Read Online I Am (Not) the Walrus by Ed Briant - Free Book Online Page A

says. “That’s a month. If I can’t get a job that actually pays enough to live on within the next month, then I think it’s a fair enough that we go back.”
    â€œWill it be easier in London?” I say.
    â€œThere’s a job waiting for me whenever I want it back,” says Mom. “Listen, I’m going to watch the news. You go and finish your homework.”

8
    Thursday
    â€œCould I make a phone call?” I say.
    â€œOf course.” She gathers up her coffee and the envelopes, then heads for the door.
    â€œIt’s to Brunswick,” I say. “Is that long distance?”
    â€œIt is,” says Mom, “but it’s after six so you’re okay. Do you have the number?” she says.
    â€œNo. I was just going to dial some random digits,” I say.
    She ignores my comment and says, “Do you have the code for Brunswick?”
    I shake my head.
    â€œ01375.” She almost smiles. “Don’t talk too long,” she says, “or I really will take your bass away.”
    Mom leaves and I push the door closed. I take out the note and examine it.
    What am I going to say?
    Why am I even doing this?
    Maybe I’ll just hang up if she answers. I think I just want to know if Julie McGuire is real. I want to know that should it become necessary, I could give her the bass back, although I’m not sure how I’m going to find that out from a phone call.
    I dial the code, then the number.
    The phone makes a weird beeping sound, and a robot woman says, “The number you have dialed is not available. Please check your number and dial again.”
    I key in the number again, but get the same message. I examine the note to see if there’s another hidden number, or if I’ve read it wrong, but it’s fairly clear.
    I open the kitchen door and call to Mom, “The code for Brunswick is 01375, right?”
    â€œ01375,” comes the reply.
    I try yet again, and still get the robo-woman.
    I turn off the light, and head out into the hall.
    â€œDid you get ahold of them?” says Mom from the living room.
    â€œNo,” I say. “I just keep getting the wrong-number message.”
    â€œWhat’s the number?” she says.
    I push open the door to the living room. She’s lying on the sofa with a pair of glasses propped on her nose. She holds out a hand for the note, but I just read it out to her. I don’t want her to know what’s in the rest of the note. “553554.”
    â€œIs that it?” She sits up.
    â€œWere you expecting more?” I say.
    â€œActually yes,” she says. “You only have six digits. They added a three to the start of all the Brunswick numbers a few years ago.”
    â€œA few years ago?” I say.
    â€œYou know, I’m not sure. More than five years ago I think,” she says. “If you don’t mind me asking, how on earth did you come by an out-of-date number for Brunswick?”
    â€œIt’s just an old friend of Shawn’s,” I say.
    She pushes up her glasses. “Does this person have a name?”
    â€œMom!” I say. “Do I have to tell you everything?”
    â€œToby,” says Mom. “I don’t think you know this, but Shawn had some iffy friends. Not good people to be mixed up with.”
    â€œWhat do you mean by iffy friends?” I say.
    â€œJust not a good crowd,” she says.
    â€œI’ll give it one more try,” I say. “It’s an old number. I’m probably not going to get through to them anyway.”
    I go back to the kitchen. I dial the Brunswick code, the three, and then the number. I’m so convinced that I’m going to get robo-woman again that I almost put the phone down. But it rings. It rings four times, and finally someone answers.
    Nobody speaks. I wait for one, two, three heartbeats. Maybe the line went dead. “Hello?” I say.
    â€œGood evening, good sir.” A man’s