The Holes and John Smith

by Edward W. Ludwig

He pointed.

"Oh, there," I said. "A cigarette fell out of my ashtray, burnt a hole in the key. If The Eye sees it, he'll swear at me in seven languages."

"Even there," he said softly, "even there...."

There was no doubt about it. John Smith was peculiar, but he was the best bass man this side of a musician's Nirvana.

It didn't take a genius to figure out our situation. Item one: Goon-Face's countenance had evidenced an excellent imitation of Mephistopheles before John began to play. Item two: Goon-Face had beamed like a kitten with a quart of cream after John began to play.

Conclusion: If we wanted to keep eating, we'd have to persuade John Smith to join our combo.

At intermission I said, "How about a drink, John? Maybe a shot of wine-syrup?"

He shook his head.

"Then maybe a Venusian fizz?"

His grunt was negative.