Flash Hole by Ethan Fode
He never expected Armageddon to look so good. She must have been six feet tall, with blue eyes, blonde hair, and a figure straight out of a lingerie catalog. Despite having sworn off women, Bob was impressed.In one hand, she held a beer. Her other hand toyed with a strange little mechanism about the size of a tennis ball, all blinking lights and shiny metal. “Pass the beer nuts,” she said.
He slid them over. Three-thirty in the afternoon on a Tuesday, and the Gorgon Lounge was slower than a slug on valium. Just a few hardened alcoholics, and Bob, who sometimes moonlighted as a hardened alcoholic. It was only his fourth beer; he was taking it easy. “So what did you say that thing was? The Bee Gee?”
She sighed. “BHG,” she said. She wore a blue lab coat, identifying her as an employee of the big research firm down the street. You’d see them at the Gorgon, some days, after work hours. They didn’t always wear their coats, of course, but you could tell who they were by their pasty white faces, the awkward way they held their beer glasses, the nervous twitch in the eyes. The blonde was nothing like those guys. “It stands for Black Hole Generator. One of a kind.”
“Oh yeah,” he said. Bob caught himself staring at her cleavage, and looked away. It sucks to be alone, he thought. Just another loser in a bar full of other losers.
“It sucks to be alone,” she said to no one in particular, staring at the bubbles of beer rising in her glass. “They killed him, after he left the project. Can’t prove it, but I know they did.”
“Who killed who?” he asked. Okay, she was more than a little batty, but he kind of liked it.
He had quirks, too. And what if she was telling the truth, and she did have some sort of device that could blow up the world? Honestly, he didn’t really care. He’d been chewed up by life and shot out the wrong end with nothing to show for it except an ex-wife who hated him, a couple of young kids who hated him, and a pet cat that also, apparently, hated him, even though he bought the furry bastard the fanciest cat food he could find. “And that’s why you’re going to blow up the world?”
“More like implode,” she said, and then looked at him, her blue eyes intense. “What’s the point, really? Most people can’t be bothered to recycle a tin can or help a stranger across the street. We split our time between jealousy and contempt. My husband’s dead. For what? So people can make a doomsday device and get rich? Well forget it. Screw them. Screw everybody.” She put the little blinking sphere on the bar, spun it like a top; tiny blobs of color danced on the lacquered wood.
“Whoa,” said Bob. Sounds like you have a lot of pent up anger there, honey. “Listen, it can’t be all that bad. I mean, look: you’re obviously smart, with a good job, and you’re a beautiful woman. Maybe just take a step back, cool off a bit,” he said. He thought about how angry he’d been after his wife ran away. He’d hit the bottle, hard, and lost everything he’d loved. All he’d needed was someone to help him through it. “Hey…uh…do you think I could buy you dinner or something? You can always blow up the world afterwards.”
Anger rippled across her face. Then her expression smoothed. She took a drink of beer, cocked an eyebrow, and said, “Just dinner?”
He nodded. “And a movie, maybe. There’s this one I definitely want to see before the world goes kaput.” He sat up straighter on his barstool. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy; in fact, many women still thought him handsome, even though life had put the cleats to him.
She gave him a small smile. “Hell, why not?”
He almost pitched over backwards.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll be right back. Gotta use the men’s room.” He hopped off the stool.
With its sticky floors, grungy faucets, and pungent reek, the Gorgon’s toilet left a lot to be desired, but Bob didn’t notice. He stood at the urinal, admiring a faded limerick, smiling to himself. End of the world? No, this was just a beginning. And even if it were an ending, at least it was a happy one. He’d just finished washing up when he heard a shot ring out.
He found her lying on the floor, still wearing that smile. A dark stain bloomed on her chest, obscuring the name embroidered on her lab coat. Red and blue make black, he thought. I didn’t even know her name. Blood was spattered on the bar. Two men in dark suits stood nearby. Dark hair, fine features, ageless faces. They looked like twins.
“Thanks,” one of the twins said. “You distracted her long enough for us to get here.” He extended a hand. Bob shook it, numbly. “That woman was a dangerous criminal.”
Apparently, this story doesn’t have a happy ending. “She said she had a black hole generator.”
“Did she?” the man said, his brow furrowing. “Would you mind coming along with us? We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Not a happy ending at all, he thought as they led him away.
