Hank leaned over the counter and looked at the various cameras. A slightly overweight teenage girl dressed in a modest blouse and skirt stepped up opposite him.
“Can I help you?” she asked. The braces that sparkled in her smile slurred her speech. Hank looked down and grinned mischievously.
“Am I speaking to the owner?” he asked, keeping his eyes riveted to the girl’s.
The girl blushed, then giggled. Was that supposed to be a joke?
“No, I’m not the owner. Mr. Leblanc is out of the shop right now but I’m sure I could help you.” Why does Mr. Leblanc always pick the worst time to leave? I think he does it on purpose.
Hank liked the girl. There was an openness and lighthearted assertive-ness that was appealing. How old was she? Sixteen maybe. She was not like his daughter who had long ago left home complaining that life there was too dull.
“What’s your name, young lady?”
“Adelle,” the girl replied, staring across the counter at the huge figure.
Look at the size of his hands! Gives me the creeps. It’s like he’s a different species. I hate it when middle-aged men think they are being charming. She wished that Mr. Leblanc would come back soon. She didn’t like being in the shop alone. A girl in one of the dress shops at the Cloverdale Mall had been abducted the previous summer. It had been midday and there were other customers in the shop. No one had noticed her disappearance. We had to go to a special Mass to pray for her safe return. Her parents were there. Her father cried like a baby. It was so sweet.
“Are you in high school?”
“Yes,” Adelle replied. Does he think I chose this as a career? She wondered if she should be giving out information to a stranger. Perhaps she should excuse herself for a moment and phone the police. What would I say? That a customer is making me feel queasy?
“I noticed your uniform.” Hank smiled, his eyes running over the length of her blouse and skirt. He’d sent his own daughter to a Catholic school in the middle of the city. She revolted against the uniform. There were constant calls from the nuns that his daughter was wearing her skirts too high. Adelle’s skirt was rather short. He wondered what Mr.
Leblanc thought of that. Bastard probably can’t keep his eyes off her.
“Oh.” Adelle giggled. “I go to St. Joseph’s.” I shouldn’t have said that.
What if he starts to hang around the school? How would I explain that to the nuns?
“That’s a Catholic girls’ school,” Hank said, his eyes dilating.
Adelle nodded. He’s got that same goofy look that Mr. Leblanc has sometimes. Men are such slimeballs.
Hank returned to his appraisal of the cameras on display.
Adelle sighed. I hope he buys something soon. I’ve got to meet the gang.
Hank glanced at her with a puzzled expression. She wants to meet her friends.
Adelle held her breath and prayed that he wouldn’t ask what the sigh had meant. His eyes lowered to the glass counter. Adelle looked up at the ceiling. Make him go away!
“I’m looking for a particular kind of camera,” he said.
“Well, we have lots of cameras to choose from.” Adelle gestured to the contents of the shop. Mr. Leblanc will kill me if I lose this sale. But what the hell do I know about cameras?
Hank stood up again and looked down at the girl. Adelle looked up at him sheepishly. She’s afraid of me. The thought pleased him.
I hate it when middle-aged men think they are being intimidating.
He continued, “This was a camera tested at Aberdeen Proving Ground in Maryland by the US Military. It takes pictures at one-hundred-mil-lionth of a second.”
“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.
“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.
“Nothing more than I’ve told you. Talk to him for five minutes and he’ll bore you to death with information. But he does seem to have mesmerized Mary. Talking about disappearing, did Mary ever tell you what happened to a girlfriend of hers?”
Sam shook his head.
“This is going back quite a few years. Twenty years. Before your time.
A group of them, kids really, went down to Echo Valley, near the Mackenzie farm. Drink a little wine, make out-you know the ritual. I guess they got pretty hammered one night. Mary passed out. When she awoke the next morning, one of the kids was missing. She woke the others.
They didn’t think too much of it at the time. Figured the girl had gotten up and taken off home. Later that day, the girl’s parents started phoning around to all of her friends. She had never come home. There was a big search. Her friends were all taken down to headquarters.”
“And they never found her?”
Jack shook his head. “That’s what I heard. It was like she fell off the edge of the world. Cops put it down as a runaway. Doesn’t make sense for a kid to run away when she’s out partying with her friends.”
“Where do her folks live?”
Jack shrugged his shoulders. “After a year or so, they moved away.
That’s what I heard. Went out west someplace. I think those kids knew more than they were saying. Mary doesn’t like to talk about it.” Sam stared at Jack for some time.
“What did I say?” Jack smiled.
“I don’t know,” Sam replied. He shook his head. “Did you ever get the feeling that something was going on around you, but you have no idea 36 what? Like a blind man standing on the edge of a precipice with an urge to dance.”
Jack looked at Sam and smiled.
“Did you just make that up or did you read it somewhere?” Haircut
Hank’s legs stretched out over the barber chair and across the room.
George snapped his gum and draped a white sheet over Hank’s chest.
“Hell of a big man,” George said, snapping his gum. “It’s like your feet are in a different time zone. My brother-in-law was pretty tall, but he’d look like a dwarf next to you.”
Hank smiled.
“Guess you’ve heard all the tall jokes?” George said with a smile.
Hank nodded. “Ad nauseam,” he responded.
“What’ll it be then?” George asked. Hank described how he wanted his hair cut.
George took his scissors and began to trim.
“Had a guy in here last week who had a bald spot on top. Said he wasn’t bald. Just had outgrown his hair.”
George laughed. Hank grinned.
“Height don’t matter to a man,” George continued. “But you don’t like to see a tall woman. Looks freakish. We had a woman working over at the drugstore who was close to six feet. She used to come into the shop here for a haircut. Wouldn’t let her in a salon. What brings you to the Six Points?”
“Is that what they call it?” Hank replied, his eyes closed.
George nodded. “Crossroads of three main streets-Bloor, Kipling, and Dundas. Been a village for over a hundred years. Not that I’ve been here that long. Married the daughter of a barber and inherited this place.
Not that I’m complaining. Hair’s been good to me. My father-in-law worked in here with me for years.”
“Did your father-in-law ever hear stories about strange disappearances in the area?”
George stopped for a moment and thought.
“That’s an odd question.” He paused for a few moments to think.
“Mentioned something about disappearances in the thirties. During the depression. Lot of folks moved through the area. No one paid much attention. And then there was a time right after the war. There was a slew 37 of disappearances when Shipp started throwing up the houses around here. Lot of rumors. Why do you ask?”
Hank smiled and closed his eyes.
“Just making small talk,” he said.
George snapped his gum and laughed.
Margaret
“What did you do?” Adelle asked Cathy, her eyes wide with anticipation.
Cathy leaned across the restaurant table in the booth the two girls occupied. “I kissed it!”
Adelle clapped her hands, leaned back, and laughed. Cathy smiled.
“You didn’t!” Adelle cried.
The waitress arrived at the table to take the girls’ order. With her hair pinned up, her thin bosom-less body, and the low sarcastic voice that slipped out of the side of her mouth, she was, for the girls, the anti-fe-male. Her name was Margaret. The girls looked up with disgust.
Couldn’t she see that they were talking? The girls ordered.
“You dragged me over here for a Coke and two straws?” Margaret said with a snarl.
Cathy looked up and smiled with as much charm as she could garner.
“We are having a conversation,” Cathy said, enunciating each word as if she were speaking to someone who did not understand the English language.
Adelle turned and raised her eyebrows, giving parenthesis to Cathy’s declaration.
Margaret tapped her pencil on her ordering pad, leaned to one side, and smiled. “We are running a business,” she replied. And then leaning over the table, added, “And if you ladies give me any more of this snotty business, you’ll no longer be welcome in this establishment.” The two girls were silent for a brief moment before Adelle added, “I’ll have toast.”
Margaret returned to the counter.
“Where is she coming from?” Adelle cried.
“What a bitch!” Cathy whispered.
“No wonder there’s never anyone in this place,” Adelle added, her eye on Margaret. “I would never talk to a customer like that. Mr. Leblanc would fire me on the spot. She must be going through the change. My mother’s like that. The other day she went into a rage because I used a 38 bit of her makeup. There was hardly anything left in the tube of face cream and she blames me because it’s all gone. Like it’s my fault that she didn’t buy more. She uses my tampons and I don’t scream at her. Why do women become such witches? If I turn out like that, promise me you’ll have me put down.”
Margaret returned with the girls’ Coke and toast. Both girls smiled at the waitress. Margaret shook her head.
When the waitress left, Adelle turned to Cathy.
“What happened next?”
The Fight
Sam Kelly sipped at his coffee as he sat on the stool by the counter.
“The blueberry pie is fresh,” Margaret said. She’d always had a soft spot for a man in uniform-although technically Sam wasn’t in uniform.
Still, he was a cop. Her ex-husband had been a fireman.
“Well, then I’ll have a piece.” Sam smiled.
Margaret turned away, returning a moment later with a slice of pie and a fork. Sam took a piece and smiled.
“This is good,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
Margaret leaned against the counter and lit up a cigarette.
“I didn’t make it so you don’t have to pretend that it’s good.”
“It’s not bad,” Sam reiterated.
“You don’t mind?” Margaret gestured to the cigarette.
Sam shook his head.
“The boss is out. It’s the only chance I get to steal a puff. If he shows up the cigarette is yours.”
She put an ashtray on the counter.
“I thought this place was nonsmoking,” Sam said.
“Only when a cop walks in.” Margaret laughed.
Finishing the pie, Sam wiped his mouth with a napkin and pushed the plate away. He took a sip of coffee.
“Tell me about the fight.”
“Isn’t much to tell,” Margaret began. “They were sitting at one of the tables when suddenly their voices were raised. I turned and was about to go over and ask them to keep their voices down when I saw Terry lunge across the table and plant one on the kisser of the other kid. He had a strange name. Piggy or Wiggy-something like that. The other kid lay on the floor. There was blood coming out of the side of his mouth. Terry 39 stood over him and the kid on the floor started laughing. Then they got up and left together like nothing had happened.”
“Do you want to lay charges?” Sam asked.
Margaret shook her head. “There was no damage. And the boss wasn’t here. And Terry is Mary’s kid. Mary’s a good friend of mine.”
“I’ll have a talk with those boys,” Sam said.
“What’s wrong with kids these days?” Margaret cried. “It’s like they’re angry at the world.”