A Phone Booth in London
T he bar woman the Pillar had talked to earlier stood in the phone booth, tapping her feet. She could not believe the Pillar gave her a million pounds. The cheque didn’t bounce. The bank she collected the money from seemed ready for the end of the world. The Pillar had left her their phone number, and they welcomed her.
A limousine came and picked her up. The chauffeur was mousy-looking but polite and friendly. He drove her to an underground fortress. Those people were ready for the end of the world. She wondered if the Pillar opened the bank, but she dared not ask.
She met with the welcoming staff, congratulating her on the million pounds. They treated her not just like a lottery winner, but like a woman who was going to save the world.
“You’ll be doing something special,” the sleepy clerk behind the desk told her. “You deserve more than this.”
“Why?” she said.
“If Mr. Pillar chose you then he must know why. It’s a noble job.”
She let out a distressed chuckle. “Didn’t know that taking the money I didn’t work for was noble.”
The sleepy man smiled and signed the cheque, “Please take it, Mrs…” he read her name on the paper. “Mother Bird?”
“Don’t laugh at my name,” she said, taking the cheque. “My mother named me Mother.”
He nodded. “I hope the Bird family is proud now.”
“With all this money, I can open a bar on Mars.”
The sleepy man shook his head, “I’d have bigger plans if I were you.”
“The world is ending anyway,” she tucked the cheek in.
“Maybe. Maybe not,” he said. “The phone call you’ll make will save the world.”
“About that,” she leaned forward on the desk. “What do you people do? Drugs?”
The man on the desk laughed, “Smart woman.”
“So drugs still make money after the world ends?”
“I didn’t say we deal in drugs. I just found it funny.”
“Then what? What kind of phone call is worth a million pounds?”
The man smiled and stood up, about to fall again from the need to sleep. He shook her hand, handing her another piece of paper. “Here you will find the phone number you have to call.”
She read the number. A local one in London. Why wouldn’t they make the call themselves? “What’s that?” She pointed at the paper.
“Ah, that’s the time you have to make the number.”
“That’s not exactly a time,” she looked suspiciously at him.
“Right,” the man said. “Whenever this ‘event’ in the paper happens, you have to call the number.”
“This event?” she laughed. “This is nonsense. What’s written on the paper will never happen. Stuff like that will never happen in this life.”
“If Mr. Pillar says it will, then it will.”
She let out a sigh and tucked the paper in. “Can’t complain about a million pounds in my suitcase, I guess.”
“It won’t be long,” the sleepy man explained. “This event should happen in a few hours.”
“I suppose I have to stick by the phone booth then.”
“Just for a few hours, Mrs. Bird. It’s an easy job.”
“And what should I say when I follow the instructions and call this number?”
“Say what’s written on the note I gave you. It’s crucial that you say this exactly.”
She stopped herself from rolling her eyes and offending anyone in the bank. The words on the note were nonsensical as hell. She could not imagine this nonsense was ever going to save the world. “Tell me, Mister.”
“Yes.”
“Is this shit for real? I mean this isn’t some show with a candid camera. You will not end up taking this money from me and making me look like a fool on some cable TV?”
“It’s not a show. It’s real life. As nonsensical as real life gets.”
“All right,” she nodded and shook his hand. “Nice doing nonsensical business with you, Mr—?”
“Dormouse,” he gave her half a smile before dosing off a little. “I used to be an Inspector. You may have read about my murder by Mr. Pillar in the news.”
“I don’t read the news. So you’re supposed to be dead, but you’re not?”
“I was chasing Mr. Pillar, and he shot me. It was a marshmallow bullet. He then told me about his mission in life, and I was infatuated. Since then I work for him, secretly of course.”
“Did he give you a million pounds too?”
“No, a perfect bed with a seven-inch mattress and extra fluffy pillows,” Dormouse said. “Just what I need.”
Now, Mrs. Bird stood in the phone booth, waiting for that absurd event to happen so she could make that phone call. Tapping her feet again, she resisted calling that number sooner. What the hell was this all about?