Page 40 of Playworld

“You’re on the third floor. I got you, Etan. Don’t worry. I’m gonna call the police and we’re gonna come get you.”

“Can’t you stay on the phone with me?”

“Kid, I have to hang up just for a second and call the police.”

“Okay, but, mister, before you do, I should probably tell you—”

“Tell me anything, Etan, it’s going to be okay.”

“It’s that, it’s that—”

“It’s what? Tell me.”

“It’s that you’re the most gullible asshole I’ve ever talked to in my life.”

Very gently, Oren hung up the phone. He looked at me, then at Cliff, and finally at Tanner, with a that’s-how-it’s-done expression.

Even Tanner joined us in our reverential applause.

“My turn,” I said.

I called the pay phone on Sixty-Third and Central Park West. Someone answered on the first ring.

“Who’s this?” I said.

“Who’s this?”

“Griffin.”

“Well, Griffin, I think you have the wrong number,” the man said.

“Is this 787-3858?” I asked.

“It is.”

“Is this the pay phone next to the YMCA?” I said.

“It is. You know what that means?”

“What?”

“That it’s fate I picked up. Swear to God, I’ve been waiting for your call.”

“You have?”

“When the student is ready the mentor appears.”

“Help me, Obi-Wan, you’re my only hope.”

“I’m dead serious.”

“So am I.”

“Then meet me in fifteen minutes by the rocks in Sheep Meadow, and I’ll tell you the meaning of life.”

And he hung up.

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