The Flu (A Novel of the Outbreak)

by Jacqueline Druga

  Mick handed it to her.

  Dylan shifted her eyes at her father’s whispering, “Upsell.”

  She looked back at Mick. “Care for any candy?”

  “No. Just the video,” Mick said.

  Dylan huffed. “Dad.”

  Tom tossed up his hand. “You didn’t convince me. I wouldn’t buy from you either. Try again.”

  Irritated by Mick’s snarky smile, Dylan started to get antsy, but she tried to appease her father. “You know, Chief Owens, we have your favorite chocolate covered peanuts. Mmm. How about a box?”

  “Nah. Just the video.”

  Grunting, Dylan grabbed the video. “Fine, that gut of yours doesn’t need candy anyhow.”

  “What gut!” Mick blasted.

  “Dylan,” Tom scolded, “I don’t believe insulting the customer works.”

  Snidely, Mick leaned down closer to Dylan. “Tell you what...”

  “Oh, boy.” She rolled her eyes.

  “I will come in here,” Mick continued, “every single night you’re working....”

  “You do anyhow.”

  “Let me finish.” Mick held up his hand. “I’ll come in here every night, video rental or not, and buy something from you if...if you’ll....” The sound of the door opening didn’t silence Mick as much as the sight of Sam walking in did.

  “Hey, Dylan.” Sam smiled. “Mr. Roberts...Mick.” Sam turned to the counter. “Just brought the boys back.”

  “Thanks.” Dylan smiled. “Are they home?”

  “Yep. Fed too.” Sam said, nervously. “You know, I have this car to work on, but...I can work on it tomorrow if, you know, you might be in the mood to do the family thing tonight. You, me, the boys, go to Central Park, watch the concert...”

  Before Dylan could answer, Tom did. “She can’t. I’m taking the boys to the concert and she’s working until after ten. You’re out of luck.”

  “Oh.” Sam nodded. “All right. I’ll come by then.”

  “She might be later,” Tom added. “Not that I’ll pay her, she takes so damn long to close the store. Wouldn’t count on it.”

  “Still,” Sam shrugged, “I’ll stop by. Do you mind, Dylan?”

  Dylan shook her head. “No. If you want.”

  “Ok.” Sam smiled. “See you later.” He walked to the door. “Mr. Roberts...Mick.”

  Tom kept his eyes on the door until Sam left. “Asshole.”

  “Dad!” Dylan gasped.

  “Can’t help it, he is,” Tom said.

  Mick smiled. “And you wonder why I like your Dad. But....” he tossed his hands up, “guess I’m out of luck. I was gonna see if you wanted to hang out and watch that concert with me.”

  Again, before Dylan could respond, Tom did. “Oh, sure she can, Mick. My wife wanted to work tonight anyhow. So come on and pick her up about eight.”

  “Dad!” Dylan turned to him. “I can’t afford to lose the hours.”

  Mick laughed. “Two hours? Hell, I’ll pay you what you lose.”

  “Isn’t that prostitution?” Dylan asked.

  “Better to get paid for it, than to give it away.”

  “Isn’t that a Lars line?” Mick asked.

  “Could be,” Tom answered. “All the good ones are. And speaking of Lars, I have to get on the horn with that dealer. None of Lars’ favorite movies have arrived and he’ll be showing up in a little bit for his month-long visit. Everyone else in town is preparing.”

  “Tell me about it,” Mick said. “Heard Jean’s Diner is ordering that Italian desert. Tara-something or other.”

  “Tiramisu,” Dylan corrected. “And that’s not what she ordered. She ordered cannelloni.”

  “Whatever.” Mick tossed out his hand. “So you going with me or not?”

  “Not.” Dylan answered then smiled. “Sure. Why not.”

  The door to the video store opened once more, and Tom turned his head. “Ah, Mr. McCaffrey,” he said.

  Mick had heard the name, but hadn’t met the man. Not that he wanted to, but when Dylan’s attention quickly shifted from him, he wanted to see the guy. He blinked in surprise when Patrick’s appearance failed to match his name.

  “Evening,” Patrick said holding his video case.

  “Hi, Patrick.” Dylan smiled while tucking her hair behind her ears in a flirtatious manner.

  “Stop that.” Mick pulled her hand down then untucked her hair.

  Patrick smiled and laid the case on the counter. “Just wanted to drop this off.”

  “Are you...” Dylan tilted her head, “gonna rent something else for maybe you and your wife this evening?”

  “My wife?” Patrick asked.

  “You know, a woman you possibly live with,” Dylan fished.

  “Stop that,” Mick snapped.

  Flinging her hand at him to hush him, Dylan smiled again at Patrick. “Video?”

  “No. Not tonight,” Patrick answered. “I’m planning on taking in that concert.”

  “Possibly with your...girlfriend?” Dylan questioned.

  “Stop that,” Mick said again, louder.

  “For crying out loud!” Tom’s hand slammed to the counter. “If you want to know, Dylan, just ask the man if he’s involved.”

  Horrified, Dylan just wanted to duck behind the counter.

  “Mr. McCaffrey” Tom faced him, “are you married?”

  “No.” Patrick shook his head.

  “Engaged? Girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Homosexual lover?”

  “Dad!”

  Patrick chuckled. “No.”

  “So....” Tom continued, “you are an available heterosexual man?”

  “Yes.”

  “Meet my daughter, Dylan. Estranged from her asshole husband, attractive woman, nice, outgoing....” Just about the point where Tom received a blushing smile from Dylan, he erased it with more rambling. “Nice girl. Good heart. She’s also deeply involved here with....” Tom held out his hand toward Mick, “the Chief of Police. Mr. McCaffrey, meet Mick Owens, our Chief.”

  Dylan groaned and slumped.

  Mick stood up straight for the first time and extended his hand to Patrick. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Whoa.” Patrick looked up. “Remind me not to break the law in this town.”

  “Or the next,” Tom added. “And speaking of breaking the law, I have to work on those trial films I want in for Lars. Excuse me.” Tom waved and walked off toward the back of the store.

  “Well, I’ll see you tonight.” Just as Patrick started to leave, his eyes skimmed the return cart. “Wait.” He backtracked and pointed. “Is that the new horror flick?”

  Dylan looked. “Oh, yeah, just came back.” She lifted it. “Did you want to rent it?”

  “You know what?” Patrick said. “Yeah. I’ll watch it after the concert.”

  “Great.” Dylan smiled. “Any candy?”

  Mick moaned.

  “Um...sure. Chocolate covered peanuts.” Patrick pointed.

  Dylan snidely shifted her eyes to Mick then grabbed a box. “Four dollars.”

  Mick’s attention was caught. “Whoa. Wait. You didn’t ask for his video card.”

  “Don’t need to.” Dylan told him. “I know him.”

  “You know me and I have to show my card.” Mick argued.

  “You’re the worst customer we have.” Dylan returned to Patrick. “Four dollars, please.”

  “This isn’t right.” Mick lifted a finger. “And, busy with Lars’ films or not....” he took a step back, “I’m telling.” Turning, Mick walked in the direction Tom had gone.

  Patrick couldn’t help but laugh. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure,” Dylan replied.

  “I’ve been in town a week,” Patrick said, “Everyone is going nuts, getting ready and making arrangements for someone named Lars. Who is this Lars guy?”

  * * *

  Andapa Village

  Madagascar, Africa

  Lars Rayburn’s shoulder-len
gth hair was at one time considered his most attractive feature, but that was when Lars was under the age of forty. In his fifties, the long blonde hair had become stringy and grey, balding far back at the temples and crown. But Lars didn’t care. A thin man of average height, he never was vain, nor was he one to care what people thought of him. Perhaps that was what made Lars so likeable.

  In the humid heat, sweat formed heavily on his chest as Lars, wearing only a pair of tattered white pants, finished his examination of the five-year old boy. He lifted the child, adding a joke in the native language just before handing out candy that could only come from the United States of America.

  Pleased, the boy ran away, and the child’s mother stammered her gratitude after Lars told her the child would be just fine.

  Time for a quick break.

  He thought he caught a breeze through the window opening in the metal shed he generously called a clinic. Lars inhaled it, appreciating the momentary relief from the heat. More patients waited outside, as they always did. They traveled far for the free care he provided.

  One thing was true about Lars, and everyone knew it. He made his money from royalty checks he received from romance novels he penned under the name of Madeline Welsh. That was no secret.

  Outwardly and officially, Lars was a man, a doctor who fled the heaviness and evil of the United States to bask in the beautiful world of Madagascar. He donated his time, efforts, and knowledge to those who could not afford proper medical attention, thriving on the pleasure he received from helping others. He was nothing less than a saint to the natives and government of local communities.

  That was outwardly and officially.

  Unofficially, Lars was there for other reasons. An observer in Madagascar, a data, statistic and sample collector for the World Health Organization with whom he had been employed for over twenty years, he gathered the true and rarely known facts that were desperately needed, dirtying his hands in the field he not only loved but considered his specialty. Each year, without fail, he monitored and delivered the painful truth to the World Health Organization that the Bubonic Plague was alive, well, and still claiming lives at an astronomical rate in his chosen home of Madagascar.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Lodi, Ohio

  The question, ‘may I borrow your son,’ frightened Dylan beyond belief. She didn’t want to tell Patrick ‘yes’, but somehow when the handsome teacher came over requesting Anthony so he could get him ice cream with the other kids, all Dylan could do was nod. Watching the suave new Lodi resident left her speechless. But she knew that any schoolgirl smirk she had on her face better disappear because Mick would be back soon. She kept shifting her eyes to Patrick and the children he had with him. He got along with them well and was a natural teacher. She waited for the moment Tigger came running back because something had happened. Dylan kept waiting. Tigger only played.

  She sat on a blanket in an emptier section of the park. Most people settled closer to where the band played, as if they couldn’t hear them if they were back some.

  If the song ‘Come on Feel the Noise’ were being played at that instant by some band where the members barely surpassed twenty, Dylan supposed the park would be empty. However, since it was Dexter’s Rolling Rockers, there wasn’t an empty spot around the band left to dance. The group of sixty-year old men, who deliberately mocked the 1980s with tight ripped jeans and faded Quiet Riot tee shirts, blasted the tune at an appeasable level with minimal distortion, adding the smooth lounge band feel. Every couple, elderly and young, loved the band. Autographs were always asked for as if they were some sort of rock stars. Dylan had to admit she enjoyed the band, and though she really wanted to get some ice cream for herself, she knew the band’s set. Fearing that she’d miss their rendition of Duran-Duran’s ‘Hungry Like The Wolf’, Dylan stayed put.

  The smile.

  That was the first thing Mick saw when he arrived at Central Park. He didn’t want to be called away, but it was his job. It could have been worse; the four car minor fender bender could have Mick tied up for hours. Instead he observed the exchanging of information, hurried them along, issued citations he figured would be fought later, and moved on.

  To Dylan.

  Without a doubt, Mick was openly and absolutely crazy about Dylan. He had been for as long as he remembered. Since they were kids, there hadn’t been an instance that Mick didn’t seize the opportunity when Dylan and Sam broke up. Sometimes Mick and Dylan only dabbled in trying to be a couple, but nothing ever was serious or deep until the last breakup.

  Mick had taken the breakup seriously, as did Dylan. Final. The end. Sam had left town, and against his own interests, Mick had located him. Sam had settled somewhere in West Texas and refused to return home.

  That was fine with Mick. Dylan, on the other hand, didn’t take it as well. She went out a lot, drank too much. Mick followed her all the time, on duty or not, to make sure she was all right. A month after Sam left, Mick took yet another chance with her.

  He gave her three choices that night in the bar. One, she could sit there and develop really bad posture from her habit of slouching on the barstool. Two, she could become the town’s newest lush, or three, instead of abusing alcohol, Dylan could just let Mick take away her pain.

  Mick never expected her to take him up on his offer; he hoped, but he didn’t expect it. Perhaps he should have waited until she was sober before sleeping with her. But he got caught up in the moment, and he did chase her down several times the next day to make sure Dylan had no regrets. She didn’t.

  That was six months earlier.

  The relationship wasn’t exactly where he’d hoped it would be, but it was further than he thought it would be. And after all the years of waiting and chasing, despite what he outwardly showed Dylan, Mick was really happy with what they had.

  “I’m back,” Mick announced just before he dropped down to the blanket next to Dylan. He watched her reach, lift her drink cup, wait until he was settled then she put it down. “Dylan, I wasn’t even close to knocking that over.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t worried about that. See, you cause minor earthquakes when you drop that big body to the ground. I can just hear the Seismology department in Cleveland right now. ‘Oh, we have seismic activity.’ ‘Nah, that’s just Chief Owens sitting down.’”

  Mick blinked at her. “Why do you have to kill me every single time?”

  Dylan smiled.

  Rolling onto his side, Mick leaned into Dylan and she backed up. “What? I want a kiss.”

  “Right,” she scoffed. “No can do. That’s a blatant public display of affection.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, if I don’t get a greeting kiss from you, this big body, as you call it, will roll itself on that little body, and I’ll cite us both for indecent exposure and sell the story to the Review. Up to you.”

  After a little smile, Dylan kissed him. “There.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She picked up her drink. “How was the accident?”

  “Boring. Where are the boys?”

  “Well, Tigger’s over there with...” she sighed as she pointed, “Patrick.”

  “Stop that.”

  Dylan giggled. “Dustin’s got himself a little girlfriend to talk to and Christian...” she pointed again, only to the stage, “he’s got his head buried in that amp.”

  Mick laughed. “Oh, that is funny. But you have to admit, the band is kicking tonight.”

  “Especially Dexter,” Dylan commented. “Sixty-five years old. I don’t think the man has stopped wiggling that body for over an hour. The energy that man must have.” She exhaled. “Probably has more energy than you.”

  “Probably. He has a secret to that energy, you know. Brags about it all the time.”

  “What? His energy?”

  “Sexual energy.” Mick stole her drink.

  “Oh, get out of here, he does not brag about that.” Dylan took her drink back.

  “Does too. Heard him giving away h
is secret. Was saying at the diner, he jerks off every day after his morning piss, releasing the built up testosterone that wears him down, all while insuring longevity for whenever Lil Carter gives him a call.”

  “Liar.”

  “Am not lying. Can I make up lies that fast and that good off the top of my head?”

  After thinking for a second, Dylan shook her head. “No. You’re too creatively impaired.”

  “Geez, thank you for...” The hiss of his police radio and the call of the name ‘Chief’ made Mick cringe. “Goddamn it.” He picked up his radio. “Yeah.”

  The male voice spoke, ‘Hey, Chief, got a carload of intoxicated kids out at Barrett’s farm. They hit his fence. Problem is Old Man Barrett’s got them tied down with a shotgun until the police arrive. You wanna take it or you want me to call County?”

  “I’ll take it, thanks.” Mick hooked the radio back and sat up. “Duty calls.”

  “No, it did not. County could have handled it. You just don’t want to miss anything.”

  “You’re right.” Mick stole a quick kiss. “I shouldn’t be long, but if I am, can I stop by your house?”

  “Yes.”

  Mick’s mouth opened, he was preparing to argue, to ask, even beg, but he didn’t have to. “Yes? Just like that, yes?”

  “Yes,” Dylan repeated.

  “Aren’t we becoming the couple now?” Mick stood up. “I’ll see you in a bit.” Smiling, he walked off. He reached the end of the park thinking about the progress he and Dylan were making, turned around to wave again, and when he did, he froze. There approaching Dylan was Sam. It didn’t take Sam long to sit right down. Tucking away the progress thought before he jinxed it, Mick stuck his hand in his pocket, turned back around and kept on walking.

  * * *

  Before she took the long drink of cold beer, Dylan giggled and rubbed her eye as she sat on her front porch trying to catch a bit of relief from the heat. “God. How can I forget her?” Dylan said and flipped another page of the yearbook she shared while sitting with Sam.