hedemanded.
"The State's Attorney's office!" Mike groaned. "Maybe it's a trap setby them skunks from the State's Attorney's office. Maybe it's thestart of their telephone tracing of bookmakers!"
Sickly, Mort turned back. His face was still flushed, but threefourths of his steam was gone.
"Maybe you're right," he admitted. "And if so, what a helluva notethis is!"
I couldn't hold back my curiosity any longer.
"Look," I said. "I have an idea. If it's a joker, perhaps I can talkhim out of it better than you boys. You'll need that wire today, andthe joker might just be drunk and obstinate enough to hang on all daylong to spite you. Maybe he knows you won't dare report it. I'm notsteamed up; maybe I'll reason with him better because I'm not. Youwant me to?"
Mort and Mike gave me grateful glances.
"You get ridda that wise guy," Mike said, "and we'll never ferget it!"
"Go to it, chumly," Mort said, "and if you lose that louse, we'll makeit up to you!"
I went over to the booth and, stepping inside, took the receiver fromthe hook. I had a jovial, let's-be-friends opener all ready.
"Hello, pal," I said amiably.
The voice that came to my ears was distinctly unlike what I'dexpected. I don't quite know _how_ or _why_ it sounded so strange andeerie, but it did. It was a man's voice, coming over the wire the waylong distance calls used to sound before they got transmissiontechnique down pat.
"Hello there," said the voice. "Have they arrived yet?"
It wasn't the voice of a drunk. And if it were that of a practicaljoker, the poker-faced quality of it was perfect acting. It soundedearnestly, eagerly serious.
"You mean Adolf and Benito?" I asked. I was willing to play ball for afew minutes if it brought results. Besides, I was curious.
"Yes."
"Why do you want to talk to them?" I asked.
"_I_ don't want to talk to them. My boss does," the voice answered.
"Then put your boss on," I said. "I'll talk to him."
"You are neither Hitler nor Mussolini," the voice replied. "He wishesto speak only to them. He's very busy. Too busy to waste time in idleconversation. Please fetch Hitler and Mussolini to the wire."
"Who are you?" I demanded.
"I have already covered that ground with the other parties I spoke tobefore you," the voice said. "Please hurry and bring Adolf and Benitoto the phone. This connection is getting progressively worse. It can'tlast much longer. We spent several years getting it through, youknow."
"Did you now?" I asked politely.
"Yes we did," the voice answered stiffly. Then, annoyed: "_Must_ youwaste this precious time? Please bring Hitler and Mussolini to thetelephone as quickly as possible."
* * * * *
There was a fuzzy crackling over the wire. Like a ship-to-shoreconnection.
"Listen, pal," I said. "This joke is costing a couple of guys somelucrative trade. You are tying up a telephone they need badly in theirbusiness, or didn't you know that?"
"That can't be helped," the voice said stiffly.
"Be a good sport and get off the wire," I said.
"I have no intention of doing that until my boss has talked to Hitlerand Mussolini," the voice said coldly. I knew a positive statementwhen I heard one. I hung up, clambered out of the booth, spread myhands expressively to Mike and Mort who stood there eagerly waitingfor some good word.
"No soap," I said. "I don't think you got a joker on there, and I'dswear you haven't got a drunk."
"What have we got, then," Mike demanded. "A smart copper waiting totrap us?"
I shook my head. "I think you got a loony," I said. "But don't quoteme." I started toward the door. "I got work to do, gents, but I'lllook in again a little later. Hope you get rid of your pest."
"We'd better," Mike moaned dismally.
"Brother," Mort declared, pulling his hair and making a sincerelydistraught face, "you're not kidding!"
I looked at the telephone booth and shook my head. "Somebody is," Itold them....
* * * * *
For perhaps three hours I was able to concentrate on my work, with thetelephone booth distraction cropping up only about every fifteenminutes or so to give me the fidgets.
At the end of that time, a little before two o'clock, I finallycovered up my reproachful typewriter and, on the excuse that I wanteda coke, left the office to go down and see how the boys were doingwith the determined loony on their telephone.
The "cigar store" was crowded with the usual early-afternoonhang-arounders when I walked in. Mort and Mike, each behind a diceboard, were accommodating trusting suckers who had somehow gotten themistaken idea that Hooligan was a game you beat every other time.
Mike, looking up, noticed my entrance first. He signaled to me,muttered an excuse to the dice roller at his board, and came quicklyaround the counter. He took me by the arm and steered me out into thebuilding lobby.
"Listen, pal," he half-whispered, "fer gawdsakes don't say anythingabout the jerk on the telephone. Mort and me ain't told anyone, ferfear of the ribbing we'd get, plus the kick in the pants it would giveour regular betting business over the counter."
"You mean the guy's still on the telephone?" I demanded.
Mike nodded a little sickly. "We can't get him off. And since we ain'tletting on to no one about the phone being fritzed that way, everytime he rings, we pretend we're getting an odd change, or somescratches or result. Mort an' me have been running our legs off, usinga telephone next door to get our prices and results and such dope fromthe syndicate. But don't let on. We ain't told no one!"
"Okay," I promised. "I'll keep mum. But who in the hell do you supposeit is?"
Mike lowered his voice even more, looking furtively around thebuilding lobby.
"Confidentially, although we don't dare draw attention to our jointsince the State's Attorney is telephone prowling, Mort and me decidedyou was right. It must be a loony. All we can do is wait until he getstired and gets off."
I nodded. "That's about all you can do," I agreed. "Does he still wantto talk to Hitler and Mussolini?"
Mike nodded disgustedly. "Worse than ever. Calling every twentyminutes now. Mort and me is going crazy answering them calls andpretending they ain't nothing but syndicate results."
"I don't blame you," I said. "I would, too." Mike went back into thestore and behind the dice board. I took a coke out of the cooler anduncapped it on the side of the machine.
Mort sent me a message in his glance, and I nodded reassuringly tohim.
"I don't know anything," I said.
Mort grinned a sick, grateful sort of grin, and went back to the taskof taking quarters from his customers. Taking my time with mycigarette, I finished my coke. Then the telephone rang, as I'd beenwaiting for it to do.
Mort dashed to the booth, closed the door as he entered, and forseveral flushed minutes appeared to be talking into the phone andwriting something on a scratch pad. But I knew it was an act from thepained expression on his face. I knew that the loony was babbling awayagain and that Mort was having to listen for the sake of the pose.
When at last he hung up, he emerged mopping his face with a gailycolored handkerchief. The look he shot me was confirmation enough thatthe loony was still on the wire.
* * * * *
Unable to feel too sorry for the boys, I concealed a grin behind ayawn, nodded to them both, and left the place. Upstairs once more inmy office I got back into a rather muggy stream of work on which Ifound difficulty concentrating.
For some reason I couldn't at first explain to myself, I kept thinkingabout the telephone loony of Mike and Mort's. Not because of theironically ridiculous turmoil it threw them into, but for some otherreason far more subtle, but which I was unable to put my finger on.
The thing amused me, puzzled me, and yet, somehow was beginning totrouble me. Not through any great sympathy for Mike or Mort, ofcourse. It will be a cold da
y when my heart bleeds for bookmakers. Butsomething or other _was_ growing more and more bothersome. I thoughtabout it a while, then shoved it out of my mind and got back to work.
I was able to grind along for a couple of hours without having it comeback into my mind. And when it popped up again, I shoved it away oncemore just as quickly. I had to get that work out, and I knew Iwouldn't if I stewed any longer over the telephone loony who was quiteprobably still playing hob with