text: His first thought was that grass tasted kinda bad. Alex replayed the last few seconds in his head: he had been running, apparently with his mouth open, and had suddenly fallen face-first onto this person's lawn. No, not lawn, backyard. He pushed himself up onto his knees and spat onto the ground. Hell of a case of grass-mouth. The strange thing was, despite how it may look, Alex actually *did* spend a considerable amount of his time trespassing on other people's property, and he had never taken a fall like that one. There must have been some sort of disturbance, an unseen obstacle hidden in the grass that tripped him up. His ankle ached. His stomach clenched as a growing feeling of unease crept over him. He sat up, made sure that his backpack was still on his shoulders, and looked down at what had tripped him. "Oh jesus fuck..." he said quietly. Then he screamed. ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ Police Sergeant J. Foley-Shmitt made a curious clicking sound with his mouth, and flicked the ashes off of the end of his cigarette. He looked at the young man. "Yup. That's a drug-hole all right. Probably could've held at least ten kilos of cocaine-phetamine. Glad you called us.” Alex looked confused. “A drug-hole? Are you sure that’s all it is?” “Yep.” Sergeant Foley-Schmitt tapped around inside the hole with his foot. It was about three feet in diameter and a foot deep. “About as drug-y as a hole can get. Traffickers tend to bury their stash until the price hits a peak, then they dig it up and sell it all at once. Usually they fill the hole back in, but hey, we don’t catch the smart ones.” He stood up straighter, put a hand on his hip and took a long drag of his cigarette, before tossing it onto the grass. “Yeeeup. Looks like we’ve got all we need to make an arrest. We’ll wait for him to get home from whatever deal he’s doing and nab him-” Alex shifted on his feet. “um , officer Foley-” “Sargeant” “Right, Sergeant Foley-Schmitt. Um. You’re positive it’s a drug-hole? Because my first thought was that it was a murder-hole.” The sergeant squinted. “A which hole?” Alex swallowed nervously. “Uh, murder-hole. Like someone kills someone and buries the body?” “Oh you mean a corpse-hole? No it couldn’t be-" "I'm sorry, did you say 'murder-hole'?" A voice interrupted the officer. He and Alex turned around to see a tall, dark-haired woman in a black pantsuit and wearing what she would probably describe as 'sensible walking heels.' "Hi." She said, "Linda Rickwell. I live across the street. I saw the lights and heard the sirens from your cruiser and came over. You should really turn the sirens off by the way. Does Ted have a murder-hole here?" The Sergeant cleared his throat: "corpse-hole, actually, and no, he doesn't.'Ted' has a drug-hole here in his backyard. He's been flooding the streets with pcp for months." She nodded. "I always knew Ted was up to no good. How do you know about the drugs?" "The hole mostly." "Hmmmm" a thoughtful look passed over Linda's face. "I work for the Justice Department. I run into a lot of holes in my line of work. Often they aren't what they seem, mind if I take a look?" “Well,” The sergeant said, inhaling a sharp, masculine breath, “I’d never deny a lady a chance to check out a h-” “Thanks” Linda said, pushing past him. She bent over the hole. A few seconds later she was turning around and removing her government-issued Blackberry from its utility clip on her waist. “Unbelievable” she said, slowly shaking her head while she brought up her contact list. “You seriously think this is a drug-hole? Or hell, even a murder-hole?” “Corpse-” the sergeant began. She cut him off: “you have no idea how serious this situation is. I’m glad I was here. Your incompetence might end up getting a lot of people killed today.” She found the contact she was looking for and pressed the call button. She put it up to her ear. “Jackson? It’s me, Lin. Look, we’re gonna need agent Shifter and agent Fubar to get down here immediately.” she paused. “Yup, we’ve got a B-hole.” ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ It took about fifteen minutes for the black suburban carrying agents Shifter and Fubar to arrive. Agent Bul Shifter was a middle-aged man of below-average height. His build and short, crew-cut hairstyle suggest that he was ex-military. Sarah Fubar was a woman, slightly younger than Shifter. They both wore black suits, and flashed their badges at officer Foley-Schmitt and Alex as they approached. Officer Fubar looked Linda. “What’s the situation?” “We’ve got a Bomb-hole in the backyard.” Linda replied, “We need immediate confirmation and advisement. The guy that owns this house is my neighbor ‘Ted’ Johnson.” Linda began leading the two agents around to the back of the house when Officer J. Foley-Schmitt stepped in front of the three of them. “Now what in the tired-hell is going on here? This is a crime scene. *My* crime scene. This ‘Ted’ guy has a three foot drug-hole in his yard that, until this morning, was most likely filled with marijuana-fentanyl. I’ll bet he’s been out on a corner somewhere slinging sacks of it all day. Who knows who he could’ve sold it to by now: kids, parents, homeless people, hell, I'll bet he’s out there selling dope-sacks to little old ladies, or school teachers. Now, the only way to stop this monster is to wait for him to get home, and nab him. Now, if you’ve got some theory that’s better than the exact scenario I’ve described, then I want to hear it. Otherwise, get out of my crime scene.” “Officer Schmitt?” Agent Shifter said. “Foley-Schmitt” The officer corrected him. “Right. Foley-Schmitt. We’re the F.B.I, okay? Our colleague said there was a bomb-hole here. This is serious business. This ‘Ted’ guy is most likely a domestic terrorist. I’ve seen this type of thing before. They hide a bomb in the backyard, then when the time comes, they dig it up, plant it under city hall, then blow it sky-high. And right now, your unsubstantiated, pet-theory about drug-holes and dime-sacks is gonna cost precious lives.” “City hall?” Linda asked. “How do you know it’s city hall? What if he’s planning on blowing up the stadium?” “Don’t be ridiculous” Shifter said. “It’s going to be city hall. Think about what we know: He has a *hole* in his *yard*. He’s not *home* either. You really think he’s not planting a bomb at City Hall? So far none of the evidence contradicts it.” “Wait,” Agent Fubar cut in, “What if he’s going after the mall downtown?” “What if it was a murder?” Alex cut in. “I swear that hole could have held a body, that’s what I thought when I found it. He killed someone, buried them, then dug them up and went to dump them in the lake. If we go now, we can probably catch him before he skips town for good.” “Look, kid, we don’t deal with ‘what-if’s.” Agent Shifter said. “Unless you have a really good explanation for why this hole definitely *couldn’t* be a bomb-hole belonging to some lunatic who’s about to blow up City Hall, we’re going to get moving. I’m calling the mayor. Fubar, Rockwell, call the fire department and police. We need everyone to evecuat-” Just that moment, a gray Honda Civic pulled into the driveway. A tall, very alarmed-looking man stepped out frantically. “Hey, what’s going on is somebody hurt?” Then, gesturing at officer Foley-Schmitt’s cruiser, “why are the sirens still on? What’s this about?” “Are you Mr. ‘Ted’ Johnson?” Agent Shifter asked. “Uh yeah, that’s me. Teddius Young Johnson. What’s the problem?” “We know about the drugs, Ted.” Officer Foley-Schmitt said. “It’s over.” Ted deflated. A defeated look came upon his face. He lowered his eyes. “That was years ago.” He said “In college. My buddy Kyle, he said that if you soak a tampon in vodka and put it, you know, up your...” He mouthed ‘*rear end*’ “then you get drunk faster. I didn’t know it was against the law. I’m so sorry.” Sergeant Foley-Schmitt grunted. “What? No the *drugs*. Don’t play dumb. You’ve been selling Oxy-Codeine to middle-schoolers all day, haven’t you?” Ted looked confused. “What are you talking about? I’ve been at work all day. I don’t understand.” “Hey, we’ll take over from here.” Agent Fubar cut in. She, agent Shifter and Linda Rockwell approached Ted and surrounded him. “Look Ted, we know you don’t sell drugs,” she said. “We want to know where the bomb is. We found the hole, Ted.” “The whole what?” he asked. “What bomb?” They led him into the backyard. Agent Shifter pointed at Ted's hole. “We know you had a bomb in there, Ted. You kept it for months, just waiting for the right time. Then, when you thought no one would expect it, you dug it up. How long did it take you Ted? An hour? Two hours? Then you drove into town, and you’ve been wiring it up underneath City Hall-” “Or the downtown mall” Fubar interjected. “-Or the downtown mall-” Agent Shifter repeated. “-all day. And now you’ve been caught. You’re going away for a long, long time. But first, you’re gonna give us the deactivation codes.” “I don’t have any deactivation codes, I didn’t plant any bombs-” Ted said. “Don’t try to bullshit me, ‘tough-guy” Agent Shifter said. “I’m with the F.B.I. Bomb-Hole Disposal Unit. And that hole of yours was full of explosive ordinance until this morning, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?” Shifter was beginning to lose his cool. “It’s just a hole!” Ted shouted. “Just a whole lotta bullshit.” Shifter said. “Was it ‘just a hole’ when I stepped on a landmine in Iraq?” He pronounced ‘Iraq’ as ‘eye-rack.’ There was a pause. “You *stepped on a landmine?”* Linda Rockwell asked. “Yeah.” He replied. “It was a dud. It didn’t go off, but I sprained my ankle something fierce when I tripped on it. That’s not the issue here. ‘Ted’ here needs to explain to us what this hole is doing in his yard if it’s not a bomb-hole.” “It was my tree.” Ted said. “My peach tree. I had it for years. It died one winter and when spring came, it never came back to life. Just, gone. It finally fell over a few weeks ago, and so I dug it up over this past weekend. It’s a stump-hole, that’s it.” There was a stunned silence for a few seconds as Alex, Foley-Schmitt and the agents processed what Ted had said. “I can’t believe it.” Agent Fubar said quietly. A look of disgust passed over agent Shifter’s face. “You *scum*. You actually admitted it. You *did* dig this hole.” “But it’s a peach-hole, I didn’-” Ted began. “Rockwell, Fubar, restrain him.” Shifter interrupted. Before Ted could react, his neighbor and agent Fubar had him by the arms. “Foley-Schmitt, search that shed by the garden, I think we’ll find all the evidence we need.” The officer jogged past Ted’s flower garden and apple tree to the rustic wooden shed at the far end of the yard. He kicked the door in and disappeared inside. Everyone waited with bated breath while the police sergeant rummaged in the darkness. He emerged a few seconds later with a large, dirt-covered shovel. The type someone might use to dig up a tree stump. “And there it is,” Shifter said, turning back to face Ted. “I bet his fingerprints are all over that.” “Of course they are,” Ted said, “it’s my shovel.” Shifter shook his head. “You just keep digging yourself in deeper, don’t you?” He nodded to agent Fubar who immediately jerked both of Ted’s hands behind him and began to handcuff him. “Teddius Young Johnson, you are under arrest for Premeditated Bomb-hole Conspiracy in the First Degree.” At that same moment, Sargeant J. Folley-Schmitt shouted “Teddius Young Johnson, you are under arrest for distribution of narcotics. Anythi-” He stopped. Agent Fubar had been searching Ted’s pockets as part of the post-arrest pat-down and had found something. She held up a clear, empty Ziploc sandwich bag. “What the hell is this?” She asked. “What was in here?” “My trail mix,” Ted Said. “I eat it at work. It has protein.” The F.B.I. agents’ hands went to their guns. “There’s a residue in here!” Fubar shouted. “Oh jesus” Foley-Schmitt said. “It’s a drug-sack!” He began running to his cruiser. “Talk to me, Fubar.” Shifter said, concerned. Fubar ran her fingers on the inside of the baggie. “I think the bag was used to hold explosives!” She shouted. J. Foley-Schmitt made it to his cruiser and dove into the driver’s seat. He snatched up his radio and yelled into it: “This is sargeant J. Folley-Schmitt reporting a drug deal in progress, requesting backup!” “He might still have the explosives on him!” Fubar shouted. “He’s wearing a bomb!” Shifter screamed. He pulled out his gun and cocked it. “Fubar, GET DOWN!” He aimed at Ted. At this point, Alex decided to run. Today was not going to be his day to get shot or blown up. He turned away from the madness and sprinted away through the backyard. He didn’t get far before he tripped in the hole. For the second time that day, he found himself face-down with a mouthful of grass. Everything was silent. He sat up and looked around. The sound of him falling, or possibly the squeal he made as he had hit the ground, had gotten everyone’s attention. They were all staring at him, completely aghast. Agent Shifter was the first to break the silence. “Hey, Alex.” he said, eyeing Alex suspiciously, “What were you doing running through Ted’s backyard this morning anyway?” “Um, I like to do that on my morning jog, I run through lots of peoples yards,” Alex said, becoming nervous as the group walked towards him. “Hey,” Sergeant Foley-Schmitt said as he approached Alex and stood over him “What’s been in your backpack this whole time?” Before Alex could reply, Officer Foley-Schmitt reached down and yanked Alex’s backpack off. It had only been slung over one shoulder. He unzipped it and looked inside. The color drained from his face. “What’s wrong, what’s in it?” Asked agent Fubar as she approached, followed by the others. Officer Foley-Schmitt’s face was a mix of terror and rage as he looked at the group.