Nighthawks
Jerry Vandiver
ENG 230 – Fiction 4
Edward Hopper – Night Hawks
To Catch a Nighthawk
New York is one of the loneliest places on Earth…crowded in dark desolation. Like birds of prey, New York insomniacs hover over the night like hawks scouting for a comfy haven or some tasty morsel. In New York, there are two types of scavengers: you’ve got your snakes that convolute in seedy darkness, but for nighthawks it’s easier to hunt in wide-open territory. Tonight, I was the hawk looking to catch himself a mouse. “Phillies” sat on the corner of 14th and Canal Street in the swanky village above Soho. Franz, a German immigrant, spruced up the joint after the original owners, the Carpozi Brothers, had to leave town unexpectedly. Noisy neon lights drone over whispered words, and provide few dark holes for snakes to hide, and a roll and cup-o-joe still cost only 4 bits. I’m a hack writer for Newstime Magazine, and I had 24 hours to finish this story, or my editor, Perry White, promised my next story would be my own obituary. But this wasn’t just any story. Louis disguised as a curvaceous lady of the evening, and whose usual taste in guys includes the ones who spell “no” with three letters, sat near the kitchen and starred blankly out the glass. Her left arm crossed under her right with freshly painted fingers that lightly brushed Clark Kent’s curiously strong knuckles. For reporters like Louis and me, stakeouts were common and it was easy to drift off wile waiting for the real action. I wonder what kind of secrets Louis Lane was keeping? Maybe she was thinking about one of them now? I was so sure the tip-off about the jewel heist was secret, and yet here’s Louis butting in again with that lap dog, Clark Kent trying scoop my exclusive. An anonymous
tip said that the knuckleheads would meet up at Phillies an hour before the job to get final instructions. If I could tape-record Lex Luther’s lackeys discussing the diamond heist in
ENG 230 – Fiction 4
Edward Hopper – Night Hawks
To Catch a Nighthawk
New York is one of the loneliest places on Earth…crowded in dark desolation. Like birds of prey, New York insomniacs hover over the night like hawks scouting for a comfy haven or some tasty morsel. In New York, there are two types of scavengers: you’ve got your snakes that convolute in seedy darkness, but for nighthawks it’s easier to hunt in wide-open territory. Tonight, I was the hawk looking to catch himself a mouse. “Phillies” sat on the corner of 14th and Canal Street in the swanky village above Soho. Franz, a German immigrant, spruced up the joint after the original owners, the Carpozi Brothers, had to leave town unexpectedly. Noisy neon lights drone over whispered words, and provide few dark holes for snakes to hide, and a roll and cup-o-joe still cost only 4 bits. I’m a hack writer for Newstime Magazine, and I had 24 hours to finish this story, or my editor, Perry White, promised my next story would be my own obituary. But this wasn’t just any story. Louis disguised as a curvaceous lady of the evening, and whose usual taste in guys includes the ones who spell “no” with three letters, sat near the kitchen and starred blankly out the glass. Her left arm crossed under her right with freshly painted fingers that lightly brushed Clark Kent’s curiously strong knuckles. For reporters like Louis and me, stakeouts were common and it was easy to drift off wile waiting for the real action. I wonder what kind of secrets Louis Lane was keeping? Maybe she was thinking about one of them now? I was so sure the tip-off about the jewel heist was secret, and yet here’s Louis butting in again with that lap dog, Clark Kent trying scoop my exclusive. An anonymous
tip said that the knuckleheads would meet up at Phillies an hour before the job to get final instructions. If I could tape-record Lex Luther’s lackeys discussing the diamond heist in