He knew it was a remote chance the guy would see the notice in the personals, or that a friend might see it and tell him-if the guy had a friend and if he hadn’t moved away and a few more ifs. Still, he had to give it a chance. And if the guy did call and the line was busy-he didn’t know anything about the guy, if he was impatient or if he’d wait and try again. He wanted at least to cover all the bases, so he could hand in a full report and show them what he did for the three hundred. It surprised him a little that he felt this way, that he was conscientious.

By the time the phone rang again, at a quarter past four, Ryan had decided sitting by a telephone was a pretty dumb way to make a buck, and if the guy didn’t call by five, he’d go for a ride and lay some paper on somebody.

Ryan said hello and the voice on the other end said, “What do you want?” There were faint sounds in the background, voices and music. Country music.

“Who is this?”

“That’s what I want to know. Who’re you?”

“My name’s Ryan. I represent someone who’s looking for-”

“What is it?”

“Ryan. R-y-a-n.”

“You want Robert Leary, it said call this number. What do you want?”

“I’m trying to tell you,” Ryan said. “Are you Robert Leary, Jr.?”

“What is it you want?”

“Tell me something. What year were you born?”

“What year…” There was a pause. “You said call this number. What do you want?”

“I want to know if I’m talking to Robert Leary, Jr.”

“This is him.”

“You in a bar?… You drinking?”

There was a pause again and the background sound was blocked out, as though a hand had been placed over the phone.