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.
