Larry ran back to his desk, dropped into his chair, looked at the list of contact numbers taped next to the phone, dialed the police non-emergency line, which connected him to a desk sergeant. He quickly identified himself to the woman who answered.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“My reporter is talking to a guy on the phone who says he’s going to shoot a whole bunch of people later today.”
“What else can you tell me?”
“Not much. His name’s Tim. Other than that, I got no idea.”
“I’m going to put you through to a detective. Hold. I’m gonna brief him before I connect you.”
“Okay.”
Larry waited. About thirty seconds went by before a man came on the line and said, “Durkin here. Who’s this?”
Larry told him, then filled him in on what little he knew.
“Is it this thing in California?” Durkin asked. “Got him all inspired?”
“Maybe.”
“Okay, I’m going to give you my direct line. I’ll be here all night. This is what I want you to tell — what’s your reporter’s name?”
“Jeff.”
“This is what I want you to tell Jeff.”
Larry scribbled, then signed off with Durkin. He ran back to the radio room, where Jeff was still on the phone. Larry handed him the note.
COPS SAY KEEP HIM ON LINE.
When Jeff got that far, he gave Larry a look that said, “Really? Never would have thought of that.”
The rest of the note read: GET FULL NAME, ANYTHING ABOUT HIM. ADDRESS.
Jeff rolled his eyes, tossed the note back, gave Larry a thumbs-up, mouthed “Brilliant.” Then said, into the phone, “We’ve all been there, I know.”
Jeff had taken more notes while Larry was on the phone with the police. He handed them over.
MARRIAGE BROKE UP. LOST JOB. WONT SAY WHERE HE WORKED. BIT OF ACCENT, THINK MAYBE PA.
Larry pointed to the last word. Jeff mouthed “Pennsylvania.” Then shrugged, suggesting he might be wrong. Larry nodded, then ran back to his desk to make another call.
Tim said, “I hope I’m not keeping you from something.”
Jeff said, “No problem. I’m just on the graveyard shift, killing time.” Soon as he said the words graveyard and killing he wondered if he should be choosing his words more carefully.
“You always have to work these kinds of hours?” Tim asked.
“I haven’t done this shift for a while. I’m doing a double.”
“A double?”
“A double shift. I was supposed to be off at eleven, but the guy who was supposed to relieve me booked off sick, so I’m here till six.”
“Nice guy.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Right now some girl’s rockin’ his world. So what kind of work did you do? What’d you get laid off from?”
“Retail,” he said. “A mall job. Laid off makes it sound like they were cutting back. It wasn’t exactly like that for me.”
“What happened?”
“I talked back to a rude customer. Got fired.”
“What’d you do, exactly?” Jeff asked.
“Someone was trying to return something without a receipt. I think they actually stole it from another store and brought it to us for a refund. Happens all the time. Sometimes right in the store. They find something on the rack, tear off the tags, come up asking for their money back. I told her to take a hike and she complained to the manager and I got fired.”
“Sounds like you were trying to do the right thing.”
“I don’t know. If I’d just given her the refund there wouldn’t have been all the fuss. Store doesn’t want bad publicity, customers bad-mouthing the place. But people are so dishonest. People are awful.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve got a few subscribers call in and they’re not so nice, either. So... what store was this?”
“Just a store. Doesn’t matter.” He paused. “It’s nice talking to you.”
“Yeah, you too,” Jeff said. “You sound like a nice guy.”
“Thanks.” Another pause. “I guess they won’t be saying that, this time tomorrow. After I’ve done it.”
Their conversation became long and meandering. Small talk. Jeff telling him where he’d gone on his last vacation — it was a fishing trip and he’d caught a muskellunge that was nearly four feet — the first paper he worked for, a girl he once dated whose father was in a TV series. Anything to keep the guy on the line.
Back at his desk, Larry had been telling Durkin that the guy on the phone with Jeff just lost his job, and his wife, and he might be from Pennsylvania, although that was just a guess.
“That’s not a lot to work with,” Durkin said.
“I know. It’s all Jeff’s got right now. Can’t you just trace the line?”
“That’s not as simple to set up as they make it look on TV. Be a lot easier if your guy could just get us a name. Get Jeff to be his friend.”
“He’s doing that.”
“Yeah, well, tell him to stick with it. Really sympathize. His name’s Tim, right? Tell him to use his name a lot.”
So Larry wrote another note to Jeff that said COPS REALLY NEED NAME and CALL HIM TIM A LOT and BE LIKE A FRIEND. He knew that was only going to prompt Jeff to roll his eyes again, like he couldn’t figure out this shit on his own.
Larry looked back at the radio room, saw Jeff still on the phone. He ran back, tossed the note in front of Jeff, and shrugged, as if to say, “I know.”
To Tim, Jeff said, “I guess I don’t see how killing a bunch of people is going to make any difference, Tim.”
“It’ll make a difference,” Tim said.
“Yeah, but how? You walk in, start shooting all over the place, you’re probably going to hit some kids and moms and stuff. How’s that making your situation any better?”
“It makes an impact,” he said. “It makes a statement.”
“What if you end up shooting me? I mean, here we are talking, we’re making a connection. We’re getting to be friends over the phone, and then tomorrow, I’ll go into some place to get a burger and fries and you’ll walk in and shoot me.”
“Where do you usually go?” Tim asked. “I’ll pick a different place so it won’t be you. Or maybe you should just stay home tomorrow.”
“You’re missing my point, Tim. If it’s not me, it could be someone else you know. Some acquaintance. Maybe some friend you had in school, you walk in and end up killing his mother or his sister or something. You don’t want to do that.”
Tim went quiet, as if considering what Jeff had to say. “That’s kind of what my psychiatrist says.”
“Well, there you go,” Jeff said. “I don’t even have a degree or anything in psychiatry and I’m as smart as your shrink.” He tried another laugh. “Pretty good, huh? Maybe I should be charging you for this call. That’s a joke.”
“I guess what you’re saying is common sense.”
“I mean, Tim, come on. Why’d you phone in? Why’d you call into the newsroom to tell me this?”
“I guess... I don’t know.”
“I think you do. Come on. Think harder. You called the newsroom, didn’t know who you’d get, but you got me, and we’re talking, and you know why you did this?”
“You tell me,” Tim said.
“You wanted me to talk you out of it. That’s why you called. You wanted whoever picked up the phone to talk you out of it.”
Jeff glanced at the row of clocks that hung high on the newsroom wall. There was half a dozen of them, showing the correct time in London and Munich and Jerusalem and Beijing and Los Angeles. The sixth one was local time, and it read 3:14 a.m. Jesus, Jeff thought. He’d been on the phone with this guy for more than two hours. And that coffee Larry’d bought him was already looking for a way to escape. What was it they said about coffee? You only rented it? Jeff really needed to take a piss, but there was no way he could end this call and go strolling off to the bathroom.