The mid Night-Shift street is nearly empty. Someone in a flowing dress gazing out the window while piano music pys from their apartment. The cnking of an urbigator on an adjacent street. I walk through the fog, my shadow, my animating force leeching into the dead mist. I don't see anyone. Of course, the low hum of Our Fair city surrounds and penetrates me. The mist swirls and whirls as I pass through it.

  I stop.

  I'm drunk, for one thing.

  For another, I couldn't go on like this. I'm leaving a trail of shadowy breadcrumbs which lead right to me, a big fat piece of bread for anyone who's lost their self entirely to try and find. And I feel like someone is watching me.

  I sit on a bench and pull out the New York Post from my pocket. I reach for my keys and grab for the one to Misty's old apartment. I set the the case, ready to tuck into that apple. I start fumbling through my pockets. Couldn't find the key. I hadn't taken it off the ring. Torado. Damn it. I pick up the case. I almost draw my gun and bst it open. My stomach growls as I hear the apple rattle around inside. I fp the paper open and start looking at windows. I look around. Still, that feeling of being observed. It's persistent. Like someone is standing right behind my shoulder, right-

  I turn and look down the street. Through the mist, I see a dark form watching me from the edge of what I can see. Their shape is hard to discern. Someone moving on a rooftop on the opposite side of the street.

  A setup? How?

  Outws from the bar? The figure from the alleyway? The Law? They know I've seen them, but they're keeping on. Not worrier even a little. I raise the paper and rustle it conspicuously, hoping to spook the figure so I could see them better. No reaction. I cough. I would wonder if it was just a trick of the light, if it didn't feel like they’re just staring at me.

  On the paper, a picture of a handsome man in bck, standing in front of a jet pne looking out of frame. His silver watch is dispyed prominently. Text to the right says “Because you have pces to be, and a second saved is a second earned.” Nonsense, of course, but even scraps are useful. Paper mache, for example.

  I turn the paper over. As I look at my lurker, I try to distinguish if they’re wearing blue, or it’s merely the blue light which pervades the mid Night-Shift streets. I skim the stories continued from earlier in the paper. A shooting at a school, pstic in fish guts, local election. I fold the paper and put it in my pocket. In the moments I'd looked away, the figure had vanished.

  I stand and fall into a quick pace. I hear the screech of a dder being hastily deployed, and then footsteps and quick breath behind. A second watcher? Don’t want to look back. I take a makeup case from my pocket and flip open the mirror. A long blue coat and something covering their head. A cane tapping jauntily as they walked. The air is thick and heavy, and our fair city’s fog surrounds us. I can see the silhouette of the Lucky 13 through a gap in the buildings when the fog after rain clears for a moment. Too far to just run. Low piano from the end of the block. A phone booth.

  I run closer, and pull open the door and The Operator’s piano pys tinily from the phone booth's speakers. I step inside and slide the door shut. It's pitch dark. The thick braided wire runs from the guts of the bck smartphone, and a stainless steel bolt locks the bck gss rectangle in pce. The small screen shows a pair of hands pying the piano, bck suitjacket barely visible at the very edge of the screen. It's something cssical, something soft. I slide the door closed. I pick up the microphone which hangs from the ceiling “Hello?"

  The hands reach on top of the piano and flick a switch, continuing to py with one hand. "Go ahead caller, you're On the Line."

  "I’d like to pce a call.” I whisper. This is so embarrassing.

  Both hands return to the piano. "Of course. You're all in the dark darling, Where are you?"

  "It doesn't really matter I don't need-"

  "Ah, there you are. Sandalwood and Sharpshooter booth, out by the Styx eh?" They flick another switch and flickering phone lights strobe in the phonebooth. The lightbulb above is fragmented. Small shards of gss litter the floor, and something else. A small dark disc. I pick it up. It's heavy in my hand. My gut drops.

  "Did you break my light?"

  "No, but." I hoist my leg up and show my blue and pink gumshoes.

  "I see." The operator reaches up and flicks another switch. I put my leg back down. "I've put you on mute. The general popution will still hear my voice."

  "There is sand and a... a strange penny."

  "May I see?" I hold it up to the camera. "Looks perfectly normal to me." They begin pying the piano faster.

  "Look more closely."

  "My other callers imagine you're being lewd, caller. But I must say it doesn't look any different from others I've seen like it."

  "Were you from 20th century America?"

  "Of course not. I'm shocked at the suggestion."

  "It's a penny. From over a hundred years ago."

  The operator keeps pying for a few moments, then says all at once. "I'm sorry, you're very boring." Theit hands move back to the switches above the piano. "You're off mute now caller. Who would you like me to call?" They seem amused as they return to the keys.

  I turn the circur dials on the three combination locks opposite the camera to 13, 03, and 09. I stand aside, showing the numbers.

  They stop pying for a moment, reaching for the switches "I've got it. We have a question from our viewers, they're wondering which shift you work?"

  "Tell them none of their business."

  The operator pauses, then return to the piano. "I put the call through, you might have to wait a moment." They return to the piano. I slump back against the phone booth wall.

  "Hello?" Gale says. "Ah, I was wondering when you'd call." Why are you on public access telephone Gavin, the edge in her voice asks. She can see me, but my screen is just showing the hands and piano keys. Business as usual, in short.

  "I'm trying to get in."

  She is so loving this. I try not to grind my teeth too hard. "Oh, you're trying to get in? You know how to get in Gavin."

  I pull my hat down over my head. “Lost my key.” I’ve never lost a key before this shift, ever. Well, in the afterlife anyway. Lost those things all the time Topside. I’m a good gumshoe and my key ring is a prized possession. Was? But my good name isn’t on the line when I’m On The Line. I just don’t want my ndlord to know I can pay rent owed.

  "You could have just knocked."

  "I have a friend who's company I'm tiring of."

  "Ahh, I see. Why didn't you call Olly?"

  She knows very well that I'm te on rent, but I don't want to have to deal with a pursuer while also trying to expin to the secretary the reason I'm taking the case up to my room before I can dole out whatever liquidity is inside.

  "I don't want to disturb them."

  "Tell me what you've got."

  "The tobacconist made a mistake."

  "Hmm?"

  I nod to the screen showing the hands pying piano. They've shifted to something jazzier.

  "Where's your rope?"

  "Left it inside." The fire escape had been so convenient for my dramatic exit regarding the ndlord.

  She ughs. "Give me five minutes to get dressed."

  "End the call."

  The pianist flicks a switch. "Your video feed is off but you're still on live access. Anything else?"

  I consider holding up the drawing. "That's it."

  "I'm sure if you gave me a little more information, I could offer you a video feed of what's outside your phone booth."

  My stomach lurches. I shake my head, and listen at the door.

  "Are you sure caller? I think you'd find it rather interesting. Is that your friend out there?"

  I hate being On The Line.

  "What about an advertisement?" I offer, lowballing.

  "That works, sure."

  "Try out 'Enkidu's Libation.' Only third story bar I've seen with a wheelchair ramp."

  The screen switches to the fog outside the phone booth. Beelzebub's kulia, perched on the back of a bench with her umbrel on her knees.