Photography
Paul Kavanagh

     

We're thick as thieves, said Collins.
What did you call me? asked Holborn.
I said we we're thick as, said Collins.
Just as I thought, interjected Holborn.
In the hands of Holborn were a cornucopia of dirty pictures. He had been busy all day. Holborn to earn his bread took dirty pictures of bored housewives in a myriad of different poses. He took these pictures mainly when the wife's husband was out of the house. Though sometimes he was known to flash the bulb with the wife's husband sitting behind him.
Collins was a thief. He couldn't help himself. The judge that sent him to prison said that he had sticky fingers. It wasn't the fingers that were the problem. It was his eyes. His eyes were bigger than his pockets. Only an hour before this Collins had been busy.
Out of the darkness tiptoed Collins. He dropped to his knees and crawled under the splintered light of the moon that entered through the window and illuminated the wall opposite. Once he had cleared the light he stood back up and sauntered into the darkness.
Listen I'm not thick, said Holborn.
No not thick like that, said Collins. Do you want a gin?
Holborn had a proclivity for gin. He couldn't say no to gin even though gin left him melancholy.
Of course I'll have a gin, said Holborn.
He held up a picture of a lovely dear with her hairy arse in the air. Holborn was proud of the lighting.
A lovely arse, exclaimed Collins.
Though Collins would not know a Mapplethrope from an Arbus, he knew a bull whip up the anus and the difference between a man and woman. Once Holborn had talked of Nadar but that was a long long time ago.
Collins returned with two gins.
I saw a lovely arse tonight too, said Collins sparking two cigarettes.
When Collins went on a job he took his brotherinlaw with him. His brotherinlaw was a dolt. Had he not married Collins' sister?
Collins knew where he was going. He had done his homework. He was omnipotent when it came to creaking wood. It always rained. The moors were verdant, the trees bloomed and the houses were begrimed because it rained everyday. The latch came away from the wood. Collins' orbs fulgurated when he saw the latch come away from the wood.
I told you so, quipped Collins extremely proud of himself.
You did! You did! Echoed the brotherinlaw.
The bugger's are tightfisted I told you, expectorated Collins.
You did! You did! Echoed the brotherinlaw.
I did tell you! Uttered Collins.
I know you did, said the brotherinlaw.
You did, said Collins.
You did, reiterated the brotherinlaw.
Are you pissed? Asked Collins
No, denied the brotherinlaw.
So why are you confusing me? Asked Collins.
Keep it down, whispered the brotherinlaw.
Keep it up, said Collins pointing to the window.
The brotherinlaw held the window open for Collins. Into the darkness climbed Collins. His arse just about squeezed through. The brotherinlaw followed Collins' procedure meticulously making sure not to yaw from the path. Once inside the brotherinlaw closed the window. He placed the latch back.
Silence now, whispered Collins
Silence is the order, said the brotherinlaw.
Follow me, said Collins.
I bet she didn't have this, said Holborn holding up a different picture.
She bloody did! bellowed Collins.
Holborn left the picture on the table and went to the bar. Collins could not take his eyes off the picture. The lady in the picture was doing funny things with a candle like the doxy in Hogarth's Rake Progress.
They found themselves in a commodious kitchen. Both being in so close to the food opened the freezer and had a fine pandial orgy. The brotherinlaw stuck with the chocolate, the strawberries and Chinese. Collins opened the milk, washed it down with a bottle of red, washed this down with a bottle of fruit drink and swilled out his mouth with cream and champagne.
She's lovely she is, she Holborn.
She's a diamond, said Collins.
Collins led the way and the brotherinlaw followed. Into the master bedroom they surreptitiously slipped.
Show me some more, demanded Collins.
Holborn laid a pile of photographs of the lady before Collins.
She was a rich type, said Collins. Extremely posh.
Yes, said Holborn. Out of your league.
Of course! Bellowed Collins proud as punch, swigging down his gin in much risibility.
Upon an ornate bed two sleepers farted, excreted saliva and snorted. Collins knowing that they were under the influence of booze and sleeping pills brazenly held up the silk sheets. With a dainty tip the brotherinlaw ran his fingers over the silk panties. She was petite little fox.
Shall I tickle his rump for him? Asked Collins
Yes, said the brotherinlaw.
Collins slipped a hand down the between the sheets. A smile materialized upon the countenance of the sleeping man. Slowly the man stirred, turned on his side, and ran his hands over the lady.
Collins moved his hand. They hid themselves in the shadows. The man climbed upon the woman and slowly, sleepily, unconsciously copulated with her. It was an ephemeral conjugation.

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