David Halliday - The Hole

“You think that’ll work?” Wiggy asked.

“Why not?” Terry responded. “As long as we keep our stories straight and no one talks too much. If they don’t find a body, there ain’t no crime.”

“I never liked Johnny anyway,” Wiggy stated, climbing to his feet. “He didn’t have any respect for women.”

Good-bye

Sam Kelly pulled the car over to the curb. Margaret turned toward him.

“Thanks for the lift home.” Margaret smiled.

Sam nodded.

“Is it all over now?” she asked. “Are they still going to try and find out what happened to all those people?”

Sam stared out the front window of the police car.

“Nothing is ever over,” he said. “Too much has happened to drop everything. But it’s over for me. I’ll put in for early retirement. The way I’ve handled things, there won’t be any argument.”

“What will you do?”

Sam laughed bitterly. “Don’t know. Don’t really know anything but police work. The future,” Sam hesitated for a moment before continuing,

“seems pretty dark.”

Margaret smiled and patted Sam on the hand.

“The future is supposed to be dark. It hasn’t happened yet.” Sam looked at the woman sitting beside him. He took her hand, squeezed softly, and then released it. “Thanks,” he said.

Margaret waited for a moment, then opened the car door. She turned to the detective.

“Would you like to come in for a coffee?”

Sam paused, then smiled.

“Another time, maybe.”

Margaret nodded then stepped out of the car. About to leave, she turned back to the car and leaned in the open window.

“Sam, you be careful. If you need someone to talk to, you know where I am.”

“Why are you so sure it’ll work?” Frank leaned against the side of the telephone booth, gripping the receiver in his hand.

“Where are you calling from?” Terry’s voice asked.

“A telephone booth,” Frank responded, turning to look out across Bloor Street. “Across the street from the plaza. I didn’t want to talk in my house. My mother’s always listening in on the other line. If my parents even get a whiff of what we’ve been doing, I’m a goner. No college.

Heck, they’ll kick me out of the house. I don’t know why I let you guys talk me into it in the first place. Maybe if we told them it was an accident.

The rope slipped. We only wanted to scare… ”

“Look,” Terry said, “just keep the story simple, just like I told you.

Don’t elaborate on it. No extra details. If the cops try to probe deeper just say that you’d had a few beers and you were out of it. And whatever you do, don’t go telling them about any accidents.”

“Terry?” Frank asked, his head bent as if he were looking into the receiver.

“Ya.”

Frank hesitated. “Did you know Johnny’s folks?” Terry was silent for a minute.

“No.”

“I wonder how they’re taking it.” The volume of Frank’s voice began to decrease. He was now almost whispering. Frank looked around again to make sure that no one was listening. “My parents would be pretty upset. I don’t know if my folks could stand up to it. My dad’s had heart problems. Are Johnny’s parents strong enough? I don’t want any more bodies on my conscience.”

“I told you, Frank, I don’t know Johnny’s parents. We’ve got to stay focused on our plan.”

“Maybe the cops won’t even talk to us,” Frank said.

“They’ll be talking to everyone,” Terry said. “This is real big, Frank.

Johnny’s parents are going to want answers. We just gotta wait it out.

What’s wrong, Frank?”

“Nothing. Just having trouble breathing. My stomach is in knots.”

“Calm down. Take a deep breath.”

“Okay,” Frank replied. “I’m trying. You’re sure Adelle will give us an alibi?”

“I already talked to her. We won’t have any trouble there.”

“Do you trust Wiggy?” Frank asked. “He ain’t going to be able to keep his mouth shut. You know what he’s like.”

“Wiggy will be quiet. For now. He’s just as scared as we are. Later, we can take care of him.”

“What?” Frank asked. “What does take care of him mean, Terry?

Should we go to the funeral to see Johnny’s body? I don’t think I could do that, Terry. I couldn’t look at that face again. I just couldn’t.”

“Stay calm, Frank. There won’t be any body. Nobody is going to look down that hole.”

“Terry?”

“Ya, Frank?”

“Does this make us murderers? I don’t know if I could live thinking I was a murderer. I want to have kids some day. How could I raise kids knowing that I was a murderer? How could you keep a secret like that from your wife? It would come out. Eventually everything comes out.”

“No, it doesn’t. Some things disappear. You’ll forget about it, Frank.

One day you’ll have trouble even remembering that all this really happened, that it wasn’t just a bad dream. But for now you’ve got to bury it some place deep inside. You’ve got to put it some place where no one can ever find it.”

“Oh, shit!” Frank cried.

“What?” Terry asked.

“That cop, the detective. The one that’s been asking questions.”

“What about him?” Terry asked.

“He’s right in front of me,” Frank said. “With his back to me. He’s bending over to get a newspaper. He’s beginning…” Frank knelt down and smiled. The receiver slipped out of his hands and twisted at the end of its chord. His face turned pale. Suddenly there was no more guilt. He smiled. His last breath slipped out of his lips in a low whistle.

“Frank!” Terry’s voice cried from the receiver. “Frank, what’s happening? Frank!”

The End

Jack straightened out the glasses on the shelf. He turned around.

“You were saying?” the young officer sitting at the bar asked.

“You didn’t know Sam?”

The young officer shook his head.

“Sam had your job for years around here. Knew almost everyone. Was always a regular here. After hours. Never drank on duty. You want a refill?”

The officer glanced around the empty room and nodded. Jack drew a draught of beer and placed it on the bar.

“I guess it was his biggest case. He was never the same afterward.

Who would be? He retired a few months later. It was Sam’s habit to walk up the corner there, pick up the paper, come in here for a drink. We’d discuss whatever was making the headlines. One day he comes in here, white as a ghost. Doesn’t say anything. Just asks for a drink. Downs it, then asks for a second. Tells me he just discovered a body on the sidewalk. Not half an hour before. The guy, an old guy named Frank Gray, was lying on the sidewalk, his mouth open, his lips barely moving. Sam hadn’t noticed him standing in the telephone booth. A whistling sound had attracted Sam’s attention, which is why he turned around. The receiver was dangling. Sam looked down on old Frank. He said he was as gray as the sidewalk. He knelt down to feel his pulse. He couldn’t find one. There was someone yelling on the receiver. Frank grabbed it and called for help. Whoever it was, hung up. Sam phoned emergency and waited. Sam kept blaming himself for the old man’s death. Said he should have used mouth to mouth, but instead he just stood there, frozen, waiting. Sam said it felt like he waited an eternity. After the ambulance left, a cop car showed up. They questioned Sam. I guess they didn’t recognize him. After the cops left, Sam said he stood there alone for the longest time, just staring at the sidewalk. There was a stain on the cement. It was all that was left of the old man.” The young officer shook his head. “I never heard that story before.”