Suggested Audio Candy
 John Carpenter “The Fog”
 John Carpenter “The Fog Moves Inland”
It was a considerably lengthy drive to the Californian coastal town of San Antonio and I spent much of it forlorn. For the very first time in my life; I had found a woman seemingly impervious to my intoxicating sexual aroma. How could this be? I mean, I’m Dr Dan Challis; even my own mother pleaded with me to continue breast feeding until I was deep into my thirties. She used to say she liked the way my ‘tache felt against her areola and habitually dangled them over my Moses basket the moment I woke at the crack of dawn each day. It just didn’t make a blind bit of sense; Misty had been far more interested in tracking down her sister than nestling her dainty derrière upon my top lip while my bristles caressed her cross section. I now had two cases to solve; the whereabouts of radio DJ Stevie Wayne offered one conundrum and, claiming sexual payment for services rendered, entirely another. All of this and I would still be expected to put in a shift at Haddonfield General come Monday morning. I felt as though I was being pulled prom pillar to post.
Much of transit was spent glancing at myself adoringly through the rear-view mirror. The results were unanimous; I was still every bit as devastatingly handsome as I ever had been and occasionally I took the advice of James Brown, pulled into the hard shoulder, jumped back and kissed myself. I like the way I taste. Still the burning question persisted; had I lost that je ne sais pas? Maybe there had been a malfunction with my bargaining tools. I’m speaking of ‘the look’, ‘the wink’ and of course, the ultimate deal sealer, ‘the tache’. Admittedly all three had seen varied results but, as a collective, their record was second to none. Often I wouldn’t be required to advance past ‘the look’ as that is known for its powers of persuasion. I never officially lost my virginity as a boy; it simply fell away from me. ‘The look’ was never too far from the thick of it and all but the most frigid mommy’s girls fell between my bed linen by the time they discerned any playful twinkle. When adolescence came knocking, it actually requested that I have its blessing to continue. I was seven years old. By nine I had perfected the art of ‘the wink’ and, a year later, I received my very first mustache grooming kit. From that point forward, it was very much game on.
There were many things about Dr Dan Challis that women found irresistible. My pleated slacks were tight enough to remind any potential bed-mates of my dressing preferences and Little Dan, who is anything but if truth be known, pulsed through the fabric like the petulant prick that he really was. My cologne was painstakingly hand-picked and consisted of the pungent perspiration of desire. However it was my reluctance to become bogged down by trepidation that gave women the mightiest quiver. Nothing fazed me; problems were little more than solutions waiting to happen, and danger would have been my middle name had I not shortened it to Dan. Many folk simply knew me as Doctor. “Doctor, I’m ready for my colonoscopy”, “Doctor, please tell me the results of my smear test were inconclusive”, and “Please make me last on your ward round Doctor”…heard them all. Listen to me getting carried away with myself again. I wouldn’t want any of you to assume me to be self-absorbed or arrogant. I’m just a realist.
Anyhoots, in the interest of narrative development, I shall soldier on with my parable. San Antonio was eerily deserted by the time I finally spotted my freeway exit and patrolled the town square for my first clue. Perhaps the entire townsfolk were adhering to some kind of curfew. Misty had made a point of warning me during briefing that all communications had ceased; could it be that they had suffered a power surge? I sniffed a rat and pulled over to ponder further over a fine Cuban cigar while pouring myself a tumbler of bourbon. I find it helps me think. Whatever was going on here; it felt as though something sinister was behind it. Moreover, ‘the tache’ was clearly unsettled by the morose mood which hung in the air like wash day laundry. I’ve never been one to procrastinate so I quickly deduced the best course of action to be tuning in the car stereo to Stevie’s wavelength. That would surely be the thinking man’s next move and the shot of whiskey had rallied my brain nodes exquisitely. Her lighthouse was no more than a couple of kilometres from my current coordinates; tucked away by the bay side, where she reportedly found her frequency.
As much as gaining entry into Misty’s uterus was imperative; right now there were more pressing matters to attend to. You see, Stevie Wayne possessed a reputation that proceed her, to the tune of the entire west coast’s male populace. Seafaring hopefuls gladly took to their trawlers and dropped their nets the moment she uttered a solitary word. I had ‘the look’, ‘the wink’ and ‘the tache’ at my disposal whereas Stevie had become legendary along this coastline on account of her own deal breaker…’the voice’. Other men would find such husky tones intimidating but I wasn’t familiar with such wasteful emotion and had never concerned myself with self-doubt or woeful insufficiency. The moment her gruff siren-like call rang out about my ears, I knew it was game on. Misty could wait and contemplate for all I cared; right now it was all about Stevie Wayne. She had the voice of an angel who smoked twenty menthol daily; the kind capable of rousing Swamp Thing from the quagmire or provoking Snake Plissken into changing his combat trousers. No small wonder his vision wasn’t 20-20. To say I was suitably titillated would be a formidable understatement; the truth was that the integrity of my slacks had become soundly compromised. I listened in intently as she massaged both testicles with her distant tonsils.
“It’s midnight and we’ve just started into the witching hour. This is Stevie Wayne, on top of the world tonight and I’ll be here right up until about one o’clock”
Gobsmacked. I had to remind myself of who I was while waiting begrudgingly for the blood to cease rushing to my brow. I had learned a new technique, ‘the frown’, but this one was unlikely to earn me any ankle panties. How could this be? A woman like this could surely not exist; the Seabiscuit to my Tobey McGuire, my very own feminine reflection. I could listen to that cherub-like voice all day if getting any work done wasn’t an issue but, consummate professional that Dr Dan Challis is, I returned my wayward thoughts to the task at hand. There would be plentiful time for angry coitus but first I would be required to bag myself a real live harpy. Any thoughts of riding in behind the wheel leather of my gas-gargling steed and standing at the foot of her lighthouse with arms outstretched like Richard Gere were swiftly and conclusively set aside and I knew full well that I would be required to overcome my vague vertigo and climb to her aid, if I were to park my station wagon in her two-berth garage without clattering a wind mirror. It was evident that I would need to be at the very apex of my A-game and, if there’s one thing Dr Dan Challis loves then it is coitus. However, a challenge is next in the pecking order.
I discerned lights emanating from the church and decided it wouldn’t harm to do a little digging around before claiming my prize. Looked like my timing was spot-on as a mysterious fog bank had just started rolling in from the corners of town. I took my cigars and hip flask; just in case I came across any damsels inside and decided to whisk them off for confessional. Ten hail Dans should do the trick. They’re suckers for punishment every time. Upon entry I began sussing out all available entrances and while the organizer of the town’s centennial Kathy was admittedly no Janet Leigh, her assistant Sandy looked somewhat dainty. The moment she laid eyes on The Challis she began nibbling the lid of her ballpoint suggestively and I knew it wouldn’t require an elongated sermon to convince her that she had been a very naughty girl. Stevie’s ankle biting son was also present and there was no way I was letting this diminutive swab of goose phlegm block my cock. I’d deal with that little chump in due course but right now it was time for Sandy’s haunch to beg for forgiveness.
Resident priest Father Malone was far less than amused that I had intercepted his congregation and watched me like a hawk as I prepared to pull the curtain across. Who the fuck did he think he was anyway? Someone of great importance doesn’t have in his possession a mustache as disheveled as he; no wonder a vow of celibacy had been undertaken. Sometimes it is better to jump than teeter as you wait to be pushed. There did seem to be something else troubling the weathered clergyman as he was babbling incoherently about some piece of driftwood reading “6 must die” that had washed up on shore which reportedly belonged to an old clipper ship named the Elizabeth Dane. Its crew, led by master and commander Blake, had some sort of beef with the church stretching back a hundred years to the very day and Malone was convinced that they were coming to insist on any outstanding debt being settled. In his estimations the current death tally was five which meant that Blake and their men were still one sacrifice from satisfaction. He seemed to be carrying the entire weight of the arrears on his shoulders and the only conceivable solution appeared to involve him stumping up with any outstanding capital. I don’t know; the church and its dirty little secrets. Tut tut.
My list of grievances with Sandy was more pressing so I carried on with my exorcism of her G-spot and left her frantically applying the Vagisil as I stepped out once more to assess the situation further. Things had taken a turn for the worse in my absence and Blake and his cronies had begun taking matters into their own decomposing hands quite literally. They had grown weary of waiting for Malone to gather the bullion from the vestry and decided that the interest accrued from a hundred years of debt alone was more than he could afford to offer. It was then, as stained glass smashed around my brogues, that I spotted Elizabeth. I had noticed her earlier by the roadside and decided against picking her up as I was too busy working out which one of Stevie’s kidneys to rupture. Consequently, she had arrived somewhat late to the service. Had I known that she bared an uncanny resemblance to Jamie Lee Curtis then I may well have been swayed. People foolishly believe that the blackened eyeful that Dan Aykroyd received during Trading Places was meant for him but the truth of the matter was that I had been called onto set to tend to Don Ameche’s high blood pressure.
That was bye-the-bye now; the cold hard fact was that this was one hot mama and papa fancied adding this brand new bag to his collection. It mattered not that Blake’s heavies had managed to break through the fortifications and were advancing on the survivors, surrounded by this ethereal fog. It was vital that I make up for lost time and take this strumpet on a one-way trip to Challis Mountain.
“My name’s Dan Challis. Dr…Dan Challis”
That was all it took. I gave her an express flush and, indeed, she was every bit the scream queen that I had expected. Now two of us didn’t give a flying monkey about Malone’s misfortune although, just then, I heard a familiar vocal inside my cranium.
“Hi. I’m Stevie Wayne”
Of course. How despicable of me to place her on the back burner. I had to get there fast and crack the case along with her pelvis or my name wasn’t the Love Doctor. Blake was halfway through a particularly embittered plea for payment but I saved him the effort by killing two birds with one stone and offering a sacrificial lamb in the form of Stevie’s boy. If she asked then I would blame the whole sorry mess on Mrs Kobritz as she was no longer alive to dispute my allegations. Blake thanked me for the gift and he and his band of less than merry men left through the church’s front door, taking their mist with them. Ordinarily I would have celebrated with a Cuban and a tipple but there was simply no time for that. If I had heard Stevie correctly she was knocking off from her shift at 1 am. That gave me seventeen minutes to get in, grab the plaudits, get the job done, leave my calling card, realign her spine for her, look at myself longingly in her bathroom mirror, and return to the car to inform Misty of my findings. Elizabeth’s breasts attempted to persuade me to say through her tight cotton blouse but I bid them adieu, glared at the sniveling Malone, and made uncustomary haste back to my automobile.
I wish I could tell you what went on between the hours of 12.45 and 1.00 am in San Antonio but instead I shall leave it to your imaginations. I will, however, say this. Usually there is no greater dampener than holding a conversation during coitus. Unless it’s of the “Oh Dan, you’re fantastic. However do you achieve such a gradient?” or words to the suchlike. In Stevie’s case, I was prepared to bend my own solemn rules and requested that she recite Hemingway while I pumped her tank full of pencil lead. Post-coitus I promised her I would call, which she knew was a flagrant mistruth, although I do plan to stop at the service station and purchase her audio book. Once I had zipped Little Dan back into his far less than spacious condo, I announced that the case was officially closed and left Stevie there writhing in her own seasoning. Swamp Thing could have sloppy seconds; from what I’ve heard he would take no umbrage to such.
Just as I was preparing to light my Cuban and prove that there was no such thing as glass half full, Misty rang. Typical.
“Dan Challis. Dr Dan Challis. I have called to inquire about Stevie”
I lit my cigar, inhaled, and blew out a perfect smoke ring.
“She’s fine. A little sore, may be a week or so until she’s back on her feet again but other than that she’s never felt better I can assure you”
“This is most pleasing to me Dan”
“Please. I insist you call me Dr Dan Challis or the Love Doctor if you would prefer”
“That doesn’t matter right now. What is of utmost importance is that I have one final challenge for you”
“I’m not wearing a prophylactic”
“Listen to me. I need you to swing by Corman University before you return for your payment. There seems to be some sort of a disturbance and I want you to check it out. My nephew Chris attends there you see”
“This is going to cost you”
“I promise Dr Dan Challis that I will make sure you are very well compensated”
The Love Doctor is always on-call.
“I’ll be there within the hour”
Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2015