David Halliday - The Hole

“You smoke too much,” Terry said to Adelle as he cleared his throat.

“Are you my mother now?” Adelle cried.

“So old man Leblanc is groping you, eh?” Wiggy gargled with laughter. “Fill us in on the details, mama.” Adelle glared at Wiggy.

“There are no details,” she said.

Wiggy shook his head, sucking on his cigarette and snorting with each breath.

“There are always details. Man, you could blackmail him. We take a few pictures next time and you’re set for life. Won’t want the little wife at home to see pix of him groping the hired help.”

“He lives with his mother,” Terry added, then turned to Adelle.

“Wiggy just wants some pictures to wank over.” Adelle laughed.

“Oh,” Wiggy responded and thought for a moment. “I don’t need to wank. I can get all the pussy I need.”

“Ya, right!” Frank laughed. “Hell, the only pussy you see is your mom’s.”

Adelle laughed. Wiggy turned to her.

“Frank is so funny. In his own mind!”

“Did you tell your mom you got expelled?” Terry asked.

“Not expelled-suspended!” Wiggy grinned proudly. “Shit, no. Why should I upset my old lady? They said I skipped too many Latin classes.

Dead language. You gotta be dead to attend those classes.”

“How does a language die?” Frank asked. “Did everyone die who was using it?”

Adelle smirked. “People stopped speaking it.”

“Whaddya mean? Did they stop talking? Can you imagine if we stopped speaking English? There would be chaos.”

“My mom says we don’t speak English,” Terry responded.

“My mom says things are a mess.” Adelle dropped her cigarette to the street and ground it out with her heel. She asked Terry for a cigarette. He was out. She turned to Wiggy again. Wiggy shook his head.

“What do I look like? A bank? You’re the one with a job. Why don’t you buy your own?”

“Give her a cigarette,” Frank barked. “You’re giving me a headache.” The friends moved out of the plaza and moved west along Bloor Street toward a nearby hydro field. After continual pestering, reluctantly Wiggy offered his package of cigarettes to Adelle.

“There’s your mom,” Wiggy said.

Across the street Terry’s mother stepped into the Zig Zag bar.

“Ya, I see her.” Terry turned his head away.

“She spends an awful lot of time in there,” Wiggy said. “My mom says-”

“Can’t you ever shut up?” Frank interrupted.

“Can’t you ever stop criticizing?” Wiggy responded.

Disappeared

Detective Sam Kelly shook his head. Jack, the bartender, nodded as he placed the tall glass of beer in front of the policeman. Sam lifted the glass to his lips and in one long swallow, downed it.

“The thing that gets me,” Sam said, “is that no one is talking about it.” Jack reached behind him and grabbed two shot glasses. Into each he poured two fingers of whiskey. He placed one in front of Sam and took the other for himself. The two men tapped glasses and downed the contents. Jack shook his head.

“God, I hate that stuff.”

Sam laughed. “You say that every time I’m in here. Why do you drink?”

“Takes the edge off the day,” Jack said. “Ah, I was never made to be a barkeep. This place gets to me sometimes, Sam. The people get to you. I hear the same conversation each time someone sits down here. And I have to listen. Or pretend to listen. Not you Sam, of course. You’re the only real person I talk to. I could have been a schoolteacher. Never knew that, did you? Went to teacher’s college. Actually taught for half a year up in the Saulte. Kids got to me. And there wasn’t much to do in your free time. Except drink. And I never did like to drink.” Sam shook his head.

“I never knew that, Jack. You, as a schoolteacher. Well, we all have regrets. I always wanted to be a cop. And when I became a detective, I thought I’d really made it.”

“I think we’re both going through that midlife crisis,” Jack said with a smile on his face. He poured Sam a second draft and placed it in front of him. “That’s what the wife tells me. Thinks I’m running around on her.

Who has the time? Or the energy. I’m telling you, Sam, once women reach the menopause, it’s like they become sex-crazed. The wife won’t leave me alone. I ain’t a young man anymore. Takes me time to recuper-ate. And even after that, she thinks I’m running around. I’ll tell you the truth, Sam, I don’t have that much interest in sex anymore.” 34

Sam laughed, moving his glass of beer in a small circle on the bar.

Jack grinned. “Good to hear you laugh, Sam.” Sam smiled. “Too many sad stories,” he said. “I need a vacation. Do you know how many husbands are walking out on their wives these days?”

Jack shook his head.

“I can count at least five since Christmas just in a six block area around the Zig Zag. A couple of them have moved in with other women in the area, women whose husbands fled their homes. It’s like musical beds.

But the other three just disappeared. Left their wives, their kids, mort-gages, debts, even their cars for Christ’s sake. Just disappeared. And I have to sit at their kitchen tables listening to these women. They’re a mess and they have no idea why hubby left. Can you believe that? It was like a shot out of the blue for them. You’d think they would have suspected something.”

“No idea?” Jack said, shaking his head.

“None,” Sam replied. “And then the kids start running off. What is it the kids find so alluring out there? We find most of them downtown, living in cardboard boxes. Squalid. Selling their little asses to feed themselves. How bad could life be at home? And worse, there are some of them we never find. Never. Some days I think I’ll wake up one morning and find that everyone on the planet has disappeared.” Sam took a swallow of beer.

Terry stepped into the bar and looked around.

“Shit!” Jack said. “Kid’s looking for his mother.” Sam turned and looked down the bar at Terry.

Jack moved down the bar and spoke to Terry for a minute. The boy left the bar. Jack returned to Sam.

“Poor kid. He’s locked himself out and he can’t find his mother. Didn’t have the heart to tell him where she is. Left earlier with a tall drink of water. Probably shacked up at the Islington House. Guy must be seven feet. Fella named Hank. Strange hombre. Dressed in black like Johnny Cash. The guy is obsessed with the year 1950. A regular encyclopedia on the subject.”

“Didn’t she lose her husband a few years ago?” Jack nodded. “Ten years ago.”

“Has it been that long? Didn’t people think he ran off with Joe Mackenzie’s wife?”

“I don’t know anything about that. Crazy Joe’s wife could have run off with a dozen different guys. Did I tell you the time I found her out back 35 in a snowbank, drunk out of her mind, getting ploughed under by some guy? She was one crazy broad. Mary’s husband, I can’t remember his name, only came in here a few times. Nice guy. Quiet. Not the sort of fellow to run off on his wife. He was real close to Terry. Used to see them everywhere together. Very sad. Mary took it bad but it was worse for the kid. Started acting out in school. What a handful he became. Getting in fights. Skipping classes. Mary started sleeping around. A woman raising a son by herself gets lonely.”

“He’s not a bad kid,” Sam said. “I’ve had a few run-ins with him.

Teenagers are difficult. It’s a tough time in your life and then to lose your old man…”

The two men were silent for several moments. Sam sipped at his beer.

Jack turned and looked up at the television. Championship Darts was on.

“What do you know about this Hank fellow?” Sam asked.