So What Happens To Me?

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The sound of the telephone bell brought me awake. I looked at the bedside clock. The time was 09.05. I threw of the sheet and swung my legs to the floor. Through the thin ceiling I could hear my old man answering the telephone. The call had to be for me. He scarcely ever had calls. I struggled into my dressing gown, and by the time I had reached the landing, he was calling for me.

‘Someone wants you Jack.’ he said. ‘Poison... Bolson... I didn’t get his name.’

I took the stairs in three jumps, aware my old man was looking sadly at me.

‘I’m just off,’ he said. ‘I wish you’d get up a little earlier. We could have had breakfast together.’

‘Yeah.’

I swept into the tiny, drab living room and grabbed up the receiver.

‘This is Jack Crane,’ I said as I watched my old man walk down the path to his five-year-old Chevy for another stint at the bank.

‘Hi! Jack!’

Thirteen months rolled away. I would know that voice anywhere and I stiffened to attention.

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