A Little Advertisement

Santo.

Never much to see, even on a good day. The desert landscape, with its’ arroyos and buttes, should be thrilling to the eye. Instead, the dull grey of the planet’s surface tended to rob the world of color. “A dry, dusty rock,” Dorian thought as he walked the main street of its’ most notable trading town. It was places such as these that he found the greatest need of his dental services. He’d visited four saloons, three general and dry goods stores, the town doctor, and the local whorehouse. In each case, a ten credit note to the proprietor had given him license to circulate his business cards:

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Dorian Adler, DDS

Cleanings – 25
Extractions – 50
Cavities – 75
Surgery – Get a quote

Checkups and Exams are FREE!
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“Where ye doin’ this?” a woman with leather skin to match the drab landscape asked him as she read the card.

“The dock sites, ma’am,” he answered pleasantly. “Look fah a Firefly named “Lunar Veil.” Show that card and ya’ll be taken tah tha medbay.”

“Muh husband,” she shook her head. “Got a might bad tooth in his head. Been drinkin’ the pain down, but it’s keepin’ him up nights. I’ll send him yer way.”

“Ah’ll be delighted to help him,” Dorian nodded. “We’re here til sundown tomorrow.”

He moved along, taking advantage of the locals’ curiosity to hand out more cards as he went. Dorian’s journey through the town was nearly at its’ end, the location well known to him.

CANTINA CHAVEZ certainly did its best to stand out from the dull grey world. Christmas lights twinkled their colors around the hand painted sign. At one time, the yellow stucco walls would’ve appeared bright and cheerful, but the years of inexorable grey dust were slowly winning that battle. Even the mariachi music that filtered through the swinging doors had a tired, muted quality to it. Dorian stamped his feet on the wood planking, then swung the doors wide as he entered.

Years ago, when Paco Chavez opened the little bar and restaurant, he decorated the place to resemble his ancestral homeland on Earth-That-Was. Tables were draped in fading Mexican blankets, and the antique posters peeling from the walls offered scenes of bullfights, futbol ligas, and idyllic beach scenes. “Aeromexico…your key to Puerto Vallarta.” Adler always liked that one best, most like for the smiling woman in a skimpy garment they used to call a “bikini.”

“Dorian? Hey-hey, it’s Dorian!” Paco laughed, wiping his hands as he bustled his way out from behind the bar. “How you doing, *pendejo?*” The two old friends embraced, laughing and slapping backs. “What you doing here?”

“Ah’m on tha circuit,” Dorian grinned. “We dropped in here…thought I’d drum up some business.”

“You gotta be thirsty!” Paco observed.

“Always.”

“C’mon…c’mon!” his host urged him toward the bar. “Let me pour you a beer!”

Dorian chuckled as he took a stool. “Ah wouldn’t object. Town’s still a dusty place.”

“Yeah,” Paco nodded his head as he drew two mugs of frothy beer. “Surprised *mi familia*haven’t all got the asthma. “Cheers, my friend!” The mugs clinked together, and both men drank deeply. Once Paco landed his onto the bar, he looked around. “Where’s that boy of mine? Luis! LUIS!!!”

“*Papi*?” the boy’s voice filtered from a back room.

“Run back to the house. Tell your mother that *Tio* Dorian is coming for supper!”

“Aw, *papi*…” the boy groaned.

Paco shook his head. “Gorram kids and their games,” he muttered. LUIS! NOW!*CORRIENDO*!”

“Okay, okay,” the younger Chavez groused as he emerged. “*Hola, Tio*,” he said in half hearted greeting.

“*Hola*, Luis,” Dorian chuckled as he watched the boy run to the street beyond. “Damn, but he’s grown.”

Paco smiled. “Wait til you see the girls.”

“Heartbreakers like their mother?”

“Aiiii,” the bartender rolled his eyes. “we’re already fighting off the boys.”

“Ah don’t want to impose,” Dorian offered. “Y’all don’t have to set anything fah me…”

Paco refilled his mug. “Self preservation, *cabron*. If Marisol found out you were on planet and I didn’t rope you in for supper, she’d rain hell on me for a week.”

He nodded his understanding. Marisol was a force of nature, when her sheer charm and beauty weren’t enough. In past times, she’d been more than a friend. Dorian could rightly attest that the woman had gotten him out of more than one bad scrape. But to risk her anger? Well, there were those who’d sooner choose facing a shotgun. “Ah’ll be there,” he promised. “Got to head back, now. Couple patients wanted some quick work. Just past sunset acceptable ?”

“*Muy bien,*” Paco smiled warmly. “We’ll see you then.”