“Psych, talk to me,” Gus said.

“Please, please help.” It was the same raspy whisper, but it sounded even more desperate this time. “He’s going to-” A loud click cut the connection.

“No!” Gus wasn’t going to lose this man again. He slammed his finger against the TALK button, praying that the phone company representative was still on the line. “I need to have that call traced, right now.”

“Please listen carefully, as our menu choices have changed,” a chipper man intoned on the line. “For repairs, say ‘repairs.’ For billing, say ‘billing.’ ”

“This is a matter of life and death,” Gus said.

“I’m sorry, I don’t recognize that option,” the voice said. “For account status, say ‘account status.’ For-”

“Help!”

“Okay,” the voice said.

Gus breathed a sigh of relief. He could hear circuits switching as his crucial call was sent to a specialist.

“For help with your account status, say ‘account status,’ ” the voice said. “For help with repairs, say ‘re pairs.’ For help-”

Gus slammed down the receiver. There was no time to waste with a phone company computer. He had to help. The fact that he didn’t know whom he was helping, what he was helping him with, or where the help was needed wasn’t going to stop him. He punched in a series of numbers that would send any calls directly to his cell phone and grabbed his car keys. At least he’d be out stalking the mean streets when the next call came, and he could swoop down wherever he had to be.

He was just heading toward the door when it swung open and Shawn ambled into the office, bouncing a small, hard rubber ball.

“Where have you been?” Gus demanded.

“In this time of technological miracles, it’s easy to think that everything has been invented,” Shawn said as he tossed the ball against the far wall. It flew back into his hand. “And then some fresh genius comes up with something brilliant like Extreme Handball.”