sweat, the bedclothes twisted
into nightmare shapes.
Surely, those dreams would go away in
time. If not, he could put in a call to Dr. Calder at Bateman
College.
He'd worked for Calder on another
case; had come to know and like the chubby little psychologist. If
anyone knew about dreams, Calder would.
All this thinking done while Z was
sitting at his battered desk in his sweltering office, trying to
read a detective novel -- having a tough time even doing that, his
mind wandering.
Since the telephone repairman had just
fixed his desk phone, Z was again located in the second of the
connecting cubbyholes that passed for his office. As before, when
the telephone on his "secretary's" desk rang, Z's phone would also
ring in back: a blessing because Z's knee made it difficult for him
to reach the front phone in time.
Not that Z had that much call-in
business to take care of -- or any other kind of business, for that
matter.
Since Bud's plea for help,
no other cases had materialized, leaving Z hurting for money.
Z could have
accepted Bud's two hundred, adding it to Kunkle's contribution ...
but that would have been against the Zapolska Code. (One of these
days, Z's "code" would starve him to death.)
Z picked up the novel again; a good
one about a black detective back in the fifties; by a writer named
Mosley.
But ... couldn't keep his mind on the
plot.
Damn! There was simply no way that
five candles of wax could have plugged up Kunkle's nose! For Kunkle
to smother, the wax would have had to have been snorted up inside
....
The phone rang -- right there on his
desk -- startling him.
Recovered, Z picked up the
receiver.
"Bob Zapolska Detective Agency." If
Z's pipes were only stronger, he'd sound more impressive
....
"This is Dan -- 'the D.J.'-- Jewell,
fourteen hundred and ninety-two!" The voice that boomed out this
sing-song gibberish was deep, cultured ... and unrecognizable. Z
waited. "Am I speaking to Robert Zapolska in person?"
"Yeah."
"Well, how are you, Big Bob?" Had to
be someone from Z's past; no one called Z "Big Bob"
anymore.
"Fine."
"Didn't get to renew old acquaintances
with you at the party. Too sad. But that's the way of life,
sometimes."
Renew old ....? Ah! Someone coming out
of the left field of Z's high school days.
"The reunion?"
"But of course. We ran in different
circles in the olden days. You, Mr. Football. Me, Mr. Journalism.
But, of course you've heard me since ...?"
"Ah ...."
"On fourteen ninety-two radio? Shock
jock with town talk? Shock plus rock. The Morning Show? Dan -- 'the
D.J.' -- Jewell?"
"Ah ...."
"No matter. There are only two kinds
of listeners. Fans and soon-to-be fans. Just a question of tuning
in once or twice." Followed by a dry chuckle. "But, to business.
Within a week, I begin a new feature. Not yet titled. Something
like 'Law and Disorder.' Something like that. Discussion of law
enforcement in the Kansas City area. With call-ins, always with
call-ins. Dan 'the D.J.' wants to hear from his people. Vox populi,
don't you know.
"I've already lined up all the big
names in town. Cops. Politicians. It was at the reunion where I
heard that you're now a detective. And voila!, there you were in
the Yellow Pages."
The Yellow Pages was about
the only place Z
was, his business hardly more than his ad: "Bob Zapolska Detective
Agency: Quick, Inexpensive. Results Guaranteed."
"So I said to myself," Mr. Radio
continued, Z getting the idea the man was talking more for his own
benefit than for Z's,"you've got to call this man." There was a
pause.
"Why?"
"To get a private detective's input,
of course."
"Why?"
A booming laugh over the line. "The
strong, silent type, is that it? Part of the old P.I.
image?"
Just what did this Dan Jewell guy,
a man Z had never heard of, want? More to the point, what could Z
do to get him to say what he wanted?
"Look," rumbled the big voice over the
little phone, "I'm not telling you anything you don't know when I
say that the reputation of private
into nightmare shapes.
Surely, those dreams would go away in
time. If not, he could put in a call to Dr. Calder at Bateman
College.
He'd worked for Calder on another
case; had come to know and like the chubby little psychologist. If
anyone knew about dreams, Calder would.
All this thinking done while Z was
sitting at his battered desk in his sweltering office, trying to
read a detective novel -- having a tough time even doing that, his
mind wandering.
Since the telephone repairman had just
fixed his desk phone, Z was again located in the second of the
connecting cubbyholes that passed for his office. As before, when
the telephone on his "secretary's" desk rang, Z's phone would also
ring in back: a blessing because Z's knee made it difficult for him
to reach the front phone in time.
Not that Z had that much call-in
business to take care of -- or any other kind of business, for that
matter.
Since Bud's plea for help,
no other cases had materialized, leaving Z hurting for money.
Z could have
accepted Bud's two hundred, adding it to Kunkle's contribution ...
but that would have been against the Zapolska Code. (One of these
days, Z's "code" would starve him to death.)
Z picked up the novel again; a good
one about a black detective back in the fifties; by a writer named
Mosley.
But ... couldn't keep his mind on the
plot.
Damn! There was simply no way that
five candles of wax could have plugged up Kunkle's nose! For Kunkle
to smother, the wax would have had to have been snorted up inside
....
The phone rang -- right there on his
desk -- startling him.
Recovered, Z picked up the
receiver.
"Bob Zapolska Detective Agency." If
Z's pipes were only stronger, he'd sound more impressive
....
"This is Dan -- 'the D.J.'-- Jewell,
fourteen hundred and ninety-two!" The voice that boomed out this
sing-song gibberish was deep, cultured ... and unrecognizable. Z
waited. "Am I speaking to Robert Zapolska in person?"
"Yeah."
"Well, how are you, Big Bob?" Had to
be someone from Z's past; no one called Z "Big Bob"
anymore.
"Fine."
"Didn't get to renew old acquaintances
with you at the party. Too sad. But that's the way of life,
sometimes."
Renew old ....? Ah! Someone coming out
of the left field of Z's high school days.
"The reunion?"
"But of course. We ran in different
circles in the olden days. You, Mr. Football. Me, Mr. Journalism.
But, of course you've heard me since ...?"
"Ah ...."
"On fourteen ninety-two radio? Shock
jock with town talk? Shock plus rock. The Morning Show? Dan -- 'the
D.J.' -- Jewell?"
"Ah ...."
"No matter. There are only two kinds
of listeners. Fans and soon-to-be fans. Just a question of tuning
in once or twice." Followed by a dry chuckle. "But, to business.
Within a week, I begin a new feature. Not yet titled. Something
like 'Law and Disorder.' Something like that. Discussion of law
enforcement in the Kansas City area. With call-ins, always with
call-ins. Dan 'the D.J.' wants to hear from his people. Vox populi,
don't you know.
"I've already lined up all the big
names in town. Cops. Politicians. It was at the reunion where I
heard that you're now a detective. And voila!, there you were in
the Yellow Pages."
The Yellow Pages was about
the only place Z
was, his business hardly more than his ad: "Bob Zapolska Detective
Agency: Quick, Inexpensive. Results Guaranteed."
"So I said to myself," Mr. Radio
continued, Z getting the idea the man was talking more for his own
benefit than for Z's,"you've got to call this man." There was a
pause.
"Why?"
"To get a private detective's input,
of course."
"Why?"
A booming laugh over the line. "The
strong, silent type, is that it? Part of the old P.I.
image?"
Just what did this Dan Jewell guy,
a man Z had never heard of, want? More to the point, what could Z
do to get him to say what he wanted?
"Look," rumbled the big voice over the
little phone, "I'm not telling you anything you don't know when I
say that the reputation of private
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