volume one IN THE D U D L E Y C L A R K - Ohio Vine Tours

taught to do this at the secret Barnes & Nobel school somewhere
deep beneath the Mohave desert—as a wretched, pitiable excuse
of a Consumer, and is given short shrift.
Meanwhile, Roy is rubbing his stinging eyes, eyes that are
now red-rimmed and tearing. What is that she’s wearing, Mace?
Roy has heard about women who are cop freaks, that they will
go to any length to have sexual intercourse with them.
But Mace?
Roy is not really thinking these thoughts so much as these
thoughts are intruding themselves into Roy’s mind. Indeed, he
has much more important thoughts he ought to be thinking. For
instance, he ought to be thinking about what is he going to say to
the old, bearded, name-tagged guy who now stares at him, hands
on hips, looking menacing.
The old, bearded, name-tagged guy clears his throat.
“So—what’s going on here?”
He looks like he reads a lot.
“Nothing. Nothing.”
These words proceed from the mouth of Roy who, as if a little
boy, knuckles his red-rimmed eyes.
The old, bearded, name-tagged guy redoubles his menace.
“Are you stoned, sir? Are you on—crack?”
“Wh-what?”
The garish fat lady has stopped shrieking and is currently,
besides emitting outraged gasps, otherwise occupied, there being
a lot of work involved in the proper arrangement of her apparel.
“That man!” She manages to sputter between outraged gasps.
“He—groped me!”
A look of revulsion appears on the faces of the name-tagged
employees who, concluded with the business of reassembling the
garish lady’s recently-purchased property, now cordon off Roy
from the building.
The garish lady lowers her voice into a fuming growl.
“I demand to see the manager!”
The old, bearded, name-tagged guy pats the air between
himself and the garish one. He assumes a consolatory tone.
“I’m the First Floor Day Manager, ma’am. My name’s Bob.
Let me assure you that we here at Barnes & Noble work very
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY 1