Hog City Needs You

It was a slow day in Hog City, at least it was until Mickey Finster ran into the Sheriff’s office. 

“Sheriff Clapp. Come quick! There’s trouble over at the whorehouse!”

Fortunately, Sheriff Clapp had already finished butt fucking his deputy and had already been in the process of zipping up his fly.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“There’s been a major burglary,” shouted Finster. “And the crook’s done been seen making off with the goods.”

Clapp hustled across the street to McMurty’s Saloon and Pleasure House. It was the only house of ill repute around for over fifty miles. It and the railway emergency coaling station were the only things that kept Hog City going.

Sheriff Clapp entered through the swinging doors. He eyed the bar. There was the usual selection of drunk cowboys and professional gamblers. He went over to Sam, the bartender, who told him to go upstairs to see Miss Felicia.

As he climbed the stairs, he could hear Miss Felicia crying, “A three hunert dollar investment gone, just like that.”

The sheriff found Miss Felicia in a small room containing not much more than a bed and a stand for a wash basin. Miss Felicia had been put out to pasture as a whore after a thirty years in the sporting life. She had taken what little she had, turning tricks where and when she could until she scraped up enough money to buy into the saloon as a partner. Her role was finding and managing the whores. Now, Miss Felicia sat on the bed, all three hundred pounds of her. Tears had made her make up run in blue streaks down her face. Her gray hair, tinged with henna, seemed to have collapsed from its normal tower on her head into a tangle running down her back.

“What’s wrong Miss Felicia?” Sheriff Clapp asked.

Miss Felicia’s eyes brightened. “Thank goodness you are here. Billy Hodges done stole Nancy Jenkins right out the window. The two of them climbed down bed sheets and rode off on Billy’s horse.”

Sheriff Clapp was thunderstruck. “He did what?” 

He knew Billy Hodges. He was a young layabout, a sometime cow puncher and farmhand, would be gambler, and outlaw wannabe. He’d expected Billy to wind up more or less on the right side of the law most of the time, and finish his days respectfully, drunk in the gutter just like his father. This was a big step for Billy Hodges, and Sheriff Clapp wasn’t sure he liked it. Nancy Jenkins was the youngest and best looking whore at McMurty’s, making her the youngest and best looking whore around for more than fifty miles around. This did not set well with Sheriff Clapp. Without Nancy Jenkins around, how would he while away his Sunday afternoons? He had just gotten her to the point where the last bit of girlish squeamishness was gone, and she would let him indulge in any activity he fancied with her, even three ways with his horse or deputy. Without her, the next best whore was Wallpaper Sally, but Sheriff Clapp didn’t like the scabs on Sally’s cunt. They scratched his cock when he slid it in to her. She’d pick’em if a customer complained, to make things slide in easier, but that didn’t make the ride any more appealing to some folks, Sheriff Clapp included. But, Clapp couldn’t let his own feelings affect the way he did his job. At least not now, while he was in town. Anyone could be listening.

“How do you know,” Clapp asked. “that Nancy was stolen? Er, kidnapped. Sounds like she might have gone with Billy of her own accord.”

“It’s all the same,” Miss Felicia said. “Either Billy stole her or she stole herself. Either way my property is gone and so is my livelihood.”

“You can’t own a person,” Clapp said. “We fought a war about that.”

“Don’t give me that crap,” Miss Felicia shouted. “This ain’t no person. This is a whore. I know whores. I’ve been one near all my life. Whores just can’t up and go as they please. They is owned by the madam or the whore master. They can kiss the cock or kiss the whip, but they ain’t going nowhere unless their pimp or madam says so. Nancy has three more years on her contract with me, and it says right in there time is added on to work off her food, clothing, and medical expenses, plus and extra two years for every time she tries to run off.”

“Nancy signed a contract?”

“I’ve got a paper with her X on it.”

“Sounds like breach of contract. I don’t know if that is for me to look into, but I’ll find her to see if she went off on her own or was kidnapped.”

“Stolen,” Miss Felicia corrected him.

Sheriff Clapp left the saloon. He knew well enough what Nancy and Billy looked like, and had a fair idea where they’d be heading. He figured they would be looking for a preacher or a way out of the county, or possibly going to hole up together in the old Hodges’ cabin. That was if Nancy had gone away on her own. If not, Billy might be off raping and killing her if he’d lost his mind. If he was smart, Billy might be taking her to sell to another whorehouse or to work the streets for him in a city. But, Sheriff Clapp didn’t think Billy was that crazy or that smart. He was just dumb enough to fall in love with a whore, or think he could save her.

On the street Old Man Fletcher ran up to Clapp. “I just heard about Nancy,” Fletcher said. “You gotta get her back. She has these lips, they’re almost prehensile. She wraps them around your cock and…” Fletcher stopped himself, as if suddenly thinking this wasn’t the right thing to say. “Listen,” he continued. “You have to get her back. The economy of this whole town is dependent on that whorehouse, and without Nancy, there are really no whores there worth having. No Nancy, no whorehouse. No whorehouse, no town. You gotta bring her back.”

Clapp said he’d do what he could do. He had a lot of respect for Fletcher. After the war, Clapp had come west. He’d tried work as a cowboy and as a rustler. He’d worked laying track, and robbing trains. There had been no job he really liked or was good at. The only talent he had was with a gun. Fletcher saw something in him. He had given him a chance as a hired gun guarding his small bank. And later, with Fletcher’s influence, Clapp had been made sheriff of Hog City. The job had got him respect, and a home. Without it, he’d have never met his wife Hilda, or gotten the chance to start a family. Law or no law, Clapp had a lasting debt to Fletcher that he meant to pay back. He would bring back Nancy. He saddled his horse.

He called to his deputy, “If I’m not back with her by sundown tomorrow, get a pussy, er, posse, and come lookin’.”

Sheriff Clapp road out of town. Both his pistols were loaded. A rifle lay across the pommel of his horse. Billy’d probably put up a fight, which was okay by him. Likely the boy would be lynched if Clapp brought him back to town alive. He never liked selfish folk. Nancy was the best lookin’ and best fuckin’ woman in these parts, There weren’t a man or boy around who wouldn’t kill to get his share of her. The nerve of that boy. He checked Hodges’ place. They weren’t there. So he road off towards Johnny Blog’s homestead. Blog had been a preacher in his younger days, before he discovered the joys of whiskey and fucking sheep. Might be that Billy and Nancy had sought out Blog for a quick wedding.

Blog was in the barn with his pants down when Clapp rode up. Blog’s hands were full with the back legs of a ewe. Clapp called to him.

“Just a minute,” Blog shouted. “I’m almost done.”

Clapp waited patiently for the man to finish. Blog came out of the barn, his overalls were back on. He was wiping his hands on a rag. “Thanks for waiting. Had to tenderize some meat before it goes to market. What can I do for you Sheriff? Been a long while since you been out these parts.”

“Lookin’ for a thief. Billy Hodges done run off with Nancy Jenkins.”

“Why that lying bastard. He was here not an hour ago. Said he bought her fair and square. I didn’t think he had that kind of money, but he said he had a real good hand at poker.”

“He was here? An hour ago? What did he want?”

“What ya think? He wanted me to hitch him to Nancy. I said sure, for five dollars. He didn’t have five dollars. So I said, okay, how’s two. He didn’t have two. So I said, Nancy’s a hard working girl who knows a lot of tricks. Why don’t the two of you get naked with me and some of the sheep and y’all can work it off. He cursed me out somethin’ fierce and told me they’d ride down to the old Spanish mission and look up the old priest there who works with the injuns.”

“Thanks for the information.” Clapp tipped his hat and spurred his horse.

Blog shouted after him, “Bring her back! We need a piece of ass like that around here.”

It was dark when Sheriff Clapp reached the mission. He could see candle light in the church. He rode straight up to the door and burst through on his horse. The priest looked up in surprise. His cassock was up around his waist exposing his hairy legs and long thin cock. He was standing over Nancy who was naked on all fours giving him head while Billy did her ass.

“Madre Dios!” the priest screamed and pulled down his cassock.

“You done already?” Nancy growled. 

Billy whirled around reaching for his gun, but Sheriff Clapp drilled a hole in his chest.

“Now why’d you do that?” Nancy screamed. “You coulda had some if you just waited.”

“Murderer!” the priest said pointing at Clapp, so the sheriff plugged him too. He never liked papists. 

“You’re comin’ with me Nancy. Hog City needs you.”

He pulled the naked girl onto his horse and road back out of the church. He fucked her three times on the way back to town, once while they were still riding.

Clapp apologized to Nancy for ruining her wedding. She didn’t seem too upset. 

“I didn’t know how boring he was until I had to spend all day with him,” she explained. “Guess its for the best. I’d probably have run off on him in a week or two anyway.”

“Well, I’ll see that you get back safe where you belong, at McMurty’s, where we all love and care about you.”

“That’s sweet,” she said and gave him a hug. 

Clapp felt another hard-on coming on, but it would have to wait. His cock was feeling sore now, it burned when he peed and a milky substance was leaking out from the tip. He dropped Nancy off at McMurty’s. Miss Felicia gave her a good whipping and let him watch. It made his heart feel good. When he got home, he poured himself a tall glass of whiskey and soaked his cock in it. Later, he drained the glass and was ready to meet the world again.

At the Gate

when the two friends could no longer avoid the angry men with guns + atvs + leafblowers, they made their way to the gates of the walled city just before sundown and knocked on the small steel door to the side of the gates. a small slit opened. two eyes appeared in the slit, flicking under long lashes from one man to the other. —what do you want?! we dont allow straight white men!

—please, said one. we/re not like those others. he gestured behind them. —we/re hungry.

—are you jewish?

the man tilted his head slightly. —what?

—are you jewish? you look jewish.

—well, i mean, yes. secular though.

—thats fine. do you believe in israel?

—i/m sorry? believe?

the person behind the slit sighed. —believe in the right of return?

he shrugged. —i guess? i dont believe in the killing of palestinians tho. or their displacement, of course.

the eyes glared. —wrong answer. we dont take muslim extremists!

—im not muslim! i told, i/m athiest—

—we dont allow muslim extremist sympathizers! you/re either with us or against us!

—but…i just think the palestinians should me treated equally, like humans—

—sorry jew boy. jewish self-haters arent allowed!

—but—

—move along!

the first man stared at the glaring eyes for some seconds, then turned to his friends. —if you can still get in, do it! i/ll meet you somewhere!

—i/m not leaving you!

—no! the orange people are too close! theres no other way. its either/or!

—its never either/or!

—just do it! go!

the first man ran from his friend, away from the walled city towards the hills. his friends stared after him.

—straight white men not allowed! you may as well go after him!

the man turned to the glaring eyes. —but we—i—just want shelter. water. maybe a pizza?

—no straight white men. are you gay? closeted?

—uh….

—do you want to suck dick?

—excuse me?

—do you want to suck dick? fantasize about it?

—well, i mean, in certain fantasies. but i like women!

—too bad. are you bi? that counts.

—i mean, i have fantasies about being forced to wear womens underwear while my girlfriend laughs + has sex with a real man.

—cuckolds dont count. but are you trans?

—um, i dont know? i dont think so?

—are you a little bitch?

—i mean, maybe?

—do you feel like a little bitch in the presence of real men?

—maybe? but that doesnt make me a woman, does it?

—well, it doesnt make you a man.

—i guess thats true.

—we have a womens mountain mike race this weekend. if i let you in, you could sign up.

—oh, that wouldnt me fair. i mean, i/d sign up for the mens race.

—ah ha! i knew it! you are a man! your politics are so transparent!

—thats not politics. thats like, social issues.

—i knew it! cisgender male!

—what do you mean?! politics is about the exploitation of the working class!

—communist! socialist! anarchist! you/re like the dead white men you read!

—look, if you dont let me in, i will be dead! the conservative christians want to kill me because i/m not pro-life!

—if it wasnt for men like you, women wouldnt have to worry about abortions. get the fuck out of here!

—seriously?!

—seriously!

the slit closed. the man stared at it. he turned to the distant roar and dust cloud of atvs and leafblowers coming closer.

Hey, Johnny

I was running late as usual, but I had promised to hang out with the guys at Johnny’s Night Club. When I arrived the bouncer, Johnny Blot, nodded and let me in. Security was always tight at Johnny’s Night Club. 

As soon as I walked through the door someone called out my name.

“Look who it is. Johnny Comelately. You’re never on time.”

It was Johnny Swansong, manager and part owner of the club. He gripped my hand.

“Good to see you Johnny boy.”

“You too Johnny.”

“A lot of your friends are here tonight. There’s Johnny Onebrow at the bar.”

Johnny Onebrow waved, martini in hand.

“Hi, Johnny. Glad you could make it.”

“Me too.”

Johnny Hygiene came out of the restroom area. 

“Johnny Comelately! Good to see ya.”

We met half way across the floor. He pumped my hand. His hand was still wet, but I didn’t mention it. 

“What have you been up to you old rascal?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “A bit of this, a bit of that. And you?”

“The same. Insurance. That and the family. Keeps me running.”

I spotted Johnny Memento at a table with Johnny Hardon.

“Hey Johnny,” I said and meant it for both of them.

Johnny Memento smiled. “Wow Johnny. Long time no see. What has it been, a year?”

“More like three months.”

“Really? Could have fooled me. Takes me back to when we were kids. Remember when Johnny Bigarm threw that touchdown pass to me in the championship?”

“Sure do. Bounced out of your hands, off my helmet and back into your arms.”

“Those were some times. Weren’t they? Seems like yesterday.”

“Been fourteen years, but I’ll never forget it.”

“And the crowd! They went wild.”

“Sure did.”

“And Betty Lu Johnnyson from the cheerleading squad kissed me, and we went out after that for the next two years.”

“Great times. What have you been up to since I last saw you?”

“Same old, same old. Still working in my uncle’s funeral parlor, sharing stories with the old stiffs.”

“Sounds good.”

I turned to the other Johnny. “How about you? How have you been doing?”

“Can’t complain,” said Johnny Hardon. “Have a hot date later tonight. Remember Yolanda from chemistry class in college?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, she just got divorced. Hasn’t aged much at all. And guess who she wants to help her get back into circulation?”

“Johnny Hardon.”

“You got it mister.”

Johnny Swansong tapped my shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt, but one of the reasons I wanted you to come by and hang out for a change was to check out a new act. I’m thinking your boss, Johnny Platinum, might check him out himself if you put in a good word.”

“Okay. I’ll have a listen.”

I was used to these types of requests. Johnny Platinum was a top record producer in the area with connections to some of the big companies. I often got a nice tip along with a request, but Johnny Swansong was an old friend. I let it pass when it turned out the envelope was a bit light.

Johnny Swansong escorted me into the big room where a five-piece band had just finished setting up.

“What are they called? There’s no sign.”

“Just listen first.”

“Hi, Mr. Swansong,” yelled a young kid from the stage. Couldn’t be more than nineteen.

“She the singer? Easy on the eye.”

“Martha? Not the singer, but in the band. Rhythm guitar and tambourine. Does some backup. Good kid. I mean really good.” He grinned. “She’s why I hired them in the first place, but now it’s about the music. Just the music.”

“Who’s the singer?”

“The skinny blond guy. Martha’s brother. You have to hear this guy’s voice. I think they’re going places.”

We sat down at a table, ordered some drinks. I saw some familiar faces in the crowd. Johnny Spine, my chiropractor, and his lady; Johnny Wholesale and his gal; Johnny Narc, and Johnny Looselips, and a bunch of others. We listened while the band ran through their set. Some covers, a few originals. Pop, light rock, a little heavy metal. But the voice of the lead singer. The voice. 

“They play okay,” I said, “But you are right about the singer. Just needs the right material. I’ll talk to my boss. “

I gave Johnny Platinum a call. Asked what he was doing. He wasn’t busy. I suggested he stopped by and catch the band. They were playing three sets that night. Johnny Platinum said he’d try to make it. 

I let Johnny Swansong know that Johnny Platinum might stop by. Johnny Swansong thanked me and slipped another envelope into my pocket. The night was getting better.

Johnny Platinum stopped by around midnight, just before the final set. Johnny Swansong was more than cordial, explained he sort of represented the band in a semi-official way. We got a good table in the second row and sat back to see what happened. The final set had more songs, more range, and better instrumentals as if the first two sets were warm ups, or adrenaline or something else had gotten them juiced up. But they still weren’t great. Except for that voice. It was all about the voice. The lead singer had a gift. Johnny Platinum agreed with Johnny Swansong. There was a chance to make money here. With the right songs, the right music, the right costumes, and, of course, the right promotion, who knew what could happen.

After the show Johnny Swansong brought the band over to meet Johnny Platinum. Johnny Platinum extended his hand to the singer. The other Johnnys at the table stuck out their hands as well. There was a lot of shaking and pumping before getting down to business.

“You’ve got a set of tonsils there,” said Johnny Platinum. “What’s your name?”

“Bobby Healey. Together we’re Bobby and the Floaters.”

Johnny Platinum laughed, “What kind of name is that for a band? That’s gotta change. Look, you sound good, not great, but you need proper guidance. I might have Johnny Comelately here throw together a contract for you to review for an album and a small tour, if you’re interested. Not a lot of money to start. A percentage. Maybe an advance. But who knows what can happen in a year of two with luck and hard work. But you have to be willing to make compromises.”

Bobby looked at his sister who nodded.

“We’re interested,” said Bobby. “What kind of compromises.”

“First thing, the name. What kind of name is Bobby and the Floaters? Come on. You gotta change the name.”

“You don’t like The Floaters?”

“I can work with that,’ said Johnny Platinum. “Though you could make it easier for me by opting for a different band name or different band altogether. If you want to keep the band as it is, we might be able to do a deal, but they’ll need to get a lot better. It would be easier to swap players, but I’m willing to give it a try. But Bobby and the Floaters… that Bobby part has to go.”

“What do you suggest?” asked Bobby. “Just go with The Floaters?”

“You can do that or you could change Bobby to another name.”

“Like what?”

“How about Johnny? It’s warm, friendly, people can relate to it. I can go with Johnny and the Floaters. That’s bankable. Sounds marquee. Sounds much better than just The Floaters, and a hell of a lot better than Bobby and the Floaters. Though, like I said, the band might need to be reconstructed. Down the line. I’m willing to give them a shot, but they have to earn it. You on the other hand, you’re in. You can sing. I can work with you. If we can reach an agreement about the name thing.”

“But my name’s Bobby.”

“About that.” Johnny Platinum scratched his chin. “Healey is not a good name for a singer either. It don’t quite go with a great name like Johnny.”

“You think I should change it?”

“For professional purposes only. No offense to your family, you know.”

“What kind of name do you have in mind?”

“How does Johnny Scales sound? You got your Johnny, which everybody loves, and then Scales, a name that means something cause you can hit the high notes and the low notes. That’s the kind of name that audiences and investors eat up in Johnnytown.”

“The world’s bigger than Johnnytown,” the kid mumbled.

“It sure is,” said Johnny Platinum. “But you gotta start somewhere, and you’re in Johnnytown. If you want to win in Johnnytown, you need to be Johnny Scales or Johnny something else. But not Healey. It will sell some tickets, but not enough. You have to give the people what they want, and in Johnnytown they want a Johnny, but not a Johnny Healey. Healey doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t say anything about you. You need to either go with the flow or wind up a schmo.”

“I’ll think about it Mr. Platinum. I’ll definitely think about it.”

“You can call me Johnny. But don’t think about it too long. After tomorrow I may have changed my mind. There are a lot of bands out there.”

Martha whispered to her brother, “Just do it. Johnny’s your middle name anyway. That part should be easy for you, and you’re real name will still be Bobby Healey.”

Bobby sighed.

“Okay. You can call me Johnny Scales.”

“Good,” said Johnny Platinum. “We’re all simpatico. Let’s have a drink to celebrate.” He invited the band to sit at the table. Johnny Swansong signaled the waitresses to accommodate them. When all had a glass of something alcoholic in their hands, Johnny Platinum raised his in a toast.

“To the next big thing in Johnnytown. Johnny and the Floaters.”

He drained his glass, then added, “and after Johnnytown, who knows? The sky’s the limit… with a change or two.”

I had to agree.