Detective

call the verifying operator, and the operator checks the number and finds out the phone’s out. She reports it to my department, and they send me out to fix it.”
    “Without calling first?”
    I looked at him. “What, are you nuts?”
    He thought a second. “Oh,” he said. But he still wasn’t convinced, and I had a good idea his last call hadn’t been that long ago.
    But he let me in. His attitude changed a little when he picked up the kitchen phone and found it dead. I didn’t even bother with it.
    “Let’s try the living room,” I told him.
    The living room phone was dead too.
    There was no time to ask him for a soda, even if there’d been a chance in hell he would have gotten me one. I simply unscrewed the mouthpiece under the guise of examining it, and palmed the bug off it right under his nose.
    “Looks O.K.,” I said. “Let’s see the other one.”
    He didn’t seem too keen on that. “The trouble was outside last time. Why don’t you start there?”
    I looked at him. “Hey, buddy,” I told him. “Are you telling me my job?”
    Tall, Dark, and Ugly knew better than to argue with a menial in the practice of his profession. Reluctantly, he led me to the study door. “Wait here,” he said.
    He opened the door and went in. I stood in the hallway and looked through the half-opened door. And there they were. All of ’em. Pluto and Bambi and Floridian #1 and #2. All of ’em but Dumbo, who by now should be ratting on the rest to the local fuzz.
    I’d never seen Floridian #2 before, and it startled me. I’d expected another broad-shouldered Colombian thug. Angelo Ospina was a frail old man, 85 if he was a day. He was sitting on the couch, and he looked as if it were taking all his strength just to keep his head from falling into his lap. It really floored me. I have this thing, where somehow I expect everyone to be as old as I am. It had shocked the hell out of me to find out a big drug dealer like Pluto was a 22-year-old kid and not even Hispanic to boot. Ospina was certainly Hispanic, but, Jesus Christ, this was a cold-blooded killer and drug czar? This is the infamous Floridian #2? Through the door I could hear the murmur of voices. “. . . telephone repairman. . .”
    “. . . who the fuck. . .”
    “. . . phone’s out again. . .”
    “. . . now?. . .”
    “. . . just be a minute. . .”
    “. . . fuck it, we have to have the phone. . .”
    Tall, Dark, and Ugly came back out. “O.K.,” he said. “But make it fast, will you?”
    “Word of honor,” I said.
    I meant it. I had just checked my watch, and if my calculations were correct, I had five, maybe ten minutes before the police would be all over this place. I had to be out of there before then.
    O.K., kid, this is it. You gotta do it If you ever had any guts in your life, you better have ’em now. You gotta go into that room.
    It was terrifying. Coshing Pedro was nothing compared to it. That was a simple, quick, impulsive action, spurred on by a tremendous flow of adrenaline. This required calm, precise, deliberate action, in spite of a tremendous flow of adrenaline. This took nerves of steel.
    I didn’t have ’em. Jesus Christ, what the hell was I doing here? Was I nuts? Going into that room with all of them watching me, Tony Arroyo included. Maybe I should have worn a disguise after all. Maybe people don’t notice a fake mustache or a wig. Couldn’t I at least have worn a pair of dark glasses? No, idiot, not in the house, and not with a hardhat. It would look funny and people would stare. Or would they? Haven’t you seen hardhats with shades before? What’s the difference? What does it matter now? Oh, Jesus Christ, there’s TDU going through the door, you can’t just stand here, can you?
    I followed him into the room. I tried not to look at the men. I tried not to let them get a good look at me. I tried to keep my pants from falling down. I tried to keep from pissing in them, too.
    I made my way to the desk. I put my toolbox on the floor behind it, out of sight of the men. I bent over the phone. I tried to keep my head down, keep my helmet over my eyes.
    I couldn’t help sneaking a look at Tony. He was looking at me kinda funny, as if trying to figure something out. I hoped he wouldn’t do it. My hands were shaking slightly, and I was having trouble with the phone.
    I suddenly had a paranoid flash that everyone was looking at me. I stole a look. They were! Holy shit! Then I realized. Of