Part 2 (2/2)
Mort tore his arm from his partner's grasp. ”What's stopping us?” he demanded.
”The State's Attorney's office!” Mike groaned. ”Maybe it's a trap set by them skunks from the State's Attorney's office. Maybe it's the start of their telephone tracing of bookmakers!”
Sickly, Mort turned back. His face was still flushed, but three fourths of his steam was gone.
”Maybe you're right,” he admitted. ”And if so, what a h.e.l.luva note this 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 talk him out of it better than you boys. You'll need that wire today, and the joker might just be drunk and obstinate enough to hang on all day long to spite you. Maybe he knows you won't dare report it. I'm not steamed up; maybe I'll reason with him better because I'm not. You want 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 make it up to you!”
I went over to the booth and, stepping inside, took the receiver from the hook. I had a jovial, let's-be-friends opener all ready.
”h.e.l.lo, pal,” I said amiably.
The voice that came to my ears was distinctly unlike what I'd expected. I don't quite know _how_ or _why_ it sounded so strange and eerie, but it did. It was a man's voice, coming over the wire the way long distance calls used to sound before they got transmission technique down pat.
”h.e.l.lo there,” said the voice. ”Have they arrived yet?”
It wasn't the voice of a drunk. And if it were that of a practical joker, the poker-faced quality of it was perfect acting. It sounded earnestly, eagerly serious.
”You mean Adolf and Benito?” I asked. I was willing to play ball for a few 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 wishes to speak only to them. He's very busy. Too busy to waste time in idle conversation. 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 to before you,” the voice said. ”Please hurry and bring Adolf and Benito to the phone. This connection is getting progressively worse. It can't last much longer. We spent several years getting it through, you know.”
”Did you now?” I asked politely.
”Yes we did,” the voice answered stiffly. Then, annoyed: ”_Must_ you waste this precious time? Please bring Hitler and Mussolini to the telephone as quickly as possible.”
There was a fuzzy crackling over the wire. Like a s.h.i.+p-to-sh.o.r.e connection.
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