“’Hello, Mrs. Clutterpan? How are you today?’”
“They always say that, don’t they? ‘How are you today?’ Right away you know it’s somebody trying to sell you something you don’t want.”
“I guess they figure it’s an icebreaker,” she said. “They ask you a question and you answer it, they’re halfway home.”
“It doesn’t work with me.”
“Or me either, but would you ever buy anything from some mope who called you on the phone?”
“The last time I got a phone call,” he said, “I hopped on a train to White Plains, and now I’m supposed to turn around and go home.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Can we back up and start over? A job came in, and it’s what you do, and there’s no problem with the fee.”
“And I’ll bet the next sentence starts with but .”
“But it’s here in New York.”
“Oh.”
“It happens, Keller. People in New York are like people everywhere else, and sometimes they want somebody taken out. It’s hard to believe there are New Yorkers with the same callous disregard for the sanctity of human life that you get in Roseburg, Oregon, and Martingale, Wyoming. But there it is, Keller. What can I tell you?”
“I don’t know. What can you tell me?”
“Obviously,” she said, “this has happened before. When a New York job comes in, I don’t call you. I call somebody else and he comes in from somewhere else and does it.”
“But this time you called me.”
“There are two people I’d ordinarily call. One of them does what I do, he makes arrangements, and when I’ve got something I can’t handle I call him and sub it out to him. But I couldn’t call him this time, because he was the one who called me.”
“And who did that leave?”
“A fellow out on the West Coast, who does the same sort of work you do. I wouldn’t say he’s got your flair, Keller, but he’s solid and professional. I’ve used him before in New York, and once or twice when you were busy on another assignment. He’s my backup man, you might say.”
“So you called him.”
“I tried.”
“He wasn’t home?”
“Phone’s been disconnected.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he’s not going to hear me unless I shout at the top of my lungs. I don’t know what else it means, Keller. Plain and simple, his phone’s been disconnected. Did he change his number for security reasons? Did he move? You’d think he’d give me his new number, but I don’t send him much work and I’m probably not one of the low numbers on his Speed Dial. In fact . . .”
“What?”
“Well, I’m not even positive he has this number. He must have had it once, but if he lost it he wouldn’t know how to reach me.”
“Either way—“
“Either way he hasn’t called and I can’t call him, and here’s this job, and I thought of you. Except it’s in New York, and you know what they say about crapping where you eat.”
“They don’t recommend it.”
“They don’t,” she said, “and I have to say I agree with the conventional wisdom this time around. The whole idea is you go in where you don’t know anybody and nobody knows you, and when you’re done you go home. You’re out of there before the body is cold.”
“Not always. Sometimes you can’t get a flight out right away.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Sure.”
“I’m a big believer in keeping things separate.”
“Like crapping and eating.”
“Like crapping and eating. New York’s for you to live in. That leaves the whole rest of the world to work in, and isn’t that enough?”
“Of course three-quarters of the earth’s surface is water,” he said.
“Keller . . .”
“And how much work do you get up around the North Pole, or down in Antarctica? But you’re right, there’s a lot left.”
“I’ll call the man back and tell him we pass.”
“Hang on a minute.”
“What for?”
“I came all this way,” he said. “I might as well hear about it. Just tell me it’s a
“They always say that, don’t they? ‘How are you today?’ Right away you know it’s somebody trying to sell you something you don’t want.”
“I guess they figure it’s an icebreaker,” she said. “They ask you a question and you answer it, they’re halfway home.”
“It doesn’t work with me.”
“Or me either, but would you ever buy anything from some mope who called you on the phone?”
“The last time I got a phone call,” he said, “I hopped on a train to White Plains, and now I’m supposed to turn around and go home.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Can we back up and start over? A job came in, and it’s what you do, and there’s no problem with the fee.”
“And I’ll bet the next sentence starts with but .”
“But it’s here in New York.”
“Oh.”
“It happens, Keller. People in New York are like people everywhere else, and sometimes they want somebody taken out. It’s hard to believe there are New Yorkers with the same callous disregard for the sanctity of human life that you get in Roseburg, Oregon, and Martingale, Wyoming. But there it is, Keller. What can I tell you?”
“I don’t know. What can you tell me?”
“Obviously,” she said, “this has happened before. When a New York job comes in, I don’t call you. I call somebody else and he comes in from somewhere else and does it.”
“But this time you called me.”
“There are two people I’d ordinarily call. One of them does what I do, he makes arrangements, and when I’ve got something I can’t handle I call him and sub it out to him. But I couldn’t call him this time, because he was the one who called me.”
“And who did that leave?”
“A fellow out on the West Coast, who does the same sort of work you do. I wouldn’t say he’s got your flair, Keller, but he’s solid and professional. I’ve used him before in New York, and once or twice when you were busy on another assignment. He’s my backup man, you might say.”
“So you called him.”
“I tried.”
“He wasn’t home?”
“Phone’s been disconnected.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he’s not going to hear me unless I shout at the top of my lungs. I don’t know what else it means, Keller. Plain and simple, his phone’s been disconnected. Did he change his number for security reasons? Did he move? You’d think he’d give me his new number, but I don’t send him much work and I’m probably not one of the low numbers on his Speed Dial. In fact . . .”
“What?”
“Well, I’m not even positive he has this number. He must have had it once, but if he lost it he wouldn’t know how to reach me.”
“Either way—“
“Either way he hasn’t called and I can’t call him, and here’s this job, and I thought of you. Except it’s in New York, and you know what they say about crapping where you eat.”
“They don’t recommend it.”
“They don’t,” she said, “and I have to say I agree with the conventional wisdom this time around. The whole idea is you go in where you don’t know anybody and nobody knows you, and when you’re done you go home. You’re out of there before the body is cold.”
“Not always. Sometimes you can’t get a flight out right away.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Sure.”
“I’m a big believer in keeping things separate.”
“Like crapping and eating.”
“Like crapping and eating. New York’s for you to live in. That leaves the whole rest of the world to work in, and isn’t that enough?”
“Of course three-quarters of the earth’s surface is water,” he said.
“Keller . . .”
“And how much work do you get up around the North Pole, or down in Antarctica? But you’re right, there’s a lot left.”
“I’ll call the man back and tell him we pass.”
“Hang on a minute.”
“What for?”
“I came all this way,” he said. “I might as well hear about it. Just tell me it’s a
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