Джеффри Дивер - Nothing Good Happens After Midnight - A Suspense Magazine Anthology

The phone rang.

Jeff sighed and reached for it. “Newsroom,” he said.

“I’m sick and tired of you sons of bitches,” a man on the other end said. “You liberal fucking rag. Bunch of commies is what you are.”

“I know this voice,” Jeff said. “You called here the other night. I’m gonna give you a little warning. You call one more time, and I’m going to report you to the circulation department and they’re going to cancel your subscription.” He slammed the phone down, chuckled to himself. “I wonder if we could really do that?”

“I wish,” Larry said.

“You put sugar in this?”

Larry tossed a couple of packets at him. “Enjoy,” he said.

Jeff adjusted the volume on some of the radios, bringing up a couple, turning down a couple of others. Finding just the right balance of mayhem between fire and police.

The phone rang again.

“Newsroom,” he said.

“Are you the person my husband was talking to?” a woman asked.

“I don’t know,” Jeff said wearily.

“He just called and said some mean things about your paper.”

“Oh, yeah, him.”

“Please, please don’t cancel our subscription! I love the crossword. If I didn’t get my daily crossword and horoscope I’d go out of my mind. I promise he won’t call again.”

“I’ll think about it,” Jeff said, and hung up.

About half an hour later, shortly after one, the phone rang again. Jeff sighed and picked up. “Newsroom,” he said.

“Did you see that story?” a man asked.

“What story was that, sir?” Jeff said.

“In California. The guy who went in and shot everybody.”

Jeff glanced over at the early edition the copy boy had left for him. He hadn’t opened it, but the shooting story was above the fold.

“Yeah, I saw that.”

“That was wild, wasn’t it?” the man said.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Jeff asked.

“I just wanted to tell you, that’s gonna happen here. Tomorrow. Well, later today, I guess, since it’s already tomorrow.”

Jeff sat up a little straighter in his seat, turned down a radio that was putting out a lot of static. “How would you know something like that, sir?” Jeff asked.

“Because I’m going to do it.”

“You? You’re going to go into a restaurant and shoot a bunch of people?”

“I’ve been thinking about doing something like that for a long time. Then this guy did it. If he can do it, I can do it. I’m ready.”

“Who am I talking to?” Jeff asked.

“My name’s Tim,” he said.

“How you doing, Tim. I’m Jeff.”

“Hello, Jeff.”

The guy sounded so fucking calm, Jeff thought. He grabbed his pen and started making notes in the spiral notebook he always kept on hand.

“What’s your last name, Tim?” he asked, feeling his pulse slowly quicken.

“I don’t think I should give you that.”

“Okay, that’s fine. I get that. So, this thing in California. That didn’t exactly work out well for the shooter, you know. He’s dead. If you decide to do what he did, you know, you’re probably going to end up the same way.”

“I know.”

“So, if you want my opinion,” Jeff said, and uttered a nervous laugh, “I’d reconsider.” There was a pause at the other end of the line. “You there, Tim?”

“I’m here.”

“You heard what I said?”

“I did. But I’m going to do it anyway. I don’t care what happens to me.”

Jeff looked through the glass. Fifty feet away, Larry was sitting at his computer terminal, tapping away. Jeff started waving, trying to get his attention.

“Nothing really matters anymore,” Tim said.

“Don’t say that,” Jeff said, still waving. He stood, banged lightly on the glass. Not so loud that the caller would hear, but loud enough, he hoped, that he could get Larry’s attention.

Take your eyes off the fucking screen , Jeff thought.

“Why’s that?” Jeff asked. “Why would you say nothing matters?”

Larry noticed movement in the corner of his eye, stopped looking at the screen, and glanced Jeff’s way. Jeff waved him in urgently. Larry pushed his chair back, stood, and started walking toward the radio room at a leisurely pace.

Could you walk a little slower maybe? Jeff thought.

“My marriage broke up, for one thing,” Tim said. “I never should have gotten married in the first place. We weren’t right together. It was a mistake. I thought I’d got her pregnant, and I guess I did. But then she lost the baby before the wedding date, but I didn’t feel I could back out then. You know, sometimes you feel talked into these things, there’s nothing you can do to get out of it, and then it’s too late.”

“Yeah, sure, I hear ya,” Jeff said as Larry stepped into the room.

“What’s going—”

Jeff put his finger to his lips. He started writing a note, in block letters, on his notepad. He tore it off and handed it to Larry while he kept listening to Tim.

CALL COPS. GUY NAMED TIM SAYS HES GOING TO SHOOT BUNCH OF PEOPLE TODAY.

It took Larry half a second to read the note. He mouthed two words: “Tim who?”

Jeff shook his head quickly, said, “Yeah, marriage. You never know how that’s going to work out. I’ve never been married. Thought about it once or twice, but then the women came to their senses.”

Larry ran back to his desk, dropped into his chair, looked at the list of contact numbers taped next to the phone, dialed the police non-emergency line, which connected him to a desk sergeant. He quickly identified himself to the woman who answered.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“My reporter is talking to a guy on the phone who says he’s going to shoot a whole bunch of people later today.”

“What else can you tell me?”

“Not much. His name’s Tim. Other than that, I got no idea.”

“I’m going to put you through to a detective. Hold. I’m gonna brief him before I connect you.”

“Okay.”

Larry waited. About thirty seconds went by before a man came on the line and said, “Durkin here. Who’s this?”

Larry told him, then filled him in on what little he knew.

“Is it this thing in California?” Durkin asked. “Got him all inspired?”

“Maybe.”

“Okay, I’m going to give you my direct line. I’ll be here all night. This is what I want you to tell — what’s your reporter’s name?”

“Jeff.”

“This is what I want you to tell Jeff.”

Larry scribbled, then signed off with Durkin. He ran back to the radio room, where Jeff was still on the phone. Larry handed him the note.

COPS SAY KEEP HIM ON LINE.

When Jeff got that far, he gave Larry a look that said, “Really? Never would have thought of that.”

The rest of the note read: GET FULL NAME, ANYTHING ABOUT HIM. ADDRESS.

Jeff rolled his eyes, tossed the note back, gave Larry a thumbs-up, mouthed “Brilliant.” Then said, into the phone, “We’ve all been there, I know.”

Jeff had taken more notes while Larry was on the phone with the police. He handed them over.

MARRIAGE BROKE UP. LOST JOB. WONT SAY WHERE HE WORKED. BIT OF ACCENT, THINK MAYBE PA.

Larry pointed to the last word. Jeff mouthed “Pennsylvania.” Then shrugged, suggesting he might be wrong. Larry nodded, then ran back to his desk to make another call.

Tim said, “I hope I’m not keeping you from something.”

Jeff said, “No problem. I’m just on the graveyard shift, killing time.” Soon as he said the words graveyard and killing he wondered if he should be choosing his words more carefully.

“You always have to work these kinds of hours?” Tim asked.

“I haven’t done this shift for a while. I’m doing a double.”