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The Hankie Files, Chapter 1
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TITLE (EDIT)
The Hankie Files, Chapter 1 |
DESCRIPTION
A serial about a Geometry class trying to catch their teacher, who is the head of a gigantic, international drug cartel.
[1,028 words] |
TITLE KEYWORD
Teenage |
AUTHOR
Mark Nash |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
-
[March 2003] |
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL ADDRESS
reaganite88@fastmail.fm |
The Hankie Files, Chapter 1
Mark Nash
"Ignition"
"I told you never to talk to me here," the large lisping man whispered.
"Those damn kids are on to me thanks to YOU."
"Sorry, boss, but this is the life we've chosen," was the balding man's
curt retort. The large lisping man groaned in agreement.
"Can you wait fifteen minutes?" he asked.
"Alright."
"I can't get out until at least two-thirty. Remember that, will you?"
"I'll try, boss. By the way, the Little Mexican sent you a present." The
balding man gave the large lisping man a Whitman's Chocolate Sampler box
with no chocolates in it. What exactly WAS in the box neither man could
really guess. The Little Mexican could be a nasty little cockroach
sometimes.
The large lisping man took the box and went back into the classroom,
filled with thirty-three of Peyton High School's finest freshman
students.
"Okay, guys, let's get to problem 25-"
"Mr. Holloway, we've already done that one!" the class whined. The mental
chorus of "Why the hell am I here" rumbled in the brains of every human
in the room. Even Holloway did not want to be in this after school
Geometry Honors class longer than he had to. There was a gift basket of
poppy blooms The Little Mexican (known to Holloway as El Latino Queero)
at his house that he needed to sign for.
He knew the kids were on to him, every one of them. Even Chelsea with her
mononucleosis, out of class more often than in, was on to him. Anna was
being especially suspicious. He gave her an A for the entire semester
just to keep her quiet.
No dice. She was still suspicious. Only one more course of action
remained in his repertory to shut her up. Anna had to get whacked. ***
Holloway's so stupid, Anna chuckled to herself from behind her
binoculars. He actually thought more A's would keep her quiet. It was now
9:45 PM. Her parents were out and would be out until at least past
midnight. She could stay at the boat docks for a while.***
Meanwhile, at 69 Peyton Place, zip code 42096, Lloyd Holloway was
entertaining his fellow math teacher wife Ann in his Polygonic 3-D Room
o'Love. The room's interior angles each measured 69 degrees. Their bed
was a circle with a 138 inch diameter (now divide that by two to get the
radius). Suggestive derivatives and sine ratios danced across the walls,
and made inappropriate reflections when hit by the disco lights. The
Little Mexican's nephew Alejandro Noriega's racy hit single "Los Dedos"
played on the stereo system.
For an old fat man, Lloyd could still make his rounds if he felt like it.
But his passions, and this room, were reserved for Ann, and Ann alone.
"Are you ready, dear?" Lloyd called. ***
Meanwhile, at my house, Frank Sinatra played "Nice Work if You Can Get
It" on my stereo, however not to assist me in any real romantic advances.
Chad wouldn't make a bad woman, but he sure wouldn't be my type. But Sam
and Morgan were shacking up at my place, so Old Blue Eyes still was able
to help make me look presentable and half-way urbane.
But as I mentioned before, nothing romantic even crossed my mind that
night, and anything that did was under the influence of drugs. The
hangout had quite a serious air to it, in fact. We were all waiting for
Anna's news on the boat dock situation.
We had Laura stake out the Holloway house in Peyton Place to check up on
anything "goin' down" on that side of town. Our little spy troupe was
doing anything but homework on this Friday night. Even the prostitution
ring was being checked on, thanks to Percy and Jason's eager volunteering
and full wallets.
My house had become a de facto command center for our endeavours into the
land of espionage. We called ourselves The Vigilantes. I shook up some
sodas and handed them out to my colleagues, Sam, Morgan, Chad and Alex
(with a couple grammes of caffeine pills for Alex).
"To justice, and to the Vigilantes," we toasted. ***
Laura's black outfit concealed her from view of the security cameras
outside the house. She moved toward the disco lights coming from outside
the house.
The last thing she remembered was a rustling of leaves and an orange
flash to her left.
A guard had spotted her and got off two shots with his silenced Glock 9mm
handgun, putting two fatal wounds in her torso. She died without making a
sound. ***
Anna couldn't believe her eyes. Boxes upon boxes of cocaine being loaded
into the cargo hold of a barge. She wrote down the name of the barge in
her head and started towards her car.
Suddenly a hitman jumped out at her. Before she could scream, the hitman
(whose name was Little Sonny) had wrapped the piano wire around her
throat and threw her onto a box full of bootlegged Colombian coffee grown
in Argentina. ***
Being alone in your own house for a month without parents or siblings
gets boring fast, even with my family, especially when you're puling an
all-nighter trying to find out where a spy is.
At about 12:15 I poured my fourth Sprite of the night; I had a layer of
syrup in my teeth so thick it could stop bullets. Just for the heck of it
I threw in an Excedrin; as small as I am and as low as my blood pressure
is, caffeine is my physiological equivalent of LSD or ecstasy.
All of my compatriots were asleep in various parts of the house. I leaned
up against a wall and blinked my eyes a little bit-
Oh, crap. Colors started leaping out at me like I was looking through a
kaleidoscope. I heard "Grand Illusion" by the Styx blaring in my head. A
meatball sub slid across my psychedelic/peripheral vision.
Next thing I knew I was on my parents bed, my pulse rate at about three
beats per second. I was buck naked. Scattered throughout the bed were my
colleagues, wearing their fine (and in two cases not-so-fine) birthday
suits. The room stunk of olive oil and whipped cream-
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" I came to, screaming my bloody head off in my
bathroom, ready to give myself the Swirly of No Return. But I came to my
senses for five seconds and found the Ritalin we used on our pet cat,
Lily. I promptly loaded up the syringe and dumped the medicine into my
mouth. My pulse rate dropped ninety beats in twenty seconds, causing me
to collapse on the bathroom floor.
In my peaceful coma I remembered the medicine was also a very effective
bowel loosener.
To be continued...
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2003 Mark Nash |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
March 2003 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
1867
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