Hotline to Murder Read Free

He tried
to keep Frank talking. There were long periods of silence, during
which Shahla’s support helped Tony remain calm. The phone rang a
number of times, but she ignored it.
    An hour into the call, Frank said, “This
isn’t going anywhere. I’m going to hang up now.”
    “Don’t hang up,” Tony blurted. “I have
something more to say.”
    Silence.
    Tony talked desperately, repeating things he
had said, previously, while expecting to hear the click of a hang
up at any moment. He had to get some agreement from Frank. Frank
had said several times that he didn’t have any relatives or close
friends, but he had mentioned that he did have a cat. Tony decided
to focus on the cat.
    “What kind of a cat do you have?” Tony
asked.
    “Alley cat. He kept hanging around the
neighborhood. The neighbors fed him. I never did. But he came in
the house one day when I left the screen door open. I couldn’t boot
him out.”
    “How long have you had him?”
    “Five years.”
    “What would he do without you?”
    “Go back to being an alley cat.”
    “But he obviously likes you, Frank. You
can’t desert him.”
    It was a thin thread, one that might break
at any moment. Tony kept Frank talking about his cat. Little by
little, Frank agreed that he should stay alive because of his cat.
Or did he? Part of the time he seemed to be ready to disavow any
agreement.
    Before he hung up, Tony said, “Please call
us tomorrow and tell us how you’re doing,” knowing that Frank might
never make the call.
    As he put down the receiver, Tony realized
that his shirt was soaked. He glanced at the clock. It was almost
ten. He had been on the call for two hours. He said, “I’m not sure
I convinced him.”
    “You did the best you could,” Shahla said.
“That’s all you can do.”
    “To be honest, if I were in his shoes, I
would probably want to end it too.”
    “That’s the hardest call you’ll ever get on
the Hotline. The suicide calls I’ve had are like, ‘I’m going to
kill myself on the anniversary of my father’s death.’ ‘Oh, when is
that?’ ‘Next February.’ Okay, that’s six months away. So I figure
I’m safe.”
    They chuckled, which reduced the tension
that had been present in the room for so long, like a compressed
spring.
    “I have to go to the restroom—badly,” Tony
said. “I’ve had to go for an hour.”
    “That’s one thing I forgot to tell you,”
Shahla said. “Down the hall to the right. The key is hanging by the
door. While you’re gone, I’ll fill out your evaluation form.”
    “Evaluation form?” He should have known
there would be an evaluation form. “I hope I passed.”
    “Oh you did. With flying colors.”
    ***
    Tony parked his car in one of the two
carport stalls allotted to his townhouse and noted that Josh’s car
occupied the other one. He had hoped Josh would be out. It was too
much to hope for that Josh would be asleep at this hour. He didn’t
feel like talking to his roommate—housemate—he had to quit thinking
like a college boy. After all, he had been out of college for
almost ten years.
    He opened the wooden gate leading to his
small brick patio. The sliding glass door to the house was open. He
slid open the screen door. As he entered the house, he saw light
emanating from the living room and heard the sound of the
television set. Blaring. Explosive. Bang bang bang. Not a good
sign. On the other hand, if Josh was fully involved in one of the
ultra-violent movies he loved, maybe Tony could whoosh past him and
race up the stairs without being detained.
    “Hey, Noodles. Where you going so fast? I
want to hear about your evening.”
    Caught. And “Noodles.” How Tony hated that
nickname. But this wasn’t the time to lecture Josh for the
thousandth time about it. Josh lay fully reclined on the reclining
chair, facing the big-screen TV, which was the only thing in the
living room that belonged to him. He held a can of beer in his
hand. A cooler sat beside the chair to