the laughing tapered off.
“Two Blow Jobs,” Dirk ordered when they had reached the bar.
“You’re not the regular bartender,” Dick noticed. Francis, the usual queen in drag that worked
weekends, couldn’t be mistaken for this beast. This guy looked like he had just gotten released
from the state penitentiary. The beast had hairy arms and tattoos everywhere. “Oh my God, even on
his neck,” Dick thought.
“No shit. Now what will you fairies have?” The bartender asked putting both hands on the bar
and leaning forward. One set of knuckles had the letters F-U-C-K crudely tattoed across them and
the other read O-F-F-!. The D&D Duo looked at each other and swallowed hard.
“Two Blow Jobs, please.” Dirk asked again. The levity gone from his voice. If Bobo and Chako
were scary, this guy was absolutely horrifying.
“Fucking figures. All you pansies ever order are Blow Jobs, Slippery Nipples, Stiff Cocks,
or fucking Rim Jobs. Doesn’t anyone drink whiskey anymore?” The question was rhetorical and the
bartender did not wait for it to be answered. He slammed two half-filled martini glasses in front
of them. “Ten bucks.” He commanded. There was a look in his eyes that said “tip me big, or else.”
Dick flopped a crumpled twenty dollar bill on the bar and picked up one of the sloshy drinks.
Dirk followed suit.
“Let’s get a table. Close to the stage if we can,” Dick said. The bartender pocketed the twenty
and walked to the other end of the bar top serve a pair of newly arrived customers.
“Hey,” Dirk asked, “since when did a Blow Job come in a Martini glass?”
“Yeah, they normally come in a shot glass. This looks like a Margarita,” Dirk remarked.
They both shrugged, not wanting to force a confrontation with the terrible bartender, and made
their way to the front of the stage.
“There sure is a lot of empty tables,” Dick noticed. They looked around at the half-filled room.
“This is unusual for a Saturday night,” Dirk commented. They shrugged again and sat down
directly in front of the stage.
“At last we finally get good seats on a Saturday,” Dick said.
“And what a great view,” Dirk noted looking around, but something seemed missing. Dirk
couldn’t figure it out at first and sat scratching his temple in silent contemplation.
“Maybe it was the absence of people,” he thought. “Nah,” he answered himself. Something else was
out of place. Finally serendipity struck. “Where’s Mickey?” He queried his friend.
Dick looked around several times and turned back to Dirk. “I don’t know,” he answered. Where
was Mickey? They both thought.
Mickey “The Steaming Rod” Howser had been the owner of the bar for the last ten years. His
brother Jim Howser had owned it for fifteen years before that, but was fatally shot one night
during a hold-up. The gunmen were never located. Mickey had quickly changed the bar into a
watering hole for those that preferred to “puff the dragon” instead of “laying the carpet” as he
had so aptly phrased it to a surprised patron that had frequented the bar before it “came out of
the closet” so to speak.
“Save my seat. I’ve got to go tinkle in the little boys room,” Dirk said. He winked at Dick as
he got up and headed toward the end of the bar.
“Hold on, honey. I’ll join you,” Dick replied.
“No fair peeking,” Dirk giggled over his shoulder.
“Bitch, that’s nothing I’ve never seen before.” Dick chuckled.
In the bathroom they noticed a fresh blood stain near the urinal. It looked as if someone had smeared
a bloody handkerchief on the ground.
“Looks like someone bit when they should have swallowed,” Dirk noted. The reference was made
to the frequent fellatio performed in the bathroom.
“Glad I wasn’t on the receiving end of that blowjob,” Dick added. “He’s probably in the emergency
room now.”
“It sure is chilly in here. Isn’t it?” Dirk asked.
“Sure is. My love handle is so shriveled it won’t reach my zipper,” Dick quipped.
“Honey, it wouldn’t reach your zipper if it was hard,” Dirk said.
“Speak for yourself, but it is chilly,” Dick said. “Hey that window is open.” Dick pointed to a small
window over the toilet stall.
“Good janitors are hard to find,” Dirk joked.
“No sugar, hard men are good to find,” Dick shot back.
“You’re such the cum-median. Where’d you get that one? One of those t-shirt shops in San Fag-cisco?”
Dirk quipped. “Well I think you should climb up there and close it,” Dick pointed with one hand toward
the window while still holding his shriveled member with the other.
“I’m not going in there. It smells like shit.” Dirk replied. He meant the toilet stall which was the
frequent casualty of overflowing clogs caused by the tremendous wad-laden condoms that were force-fed
in the porcelain mouth.
“That’s what your boyfriend told me,” Dick smiled. They laughed simultaneously.
“Sometimes you amaze me,” Dirk told Dick.
“Why’s that?” Dick asked.
“Because I don’t see how someone so filled with shit can open their mouth without choking himself to
death,” Dirk answered.
“Ripley’s Believe it or Not,” Dick smiled back.
They shook their members, zipped up, washed their hands and headed back to their seats. When they sat
down the first thing they noticed was that the drinks were gone. The second thing they noticed was Bobo
leering over them with a wild look of anger on his face. He was scowling, and if he had indeed been a
dog he probably would have been foaming at the mouth.
“Where the fuck have you two been?” Bobo questioned menacingly.
“Wa..wa..why?” Dirk stuttered.
“Hey where’s our drinks?” Dick asked growing a few feet taller in his mind.
“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” Bobo snarled at Dick. He then turned back to Dirk. “Answer my fucking
question.”
“In the bathroom taking a leak. What’s the problem?” Dirk answered. He swallowed hard. It was a
habit of his when he grew nervous.
“Bathroom’s off limits tonight. Don’t go in there again.” Bobo snapped. He gave the D&D Duo a
sample of his toughness by slamming his fist into the table hard enough to crack it down the middle.
“I didn’t see any sign,” Dick remarked. He wasn’t trying to be a smart ass, but it probably
came out that way to Bobo. In a flash Bobo’s hand came arcing around and slapped the side of
Dick’s head knocking the poor guy a few feet in the air and into the table behind him.
“I think we’ll be leaving now,” Dirk whimpered. Dick lay on the floor squealing in pain.
“You bitch!” Dick shouted. “You hurt me you bastard.”
“You two are staying right here and watching the show,” Bobo ordered. “I’ll tell you when it’s
time to leave.”
“Fuck the show!” Dick yelled. He got up and tried running for the door. Chako’s strong arms
grabbed him, and tossed him roughly to the ground.
“You’s both staying here. Got it?” Chako’s gruff voice commanded.
Dick shuffled meekly back to the table where Dirk was still sitting.
“I think I’ve peed myself,” Dirk said quietly.
“What’s going on here tonight?” Dick asked whispering close to the ear of his friend.
“I don’t know,” he whispered back, “but we’ve got to get out of here.” The bartender kept
staring at them from the bar. He looked like a vulture watching patiently until his prey died.
“How are we going to get out?” Dick asked.
“I don’t know. Let’s put our heads together. Maybe we can come up with something.” Dirk
answered. They leaned their heads together touching their foreheads lightly.
“I’ve got it,” Dick whispered pulling his head back to a sitting position. “The back door.”
“You would think of that ,” Dirk replied. “Nice try, but as you can see it’s guarded by
that guy on the pay phone.
Dick watched the guy on the pay phone. “How do you know?” he asked.
“Because he’s been on the phone since we ordered our drinks twenty minutes ago.” Dirk
answered.
“Maybe he’s making a long telephone call,” Dick volunteered.
“No. Something is going on here. We need to get the hell out of here, and call the police.”
Dirk reported.
“Ohhhhh. You know how I LOVE a man in uniform,” Dick joked.
“This isn’t time for jokes, wise-ass,” Dirk snapped. The bartender was staring at them again.
They quieted to whispers again.
“I thought you liked my ass,” Dick mocked, but in a whisper.
“Come on damn it. We need to think with our heads,” Dirk said in hushed tones.
“My boyfriend said I always thought with the wrong head.” Dick whisperingly joked again.
“Get serious, Dick,” Dirk said angrily. He was about to slap Dick, but Bobo was prowling
close to their table.
“I’ve got it,” Dick whispered.
“What is it?” Dirk quickly asked.
“The bathroom window,” he answered triumphantly.
“Yeah, but how are we going to get in the restroom now? They’re watching everyone too
closely.” Dirk reported.
Just then a police siren came blaring down the busy street. The flashing lights were
barely visible through the opaque stained glass window facing the street. All eyes turned
toward the window.
“Come on let’s make a run for it,” Dirk said grabbing Dick by the arm. The D&D Duo
made their way surreptitiously to the bathroom before anyone noticed they were gone.
When they entered the lone toilet stall they found out what had happened to both the
bartender and the owner. One decapitated head was shoved on top of the chrome metal
flush valve above the bowl. The other head floated in the muddy-brown water. That head
was on its side. Both heads wore panicked looks.
The D&D duo let out shrieks of terror. Even though the music continued blaring from
the jukebox the sound caught the attention of the guy on the telephone who came running
to investigate the disturbance.
As telephone guy kicked in the door the second of the two asses was wriggling out the
window. Dirk stood outside pulling Dick’s arms.
“Come on lard-ass. Squeeze through,” Dirk half-shouted. Outside the police siren had
faded to a distant wail.
“Not so fast,” telephone man yelled at the wriggling ass trying to squeeze through
the small opening. He grabbed Dick’s leg’s and began pulling him back inside. Dick
screamed like a little girl who wanted a doll for Christmas but got a GI Joe doll instead.
“He’s got me, Dirk,” Dick shrieked. The tug-of-war thus commenced. Dirk pulled Dick
from one end while telephone guy pulled Dick from the other. “You’re killing me!” Dick
screamed. Bobo heard the commotion as he ran toward the bathroom after noticing the D&D
Duo missing from their table.
“Get that fucker,” Bobo yelled at telephone guy. Bobo quickly joined and grabbed a
squirming leg.
“They’re killing me,” Dick cried again.
“KIck’em as hard as you can,” Dirk ordered.
“What?” Dick asked.
“Kick’em as hard as you can. Like a donkey,” Dirk ordered forcefully.
Dick kicked as hard as he could. His pointy cowboy boots, pink nonetheless, caught
cheeks, foreheads, and chins with great ferocity. The two thugs fell backward into the
stall wall. At that instant, freed by the opposing force, Dirk pulled Dick through the
window. Dick landed on his head with a hollow thumping sound. He lay there dazed for a
second.
“Get up. We gotta get out of here,” Dirk yelled at him. Chako came running around
the front of the bar.
“Hey you’s guys better stop or I’ll kick yer fucking asses,” Chako screamed at them.
The D&D duo tore off through the narrow alley. They never looked back. A few blocks
later they made it to a pay phone and called the police.
“Good work you guys,” Sergeant Stapinko congratulated. “We were able to nab them all.”
“But what were they up to?” Dick asked.
“Robbing the place I’m afraid. The owner and bartender were found murdered. You
guys were lucky. They would probably have killed everyone in the place,” The Sergeant
remarked matter-of-factly as if he addressed this kind of thing everyday.
The D&D Duo looked at each other and swallowed hard.
“Boy were we lucky,” Dirk remarked.
“Yeah,” Dick added. “But what about Chako and Bobo, Officer?”
“They were in on it too. This type of job usually requires an inside man to
succeed,” the Sergeant answered.
“Don’t we know it!” Dick giggled, and they both started laughing hysterically.
