Cold Night

ONE

Someone on the other end of the phone said, "Barker Agency?"

"Yes."

"Who's this?"

"Paine."

"You'll do. I want you to go to the Mallard Hotel and ask at the desk for a letter addressed to Mr. Johnson from Mr. Grumbach. I'm Grumbach. You'll be Johnson. The letter will tell you what has to be done. There are five one-hundred-dollar bills in the envelope along with the letter. That's your payment. There won't be anything but a verbal contract on this, but I'm assuming I can trust you to do what the letter says."

"My boss won't let me work without a written contract," Paine said.

"You'll have to," Grumbach said.

"Why?"

"I'm going to hang myself."

"Mr. Grumbach?" Paine said, but then he heard what sounded like the tap of a phone being laid on a table and then the scrape and fall of a chair. He heard a single strangled cry, and then a terrible gasping, and then he heard what he imagined to be the man's feet kicking the phone from its table. He heard the loud bang of a phone receiver hitting the floor, and then silence.

"Mr. Grumbach?" Paine said evenly into the phone. There was no answer.

Paine's hand was trembling.

"Oh, Jesus," he said.