My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie None of the boys liked what they saw through the X-ray goggles. Granted, what they viewed through them was bound to perturb anyone involved. Larry slowly lifted the spectacles away from his face, his eyes still bulging green outwardly toward the wall. "You think he knows we're watching?" Gregory, while disoriented, took the moment to click his tongue. "Don't be stupid. We have the goggles, not him." "But suppose he finds out?" "Then we come up with the best alibi ever," Gregory replied. "And it'll be concocted by Mister Storyteller here." Howard threw up his hands in exasperation. Yes, he was the raconteur of the group, but there were always times that his creativity dissipated into the rudimentary "My dog ate it" level. He snatched the goggles from Larry and looped the strap around his neck. "So," he muttered. "We've learned a lot of new things about Mister Liamsw...

This was a strictly covert operation. No wonky strategies. No embellished "secret agent" attire. No sour attempts at exaggerated camouflage. We needed to act naturally. Like civilians. Normal human beings, more accurately. And we got to work. We produced driver's licenses, passports, and fake social security cards. I came up with my own pseudonym. Attire. Age. Attitude. And a very scruffy upper lip.