Hotline to Murder Read Free Page B

very moment he might be
lying on the floor with his fucking brains scattered all over the
room?”
    A gruesome picture flashed into Tony’s head.
He said, slowly, “At this very moment he might be lying on the
floor with his fucking brains scattered all over the room.” He
couldn’t look at Josh. He knew Josh was staring at him, with the
freckles covering his face changing color, as they did when he felt
emotion.
    “Noodles, you need another beer.”
    Josh tossed this one across his body, and it
spattered Tony and the sofa with cold water. Beer was Josh’s answer
to all the world’s problems. Maybe Josh was right. By the time he
went to bed, Tony had drunk at least a six-pack.

    CHAPTER 3
    It was Friday evening, August 30, two weeks after
his first mentoring session. Tony walked into the building where
the Hotline was located. Once again he smelled the odor he had come
to associate with it. Perhaps it was some sort of cleaning
compound.
    Instead of riding the elevator, he went up
the stairs, taking them two at a time, all the way to the third
floor. He was glad there was nobody at the top to see him
puffing—to see how out of shape he was.
    He had also taken the stairs at his second
and third Hotline sessions with a mentor, eschewing the elevator.
Why? He could barely admit it to himself, but the reason apparently
had to do with the fact that he wanted to get into better shape,
lose those extra pounds that pushed his belt out. Why? It was
ridiculous to think that he would do something he had never done in
his life, at least for a woman—any woman, let alone for a
seventeen-year-old. Someone who was legally jailbait.
    He had not seen Shahla since the first
session. His mentors for the other two sessions had also been
teenagers, a boy and a girl, and they had been good, but they had
made no lasting impression on him. Now he was on his own, an
experienced listener. As he walked to the office, he wondered
whether there would be anyone else on the lines tonight, or whether
he would be alone. He barely dared hope that Shahla would be here,
and he knew the odds were long against it. She had not been signed
up on the calendar the last time he had looked, several days
before.
    Tony tried the handle of the brown door. It
was locked. He looked at his watch. Ten minutes to seven. Perhaps
there was no listener on the four-to-seven shift. Sometimes that
happened with a volunteer organization. Fortunately, he had learned
the combination to the lockbox on the door. He entered it and
pulled off the cover, looking for the key inside. Except that the
key wasn’t there. What was going on?
    He was at a loss, a feeling he was
unfamiliar with. What should he do? Could there be somebody in the
office behind the locked door? He had already stored the office
phone numbers in his cell phone. He took out the phone and called
the administrative office number. No answer. He tried the Hotline
number. No answer.
    Maybe this was his way out. He had made a
good-faith effort to work his shift. If the Hotline was so
disorganized that he couldn’t even get in, it wasn’t his fault.
Looking back over the last few weeks, he had done everything he set
out to do. He had taken the Hotline training class and passed. He
had survived three mentoring sessions and received good marks. He
had shown empathy. In fact, he had learned all the skills that
Mona, his boss at his real job, had wanted him to learn, when she
had suggested that he volunteer for the Hotline. And although he
had agreed to work at least three shifts a month for a year, if the
Hotline staff members didn’t keep their part of the bargain, why
was he obligated to keep his?
    But back to the present. There was a slight
chance a listener was inside, on another call. If so, she—or he,
would presumably be coming out in a few minutes—unless she was on a
long call. Decision time. Tony decided to wait until five minutes
after seven.
    He nervously paced up and down the corridor,
wondering when a