The Hole

by David Halliday

  “This happened years ago, Ruth,” Sam said.

  “If this death happened so long ago, why are you looking into it now?”

  “Doing it for a friend.” He smiled. “We like to think that every case can be solved.”

  “I see. Does that mean that our Johnny’s file could be reopened?”

  “Would you like me to look into it, Ruth? It’s not likely that I could find anything but I’ll have a look if you want.” Ruth shook her head. “No. I mean it’s terrible to say, but we went through so much at the time and over the years, I don’t think we could take that again. I pray that he’ll come home again some day on his own.” Ruth smiled, her voice weakening. “He’d just finished his first year of college. We had such plans for him. Frank was hoping that he’d get his CA and join him in the firm. Frank was working with a partner then. But Johnny hated school. I warned Frank about pushing him too hard. A boy needs time to sow his wild oats. Sometimes there would be fights.

  Johnny always threatened to run off to California. He was going to be some Hollywood star. We looked there. Had a detective on the case for over a year. He didn’t find anything. I can never watch movies. I keep looking at the extras hoping to see Johnny’s face in a crowd. It’s put a hole in my heart. Do you know what that’s like, Sam? To have a void inside you that can never be filled?”

  Gin

  Jack leaned over the bar. “How are things going with your fella?” Mary smiled and flicked an ash off the cigarette that dangled in her fingers into the ashtray on the bar.

  “Do I have mat written on my forehead?” Mary asked.

  “That bad?” Jack emptied Mary’s ashtray and replaced it with a clean one.

  Mary continued, “If I could write a book about everything I’ve learned about men over the years, I wouldn’t have a thing to say. You’d think some lesson would sink into my thick skull, but every time I meet a new guy, it’s like I’m falling in love with a new species. Hank must be the coldest fish in the sea. A girl likes to be romanced. A candlelight dinner.

  Soft music. Slow dancing. Hank told me that modern romance was an industry. That’s what he called it-an industry. From movies to lipstick, restaurants to lingerie, chocolates to diet pills, the whole thing is about capital venture. What the hell is capital venture? Hank says that women have a fatalistic obsession with romantic delusions. What the hell does 89 that mean, Jack? The other night I made this pork tenderloin meal. It’s a recipe I learned from an Italian girlfriend. I have everything set up to se-duce him-soft music, good food, an expensive bottle of French wine, and candlelight. Hank arrives and the first thing he does is turn on the light. Tells me that he can’t enjoy his food unless he can see it. I’m in the mood for an evening of long caresses, wine, and passion. Once we’re in bed, it’s slam, bang, thank you ma’am, and he’s asleep. It’s the middle of the night and I’m left wide awake with nothing to do but watch television. Do you know how boring those infomercials are? I think I’ve seen every piece of exercise equipment in existence. Last night I watched the shopping network, women’s answer to pornography. I ended up spending fifty dollars on skin cream. It would be laughable if it wasn’t so pathetic.”

  “You actually phoned in to one of those commercials?” Jack asked.

  “I needed to talk to someone,” Mary responded, picking up her drink again and swallowing the remainder. She put down the glass and tapped the brim with her finger. Jack produced another gin and tonic.

  “Do you know why I order gin?” Mary asked. “I probably told you but I’m going to tell you again because it always brings a smile to my face. I went to college. You didn’t know that, did you, Jack?” Jack shook his head.

  “I had to quit after the first year. I was on probation and I just partied my way right out of school. I had this boyfriend and we broke up. Well, I’m never long without some man. I met this lovely long-haired red-headed guy. My ex labeled him puppy dog. He was like that, very sweet, following me around everywhere I went. He adored me. You can only take so much adoration. So I dumped him and went back to my old boyfriend. We were at a basketball game when my boyfriend spotted the red-head across the court. ‘There’s your puppy dog,’ he laughed. The red-head was sitting with a couple of his friends. He could hardly keep his head up he was so drunk. And then he looked up and our eyes met.

  He stands up, and right in the middle of the game, he staggers across the court. The players all stop. The referee blows his whistle. Still, my puppy dog keeps advancing toward me. At the last moment, he passes out at my feet. You could smell the gin off him like it was a fellow traveler.” Mary took a sip of her drink and laughed.

  “What happened to Puppy Dog, Mary?” Jack asked.

  Mary shrugged. “Never heard from him again. But gin always reminds me of him. Every time I walk into a party and smell gin, I look around for him. God, he was a sweet guy. But that was a long time ago.

  He’s probably bald, fat, married with kids, and incredibly happy. Or maybe he’s dead. Funny how people that were so important in your life just disappear.”

  “You ever think of looking him up, Mary?”

  Mary shook her head.

  “Why not?” Jack asked.

  Mary looked up at Jack and smiled. “What if he still adored me? What would I do with him? Or worse, what if he didn’t remember me? What if I no longer existed in his memories?”

  Mary took a tissue out of her purse and wiped her eyes. She looked up at Jack. There were tears in her eyes. “What happens to us, Jack? Why do we end up so fucked up? What happened to all the sweetness in life?” There was silence for some time. Jack polished the top of the bar. Mary sat staring into her drink, smoke from her cigarette curling up toward the ceiling.

  “Maybe you should go home, Mary,” Jack said kindly.

  Mary looked up at Jack, her makeup streaked with tears.

  “Home? A tiny little hole in the wall with a kid that hates me. Jack, sometimes I feel as if I don’t exist. Like the young girl that was me, filled with promise and dreams, walked out of my life one evening and never returned, leaving a lonely middle-aged woman behind…I hate feeling like this. I watched a show the other night, when Hank passed out on me, on black holes. You ever heard of them, Jack?” Jack shook his head. The door of the bar opened and a couple stepped in. Jack moved off to serve them. Staring into her drink, Mary didn’t notice his absence.

  “There are these holes in space that suck everything in. Nothing escapes them. I got one of those black holes inside me. It’s sucking my life away.”

  Mary looked up and then around the bar. Jack was in the corner serving his new customers.

  “God, I hate gin,” she muttered, dropped her cigarette in the glass, and left.

  Montgomery Inn

  Hank looked around the old inn, now preserved for future generations as a museum.

  “Can I help you, sir?” a young woman asked.

  Hank looked down at the young girl, her long red hair framing a generous smile.

  “A beer?” he said.

  Before the girl could explain that the inn was no longer an operating tavern, Hank asked, “So this is where the Rebellion of 1837 began?”

  “Yes, sir.” The girl nodded.

  “Hard to imagine that this neighborhood gave birth to revolution,” Hank said.

  The girl looked puzzled.

  “The Kingsway being rich and privileged,” Hank explained. “Not exactly a womb of discontent.”

  The girl shuffled uncomfortably. Hank grinned. Don’t they teach history in school anymore?

  “I’m looking for some records,” he said. “Births, deaths, crimes. That sort of thing.”

  “I don’t think we have anything like that,” the girl responded. “I could ask Mr. Grant. He’s sort of an amateur historian. Maybe he could help you. Was there something in particular you were interested in?”

  “Missing persons,” Hank said with a smile. “I’m looking for stories about citizens who have disappeared.”

&
nbsp; “I don’t understand, sir. Why would you be looking for missing persons?”

  “Don’t you think it’s about time someone found them?” The girl smiled, puzzled.

  “Can I speak to Mr. Grant?”

  “He’s not in.”

  “When will he be in?”

  The girl shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s on holidays.”

  “Will he ever return?”

  The girl laughed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t he return?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Abandoned Car

  Detective Kelly stepped out of his car and walked along the shoulder of the road. Cars slowed down as they passed by. A uniformed policeman kept the traffic moving. Two other police cars had bracketed the bright red Ford pickup. Several policemen were milling about. When

  another plainclothes policeman spotted the detective, he advanced toward him.

  “Sounded like it was up your alley, Sam,” Detective Adams said.

  Detective Adams was small for a police officer, but as everyone at the precinct reluctantly admitted, he dressed well.

  Detective Kelly looked around. A few neighbors had come out to investigate the scene, and were standing on their lawns chatting. Some kids on bikes had been more daring but one of the uniforms was moving them back across the street. Sam looked at the pickup. It did not look damaged. The shoulder of the street ran up onto a lawn backed by a small batch of trees that then fell off into Echo Valley. There were no houses on this side of the street. Across the valley, Detective Kelly could see Joe Mackenzie’s house.

  “Been here for three days,” Detective Adams said, shrugging his shoulders as if he were trying to adjust his suit. “No tickets. Can you imagine that? A no-parking zone and we haven’t ticketed it. How do those guys down in parking keep themselves busy? Don’t they have quotas? We should have known about this shit box days ago. Neighbors say that it’s been here for three days. Did I tell you that? It’s listed as belonging to a Helen Kraft. I sent Forman over to pick her up and meet us at the station.”

  “They don’t,” Sam Kelly said.

  Detective Adams looked puzzled.

  “They don’t have quotas,” Sam explained.

  Detective Adams nodded. “Ya, right.”

  “Kraft? Should I know that name?” Detective Kelly asked.

  “I don’t know,” Detective Adams responded. Then he added, “Does this look like a place someone would abandon a truck? That was the first thing that struck me as odd.” Detective Adams checked his notepad again. “Miss Kraft was contacted. She started bawling. She hadn’t reported the truck missing. Neighbors said the passenger door was open for two days until one of these kids closed it.”

  “The door was open?” Detective Kelly asked.

  Detective Adams nodded as he adjusted his tie. “Until one of the kids closed it. Probably after he looted everything inside and made a mess of any fingerprints.”

  “Fingerprints?” Sam Kelly asked. “Why would we take fingerprints?”

  “It don’t smell right, Sam.” Detective Adams loosened his tie. “Just to be on the safe side. In case there was a crime.”

  “You think there was a crime?”

  “It don’t…”

  “…smell right,” Sam Kelly finished.

  An hour later Detective Kelly was sitting across the table from the young Miss Kraft. A plain-looking woman, Sam guessed she was in her mid-twenties. A cup of coffee in a Styrofoam cup sat in front of her. She never touched it. Miss Kraft kept sniffling and softly weeping as she told her story.

  “So I walked home,” she said. “I know that I should have phoned the police, but I was upset.”

  Detective Kelly stared in silence at the woman for several minutes. He wanted her to relax. He looked over his notes.

  “His name was Joe?”

  She nodded. “Joe Begin. He’s a salesman. Printing supplies. Ink, paper, that sort of thing. He asked me out for a drink. I don’t normally accept invitations from men at work but Joe seemed nice. He was funny.”

  “This is important, Miss Kraft. I want you to be honest. Did you go in-to the woods with Mr. Begin?”

  Miss Kraft sniffled again, hesitated, then nodded.

  “It was his idea. That does sound stupid. I’m sorry. I’m so embarrassed. I don’t normally go into woods with men. He said there was a beautiful view of the valley. I didn’t believe him but I went anyway. Joe could be very persuasive. We walked into the woods. It was dark. He walked in front of me. I held his hand as we walked and then his hand slipped out of mine. He slid down the hill into the valley. I caught the branch of a tree or I would have gone down as well.” The detective took a deep breath.

  “Why didn’t you call the police?”

  “He wasn’t hurt,” Miss Kraft replied. “He was laughing. I could hear him laughing from the bottom of the hill. He yelled up that he’d landed in a pile of leaves. He told me to wait, that he’d find another way up the hill.”

  “But he never returned?” Sam asked.

  “Should I have called the police?” Miss Kraft asked.

  Sam smiled faintly. “I don’t know.”

  Miss Kraft shook her head. “I waited for about an hour. Maybe it wasn’t that long. I was upset. I would have checked my watch but I didn’t have one on. Should I have been wearing my watch?”

  “It would have been helpful.”

  “He had the keys to the truck and here I was alone at one o’clock in the morning.”

  “How did you know it was one o’clock?”

  Miss Kraft looked puzzled.

  “You didn’t have your watch,” the detective explained.

  Miss Kraft smiled faintly.

  “And so you walked home?” the detective asked.

  Miss Kraft nodded, then blew her nose into a tissue. “I thought that he would eventually get back up the hill and drop the truck off at my work.

  It was a long weekend. I’m not in any trouble, am I?”

  “Did you leave the keys in the truck?”

  Miss Kraft looked at the detective with a puzzled expression.

  “How was he supposed to drop off the truck without the keys?” the detective prompted.

  “I told you. Joe had the keys.”

  The detective said nothing. He looked at his pad. They’d been drinking at the Zig Zag. That would be easy enough to confirm. She worked at Archer Greene’s Print Shop. The name sounded familiar.

  “Am I in a lot of trouble, Detective?”

  “You live alone, Miss Kraft?”

  “With my mother. I can’t let her find out about this. She’s bedridden.

  Turned her ankle last week at the Cloverdale Mall trying on shoes. Things always happen in threes. Why do things always turn out like this for me? Why can’t something good happen for a change?”

  “What’s the third thing?” Sam asked.

  “The third thing? It hasn’t happened yet. Do you believe in God, Officer?”

  “Why do you ask, Miss?”

  “If He does exist,” Miss Kraft replied, her jaw clenched in anger, “He has one sick sense of humor.”

  “One more question,” the detective said.

  “Yes?”

  “Why did you leave the passenger door open?” Miss Kraft looked up at the detective with a puzzled expression on her face.

  “I didn’t,” she replied.

  The Storm

  Wiggy and Frank shared a cigarette outside the camera shop. In the distance thunder could be heard. Small bursts of lightning could be seen to the south.

  “Shit!” Wiggy cried. “That’s quite a storm headed this way. I don’t want to be caught out tonight. If Terry wants to meet us, he could at least show up. Let me have a puff.”

  Frank passed his cigarette to Wiggy.

  “Why can’t you buy your own smokes?” Frank asked. “I’m down to my last three. I need them to get to sleep.” Frank had made a ritual of one cigarette and a couple of aspirin to get to sleep each evening.

  “Jesus.�
�� Wiggy pointed to the horizon. “Looks like a war’s going on.

  Artillery fire. Imagine being out on the lake on a night like this. I hate thunderstorms. When I was a kid lightning struck our house. Came in one end and traveled right through our place. Melted half our appliances. Scared the shit out of us. You could feel it running through the walls like it was alive. I thought the whole house was going to explode.

  Do you get depressed?”

  “You’re all over the map tonight, man. What has being depressed got to do with anything?” Frank asked.

  “Something Johnny asked me. Do you get depressed?” Wiggy asked.

  “Everybody does,” Frank responded.

  “I thought so too,” Wiggy said, passing the cigarette back to Frank.

  “Johnny told me that he never gets depressed. He said the feebleminded get depressed.”

  The lights of the camera shop turned off. A minute later the store door opened and Adelle exited. She joined the two boys.

  “Terry not here yet?” she asked.

  “Do you know what’s going on?” Wiggy asked.

  “He’s worried about Cathy.”

  “Cathy?” Wiggy asked.

  “He’s been trying to get hold of her all day,” Adelle explained. “They were supposed to meet at his place and she never showed up. He phoned her house but her mother said she wasn’t home. She’d gone out someplace with Johnny. That was around noon.”

  “What are we supposed to do?” Wiggy cried impatiently. “I ain’t roaming around on a night like this looking for Cathy. We don’t even have a car. Besides, she’s probably at home by now.”

  “I’ve got my parents’ car,” Adelle said. “And she’s not at home. I phoned. Her mother sounds pretty worried. Something doesn’t seem right. I don’t trust Johnny. She should have phoned someone by now.”

  “What are you saying?” Frank asked.

  “She was going to tell Johnny that it was all over,” Adelle explained.

  “Who knows how he reacted?”

  Wiggy laughed. “Johnny ain’t like that.”

  Adelle turned on Wiggy. “How would you know?”