David Halliday - The Hole

“Is that fast?” Adelle asked. Do I sound stupid or what?

Hank nodded with a smile. “Very fast. They were placed in special balloons that were floated over enemy territory. They were spy cameras.”

“Oh,” Adelle said earnestly. Why would anyone need a camera like that?

“I don’t think we have anything like that.” Unless he’s some kind of pervert.

Hank smiled with pleasure at the girl’s naivety. “No, I didn’t think you would. But, I was hoping that your boss might be able to get hold of one for me.”

“Mr. Leblanc isn’t a spy,” Adelle said with such seriousness that Hank burst out laughing. I hate it when middle-aged men think they are being ironic.

“No,” he said shaking his head. “These cameras have been out of cir-culation for some time. I was hoping that he might be able to find one in army surplus. Perhaps there is a catalogue he could look in.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that.” Adelle sulked. I hate it when middle-aged men are being smart-asses.

“No, I didn’t think you would,” Hank replied. He had gone too far.

Something had upset the girl. Young people were so thin-skinned. Hank turned to leave the shop.

“Excuse me, sir,” Adelle said, her voice now bold and insistent, “what would you need a camera like that for?”

Hank looked back at the girl with disappointment. He could see the type of woman she would become.

He said, “I want to take a picture down a deep hole.” Dead Languages

Terry leaned against the wall of the storefront. Already on his third cigarette, he coughed and then coughed again. He cleared his throat. The tickle was gone. He sucked on his cigarette again. Where the hell is everyone? People walked up and down the covered sidewalk of the Six Points Plaza, in and out of the shops, dragging their kids with them. Walking down the front of the shops, two of his friends, Frank and Wiggy, ap-proached him. Frank was the shorter of the two. Quiet in manner and burly in appearance, Frank was the more down to earth. Boring. Wiggy was tall and gangly and loved to talk. There was nothing in the world more pleasant to Wiggy than the sound of his voice. Asshole. Greetings were extended and accepted. Wiggy lit up a cigarette.

“Adelle should be out soon,” Terry explained. She’ll be late for her own funeral.

“Where’s Cathy?” Frank asked.

“She’s getting us some booze. Her older brother promised her he’d get us some gin.”

“Gin!” Wiggy screwed up his face. “I can’t stand that stuff. Tastes like scotch tape.”

“You can’t stand the taste of alcohol-period,” Frank said with a sneer.

“You’re a weed man. I prefer bourbon.”

“Bourbon!” Wiggy laughed. “Do you like your martini stirred or shaken, Mr. Bond?”

“Bourbon ain’t a martini,” Frank responded. What an asshole!

“Well, what the hell is it?” Wiggy cried. What a smart-ass!

“Cut it out!” Terry interrupted. Morons!

Wiggy waved his hand at Frank. “I get so sick of this guy’s pretensions. Thinks he’s a man of the world.”

Wiggy stepped back and banged his shoulder against the wall.

Frank laughed. “You really got the twitch tonight.” 30

“ F you,” Wiggy said dismissively.

“If you guys don’t knock it off,” Terry declared, “people are going to think you’re married.” He coughed and spat on the sidewalk.

“Nice,” Frank responded, turning away. I really want to look at his mucus?

“You see,” Wiggy pleaded with Terry, “he’s got to comment on everything. Like Howard Fucking Cossell. Next time you fart he’ll be evaluating your brand.”

Terry laughed, then asked, “Did you get any weed?” Wiggy tapped the breast pocket of his jacket and smiled with pride.

Frank looked around with trepidation. “Makes me nervous standing here like this. Couldn’t we get going?”

“Relax,” Terry said. “Cops got better things to do than hassle us.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Frank muttered. “Remember Joey Artibello.”

“Joey is an asshole,” Wiggy said and laughed. “Joey tells everyone he’s selling. What does he expect?”

Frank pointed at Wiggy and laughed. “You’ve got a bigger mouth than Joey.”

Wiggy shook his shoulders and straightened up. “Joey goes around telling everyone he’s got underworld connections. His f’ing father drives a hearse.”

Frank waved Wiggy off.

Wiggy changed course. “Did you see that documentary on Derringer last night? What a cool guy. Robbing banks. All the chicks he had. What a life! Did you know he had plastic surgery to change his appearance?

Wanted to disappear from the public eye. In the end he was betrayed by a woman in red outside a movie theater in Chicago. I read that J. Edgar Hoover had the other agents hold Derringer down while he put a bullet in his head.”

Terry shook his head. “I didn’t see it. What channel was it on?”

“How would you disappear if you wanted to?” Wiggy asked.

“We live in an age of information,” Frank said. “I’d have all my records, dental, medical, changed.”

“Ya,” Wiggy cried, sucking on his cigarette, “but people could identify you from your photographs. You’d still need the plastic surgery.”

“Change the photographs,” Frank argued. He stepped back to let a woman and her two children pass.

Wiggy turned to Terry. “Can you do that?”

Terry nodded.

“Jesus!” Wiggy cried. “I don’t know how I’d disappear. Even with plastic surgery and changing all your ID, there’s a chance someone would recognize you. I’d go to some south seas island maybe. Some place where no white man has been. I’ve seen pictures of the chicks on those islands. Topless, man. And they’ve got nothing else to do all day but fuck. It would be paradise, man. I heard about a guy who went to Mexico and got laid using Canadian Tire money.”

“Right,” Terry responded.

“With your face, you’d stand out like a sore thumb,” Frank said then turned to Terry. “Got any ideas on how old Wiggy here could disappear?”

“We could drop him down a deep dark hole,” Terry responded, flicking his cigarette into the parking lot. Frank and Terry laughed.

“Very funny.” Wiggy released a cloud of smoke and coughed.

A moment later Adelle exited from the camera shop. She shuffled up next to the boys and asked for a cigarette. Terry handed her one.

“Sorry. I had this strange dude in the shop who wanted to buy some kind of spy camera and then when Mr. Leblanc returned I had to explain what kind of camera this guy was looking for. Mr. Leblanc was thinking of calling the police.”

“Spy camera!” Wiggy exclaimed.

“Old man Leblanc is always keeping you late. Did he come on to you again?” Frank laughed.

Adelle turned and glared at Terry.

“You didn’t expect me to keep that a secret, did you?” Terry responded.

“You don’t have to advertise it,” she said angrily. “If my mom hears about Mr. Leblanc, she’ll make me quit the job. I like the work and it’s easy and I can handle Mr. Leblanc. He’s just lonely.”

“Horny too!” Wiggy responded with a laugh and a cough. “Can you imagine an old guy like that? Probably got bigger tits than you.” Adelle smacked Wiggy in the arm. He cried out.

Wiggy winced. “What was that for?”

“For being an asshole!” Adelle said with a smirk.

“I like it when you hit me,” Wiggy countered. “Do it again!”

“Fuck off!” Adelle cried.

In the distance thunder rolled. They looked up into the sky.

“Man!” Frank cried.

The four friends moved along the plaza, forcing other pedestrians to move around them. Adelle choked on her cigarette smoke.