Nothing Good Happens After Midnight: A Suspense Magazine Anthology

Night Shift Linwood Barclay

It’s 12:35 a.m. and the retired newspaperman, Larry, looks at his watch and says to the guy sitting on the barstool next to him, “I should probably get home. Looks like my buddy’s not gonna make it.”

The other guy, who introduced himself as Frank when he sat down next to Larry more than an hour ago, says, “Well, it’s been a pleasure talking to you. You sure have some good stories. I had a friend, worked for a big paper like yours, he had no end of great stories. And he wasn’t even a reporter. He was an editor. But he still had his share of tales.”

“Same here. I was an editor most of my time at the paper. Started as a reporter. Most everyone does. But ended up working on the desk. City desk, mostly. Did some time on foreign, too.”

“This friend,” Frank says, “was so tired half the time. He worked the overnight shift.”

“That’s the worst.”

“But he said some pretty weird stuff could happen in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, well, the real struggle can be staying awake,” Larry says. “I worked overnights for a couple of years straight. Don’t know how I survived it, but I was a young man, could take the abuse. Coming in at eleven, driving home at six in the morning. Nearly ran off the road a couple of times. But if something happens, that can get the adrenaline flowing. Keeps you awake.”

“All the nutcases come out at night, I bet,” Frank says.

“No shit. Sometimes they’d wander right into the newsroom. Come into the building, head up the elevator. This was back in the eighties, before everyone started tightening up security. Had a guy come in once, wielding a shock absorber. Swear to God. Started swinging it around like a baseball bat. Cops came in and got him. And the switchboard would shut down at midnight, so anyone who phoned the paper, the call went right to the newsroom, so I’d be at my desk, editing a story, writing a headline for something that was to go into the morning edition, which closed at one-thirty, and the phone’d ring, and it’d be some guy complaining that his paper was late.”

Frank laughs. “Who calls in the middle of the night about a late paper?”

Larry shakes his head. “Exactly.”

“What was the weirdest thing that ever happened to you on overnights?”

Larry thinks a moment. “Oh, here’s an interesting one.” He glances at his watch again. “What the hell. Oh, and keep in mind, this was before caller ID and call display and all that stuff.”

“Okay,” says Frank.

“Let me get another beer.”

And this is the story Larry tells:

The guy who said he was going to kill as many people as possible the following day called into the newsroom at five minutes past one.

Larry, the overnight city editor, had arrived two hours earlier, relieving Charlene from her duties on the desk. She’d just overseen the production of the metro pages, all the local news, and was in the process of typing up a turnover note that included a list of things that might need to be checked on over the next several hours, or followed up on the next day.

“Mikey’s at a late night city council meeting where they might vote on putting in bike lanes on Connor Street,” she told Larry. “So he might file a top to his story. But if nothing new happens, you won’t hear from him. Oh, and there was a house fire on Wilton. Heard about it on the scanner. Just a one-alarm, doesn’t look huge, but sent Guffman in case it’s worth a pic. Otherwise, things couldn’t be deader. National had the big story tonight. You’ll have an easy shift.”

“Don’t say that,” Larry said. “Last time you said that, three minutes after you left they found that kid’s body in the attic.”

Charlene smiled. “Over to you. Oh, and you’ve got Jeff in the radio room. Harvey booked off sick so Jeff’s doing a double.”

“Anybody call Melanie to come in early so Jeff doesn’t have to stay until six?”

“Tried. She must have left the phone off the hook. She’s no fool.”

Charlene took off and Larry got settled into his seat on the city desk. Got signed onto the newsroom computer system, checked for any personal inter-office messages. He’d asked for the second week of August off and wondered if the city editor had gotten back to him. She had not.

About fifteen minutes into the shift, the early copies of the first edition to roll off the presses were delivered to the newsroom by the copy boy. He dumped a stack of them on the city desk, then continued to distribute them to various offices.

Larry unfolded the paper so he could see the entire front page. Most of it was devoted to an event on the other side of the country. A man with a high-powered rifle had gone into a fast-food joint near Monterey and started picking off people one by one. Twenty dead, fifteen injured. A police sniper took out the shooter. The only other story on the front was an update on a local highway expansion. The massacre turned inside to four clear pages of sidebars.

Larry scanned the headlines, looking for glaring typos. Nothing jumped out at him, so he turned inside, had a look at pages two and three. This was followed by a quick sweep through the main section. A fast read of headlines, and a read of Charlene’s note, brought him up to speed on everything he was going to need to know. The city council bike path story, the one that might need updating, was on page six.

He got out of his seat and strolled across the newsroom to the glass room-within-a-room that was known as the radio room. It was filled with radio scanners that picked up chatter on all the police and fire channels. If a reporter heard something that sounded like a story, he could head out, or alert the city desk, and they’d despatch someone.

Sitting in the chair tonight was Jeff. If something happened, he’d be the one who was despatched. He was the entire reporting staff on the graveyard shift.

“How’s it going?” Larry asked.

Jeff shrugged. He had one ear for Larry, the other on the constant stream of static and chatter coming from the radios. There was always talk going on. What you listened for was a change in tone. Cops or firefighters raising their voices, talking hurriedly. That was when you knew something was up.

“Got stuck doing a double?”

Jeff said, “This is the third time Harvey’s done this to me, and it’s always on a Sunday night, when I know he’s in Boston, where he’s got this new girlfriend. He wants a three-day weekend with her, the asshole. So while I’m sittin’ here, trying to keep my fucking eyes open, he’s gettin’ his knob polished.”

“Looks quiet, anyway,” Larry said.

Jeff shrugged again. “Who knows.”

“Want a coffee? I’m going down to the caf.”

“Please.” Jeff went to dig some change out of his pocket but Larry raised a hand.

“I got it.”

Larry departed. Jeff folded his arms on the desk to make a pillow and slowly lowered his head onto them. He was still like that when Larry came back with the coffee.

“You nod off?”

“Nope,” Jeff lied. He knew, even if he was asleep, urgent-sounding voices on the radios would have brought him around.

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.”

“A double?”

“A double shift. I was supposed to be off at eleven, but the guy who was supposed to relieve me booked off sick, so I’m here till six.”

“Nice guy.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Right now some girl’s rockin’ his world. So what kind of work did you do? What’d you get laid off from?”

“Retail,” he said. “A mall job. Laid off makes it sound like they were cutting back. It wasn’t exactly like that for me.”

“What happened?”

“I talked back to a rude customer. Got fired.”

“What’d you do, exactly?” Jeff asked.

“Someone was trying to return something without a receipt. I think they actually stole it from another store and brought it to us for a refund. Happens all the time. Sometimes right in the store. They find something on the rack, tear off the tags, come up asking for their money back. I told her to take a hike and she complained to the manager and I got fired.”

“Sounds like you were trying to do the right thing.”

“I don’t know. If I’d just given her the refund there wouldn’t have been all the fuss. Store doesn’t want bad publicity, customers bad-mouthing the place. But people are so dishonest. People are awful.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve got a few subscribers call in and they’re not so nice, either. So... what store was this?”

“Just a store. Doesn’t matter.” He paused. “It’s nice talking to you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Jeff said. “You sound like a nice guy.”

“Thanks.” Another pause. “I guess they won’t be saying that, this time tomorrow. After I’ve done it.”

Their conversation became long and meandering. Small talk. Jeff telling him where he’d gone on his last vacation — it was a fishing trip and he’d caught a muskellunge that was nearly four feet — the first paper he worked for, a girl he once dated whose father was in a TV series. Anything to keep the guy on the line.

Back at his desk, Larry had been telling Durkin that the guy on the phone with Jeff just lost his job, and his wife, and he might be from Pennsylvania, although that was just a guess.

“That’s not a lot to work with,” Durkin said.

“I know. It’s all Jeff’s got right now. Can’t you just trace the line?”

“That’s not as simple to set up as they make it look on TV. Be a lot easier if your guy could just get us a name. Get Jeff to be his friend.”

“He’s doing that.”

“Yeah, well, tell him to stick with it. Really sympathize. His name’s Tim, right? Tell him to use his name a lot.”

So Larry wrote another note to Jeff that said COPS REALLY NEED NAME and CALL HIM TIM A LOT and BE LIKE A FRIEND. He knew that was only going to prompt Jeff to roll his eyes again, like he couldn’t figure out this shit on his own.

Larry looked back at the radio room, saw Jeff still on the phone. He ran back, tossed the note in front of Jeff, and shrugged, as if to say, “I know.”

To Tim, Jeff said, “I guess I don’t see how killing a bunch of people is going to make any difference, Tim.”

“It’ll make a difference,” Tim said.

“Yeah, but how? You walk in, start shooting all over the place, you’re probably going to hit some kids and moms and stuff. How’s that making your situation any better?”

“It makes an impact,” he said. “It makes a statement.”

“What if you end up shooting me? I mean, here we are talking, we’re making a connection. We’re getting to be friends over the phone, and then tomorrow, I’ll go into some place to get a burger and fries and you’ll walk in and shoot me.”

“Where do you usually go?” Tim asked. “I’ll pick a different place so it won’t be you. Or maybe you should just stay home tomorrow.”

“You’re missing my point, Tim. If it’s not me, it could be someone else you know. Some acquaintance. Maybe some friend you had in school, you walk in and end up killing his mother or his sister or something. You don’t want to do that.”

Tim went quiet, as if considering what Jeff had to say. “That’s kind of what my psychiatrist says.”

“Well, there you go,” Jeff said. “I don’t even have a degree or anything in psychiatry and I’m as smart as your shrink.” He tried another laugh. “Pretty good, huh? Maybe I should be charging you for this call. That’s a joke.”

“I guess what you’re saying is common sense.”

“I mean, Tim, come on. Why’d you phone in? Why’d you call into the newsroom to tell me this?”

“I guess... I don’t know.”

“I think you do. Come on. Think harder. You called the newsroom, didn’t know who you’d get, but you got me, and we’re talking, and you know why you did this?”

“You tell me,” Tim said.

“You wanted me to talk you out of it. That’s why you called. You wanted whoever picked up the phone to talk you out of it.”

Jeff glanced at the row of clocks that hung high on the newsroom wall. There was half a dozen of them, showing the correct time in London and Munich and Jerusalem and Beijing and Los Angeles. The sixth one was local time, and it read 3:14 a.m. Jesus, Jeff thought. He’d been on the phone with this guy for more than two hours. And that coffee Larry’d bought him was already looking for a way to escape. What was it they said about coffee? You only rented it? Jeff really needed to take a piss, but there was no way he could end this call and go strolling off to the bathroom.

He eyed the trash can under the desk. If he had to, he’d take a piss in that.

Jeff wrote down more notes on his pad, then waved at Larry. This time, Larry was already looking in his direction. He sprinted across the newsroom.

Jeff’s note read: WORKED RETAIL. WONT SAY WHERE. SAYS HE’S STILL GOING TO DO IT. SEEING A SHRINK. SOUNDS LIKE MAYBE HE’LL DO IT AT LUNCH TIME WHEN PLACES BUSY.

Larry read the note, nodded, went back to his desk.

He placed another call to Durkin, read him Jeff’s note.

Durkin said, “What was that part about a shrink?”

“Just what I said. Seeing a shrink. So I guess Tim is seeing a psychiatrist. Sounds like the kind of guy who should be seeing a psychiatrist.”

“We need that shrink’s name. Tell Jeff to ask him what his psychiatrist’s name is.”

Larry scribbled GET PSYCH’S NAME, ended the call, and ran back to the radio room. He handed the slip of paper to Jeff, who glanced at it, nodded, tossed it aside.

“This is for all the people who’ve cheated me and betrayed me,” Tim said. “Like my wife and my manager and everyone. My parents, too. They were never there for me when I needed them. My father, he never gave me credit for anything. He was ashamed of me. He was this big college football star. I was never any good at sports.”

“Me, neither,” Jeff said. He told a story about how, of all the things he had to do in phys ed, he was the absolute worst at lacrosse. “They wanted me to catch a tiny little ball in a tiny little net at the end of a fucking stick. Was not going to happen.”

“I hated all of it. I’ve never been very coordinated. Whenever they’d pick teams, like in gym, I would always be picked last.”

“I hear ya,” Jeff said. “I like to joke that when they got to me, they’d see if they could get someone from another school.”

That actually prompted a chuckle from Tim.

“You know what?” Jeff said. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t you come down here, to the paper, for when I get off at six? We’ll go get some breakfast, talk this out. There’s a really good diner close to the paper, open twenty-four hours. They do a great omelet. My treat.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’d be a trap.”

“What?”

“A trap. You’d tell the police and they’d come and get me.”

“No, man, it’d just be to talk. How long have we been talking? I feel like we’ve developed a level of trust between us. Look, I won’t lie to you. I don’t want you to go into a burger joint today and shoot a whole bunch of people to death. So, yeah, I got an agenda. But that’s it.”

“I don’t think so. I have to do what I have to do.”

“Okay, so, you know what I would have to do.”

“What?”

“Soon as you get off the line, we’d have to put out a warning. Tell everybody not to go to their favorite restaurant today because we got a tip someone was going to walk in and start shooting. So, even if you were still going to do this, there wouldn’t be anyone to shoot. Everyone would be on guard, you know what I’m saying?”

“I guess you would have to do that,” he said. “I wouldn’t blame you for doing that.”

“Thanks.”

“So I’d just have to make it another day. Maybe next week.”

“No, no. You’d have to call the whole thing off.”

“I have the guns,” Tim said.

“Yeah?”

“Like, more than one. So if I run out of bullets with the first one, I can switch to the other. It’ll take the police a while to get there. I think I can kill a lot of people by then.”

“Jesus, Tim, if I can’t talk you out of this, think what it’s going to do to my conscience.” Jeff paused, thinking. “I’m gonna have a lot to unload on my own psychiatrist next time I go.”

“You’re seeing someone, too?”

“I thought everybody had a shrink,” Jeff said. “Who isn’t fucked up, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, we all got problems.”

“Be a small world if we were both seeing the same head shrinker,” Jeff said. He grabbed a section of newspaper at random, scanned the page for a name, any name. He spotted an entertainment piece about that sitcom that takes place in a Boston bar. “I’m seeing Dr. Danson. Any chance that’s who you’re seeing?”

“No, I’m seeing Dr. Willoughby,” he said. “He’s nice, but I don’t think he’s really doing anything for me.”

Jeff wrote DR. WILLOUGHBY on his notepad and started waving it in front of the glass. Larry came running, ripped the note from Jeff’s pad, ran back to his desk and dialed.

“Durkin.”

“I got a name,” Larry said. “The psychiatrist. The one Tim’s seeing.”

“Fire away.”

“Willoughby. I’m not sure of the spelling. I’ve got a phone book right in front of me. Hang on.”

Larry dropped the receiver, dragged over the thick yellow pages directory, and opened it to psychiatrists. “Willoughby. Willoughby. Yes!” He grabbed the receiver. “I’ve found a listing for a doctor with that name. I’ve got an address and a phone number.”

“Office address?” asked Durkin.

“I guess.”

“Not going to do a lot of fucking good at four in the morning. I need a residence. We gotta wake this doc up and talk to him. We’ve got our own resources.”

Larry heard Durkin put the phone down at his end. He had to wait for more than a minute before Durkin came back.

“Okay, thanks,” he said, and ended the call.

Larry put the receiver back on the base and said, “You’re welcome.”

He wrote GAVE COPS NAME on a slip of paper and delivered it to Jeff, who gave him a thumbs-up.

“Maybe I should do it sooner,” Tim said. “Find a breakfast place.”

“Aw, come on, Tim.”

“If you’re going to get the word out, I need to act sooner. Gotta get this done before you can issue a warning.”

“Okay, okay, listen, let’s talk about this. Let’s talk about — let’s talk about your family. Things didn’t work out with your wife, but... what about kids? You got kids?”

“No. I told you. She lost the baby before we got married. Aren’t you listening?”

“Yeah, but I thought maybe you had another one. What about parents? I know you said your dad was a shit, I heard the college football stuff, but what about your mom? She still with us?”

“Yeah. She is. But she’s in a nursing home.”

“She got all her marbles?”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s she going to say?”

“Huh?”

“When she turns on the news and finds out her son shot a whole bunch of people? How’s she supposed to go on after that? Everyone pointing to her on the street, saying, ‘See that lady? It was her son that killed all those people.’ Is it fair to do that to her?”

Tim didn’t say anything for a moment. “I don’t care.”

“Come on. She’s your mom.”

“I want her to know. I want her to have to deal with this. She’s got it coming.”

Jeff couldn’t hold it any longer. He pulled the wastepaper basket out from under the desk, stood, unzipped and let loose, just as Larry stepped into the room.

“Shit, sorry,” he whispered and stepped back.

Jeff shook his head tiredly. When he was done, he tucked himself back in place as best he could with one hand still holding the phone, listening to Tim the entire time. He sat back down and pushed the can back under the desk.

Larry re-entered the room, scribbled on Jeff’s pad NO NEWS. ANYTHING I CAN DO?

Jeff managed a grin, pointed to the can. Larry declined the offer to take it to the men’s room to empty it and instead went back to his desk. Along the way, he glanced at the wall clock. It was nearly four-thirty.

Thank God, he thought, nothing else happened tonight. The fire turned out to be nothing, and Mike had never filed a new top to the bike lane story. Council must not have come to a decision. Had there been some overnight development, there was no way he could have pulled Jeff off that phone call to deal with it. Not with God knew how many lives at stake.

His phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Durkin. Just thought I’d let you know. We found the psychiatrist. Sent a car over to his house, woke him up. They asked him, you got a patient who might be inclined to go into a crowded place and shoot up a whole bunch of people? Oh no, he says. I know just who that would be.”

“He told them? He gave you guys a name?”

“In this kind of circumstance? Yeah, he gave us a name. Tell your reporter to keep him on the line just a little while longer.”

“I will.”

“And there’s something I want to talk to you about after,” Durkin said.

“I’m here till six.”

“Okay.”

The detective ended the call. Larry ran back to Jeff with one last note: KEEP HIM TALKING LITTLE WHILE LONGER.

Jeff nodded.

Tim was saying, “Maybe not a place where people go to eat. I got a better idea. Maybe the subway. There’ll be hundreds of people down on the platform. Just before the train comes in, I can jump on the tracks. I think that’d be a good way to go out.”

“I went to one of those once,” Jeff said.

“One of what?”

“Jumper, in the subway. Man, that is not the way you want to go out. He was in pieces.”

“But it’ll be fast,” Tim said.

“They’ll be looking all over the place to find all your bits,” Jeff said.

“You’re not scaring me. But I appreciate you talking to me. I’m gonna go now.”

“No man, hang on. Let’s keep talking. Can I tell you something?”

“What?”

“I just took a piss in a trash can.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. Whipped it out, took a whiz right here at my work station. Good thing you called in the middle of the night. Doing that in the day, women around, that could get me in a little trouble with personnel, you know?”

Tim chuckled. “That is pretty — hang on.”

“What?”

“There’s someone knocking at my door. Let me just see who it is.”

Jeff could hear Tim put the phone down. In the distance, some indistinct talking. And then, fumbling, someone picking up the phone.

A different voice. Female. She said, “It’s over. Thanks for your help.”

And then she hung up.

That was it.

Jeff put down the phone. “Jesus,” he said, putting his head down on the table.

Larry saw him hang up and ran over.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I guess it was the cops. They knocked, he answered, it’s over. Christ, I’m shaking.”

Larry found that he was, too. “Man, what a night. Holy shit. You know what you did? Do you know?”

Jeff looked at him blankly. “If you mean taking a piss right here, yeah, I can kinda smell it.”

“You fuckin’ just saved a whole bunch of people’s lives.”

Jeff offered another one of his familiar shrugs. “I don’t know. Fuck. I am totally wired.” He ran his fingers through his hair.

The phone on Larry’s desk was ringing. Larry ran back, snatched the receiver up.

“It’s done,” Durkin said. “Just wanted to thank you guys, and ask you a favor.”

“What’s that?”

“Sit on this one for a bit? I mean, I know I can’t tell you what to print and not to print, but this guy, he got inspired by that mass shooting, and you wonder how many others might be feeling the same way. Just... sit on it. Talk to your dayside editor. This guy’s probably going to be taken for psychiatric assessment. He’s probably suicidal.”

“I’ll leave something in my turnover note,” Larry said.

“You guys did good. You did real good. I might actually stop hating your paper so much for how you cover the cops.” He paused. “Nah, I’ll still hate ya. Gotta go.”

Durkin ended the call.

Larry realized Jeff was standing right there next to him.

“Where the fuck do you get a drink at five-thirty in the morning?” he asked.

“I happen to know where the photogs keep a bottle in the darkroom.”

“Lead the way.”

“And that’s what happened,” Larry said. “A crazy night. Jesus, look at the time.”

“Did you ever find out what happened to the guy?” Frank asked, still sitting on the stool next to him.

Larry shook his head. “No, never did. We ended up not doing a story on it. Partly, we thought it would be blowing our own horn too much. ‘Paper saves city from massacre.’ Nah, this was one of those times when we went along with what the cops wanted.”

“What do you think happened?”

Larry tried to get the last drop out of his beer glass. “I don’t know. Maybe he got the help he needed, turned his life around. Or maybe he had just one fuckup after another. Someone like that, who knows. Do they get their life together, or do they get worse and worse?”

“You know what I think happened?” Frank said. “I think that arrest, it was like the first domino. He got dragged into the system, never got the help he wanted. Things got worse and worse for him over the years. In and out of institutions, maybe some time in jail. My guess is, he was having a bad night, that he never would have gone and killed all those people, that he just needed someone to talk to, and he happened to connect with this Jeff guy, started to think he really was a friend, that he honest-to-God actually gave a shit about him, and had no idea that he and his editor were working behind the scenes with the cops to get him, to betray his sorry ass.”

Larry, slightly glassy-eyed, took a closer look at his drinking partner.

“And by the way, my name’s not Frank,” Tim said. “And Jeff asked me to pass on his regrets about not being able to make it tonight. Took a long time to track down the two of you.”

And that was when Tim reached inside his jacket for something.

Larry said, “Son of a—”