"Private Number" - Act I, Scene A Private Ron Number sits in his cramped, messy office down at the police department, stale smoke hanging in the room like a cloud. The department was too damn cheap too fix his damn ceiling fan, Number figured, as he shook his head in annoyance. The phone rang and Private Number answered it in his typical gruff, could-probably-use-a-lozenge voice... "Ron Number." "Oh, sorry. Good bye." (* Click *) The dial tone resumed. The caller on the other end had hung up. " Goddammit !" The detective slammed down the phone. " Sixth time this morning!" Private Number lit up another cigarette. It was the third cigarette of the fourth pack of smokes he'd had that day, and it wasn't even lunchtime yet. He'd been up for 94 straight hours trying to track down the Dirt Bag and he was fucking tired. He didn't have time for this shit. "And why the hell do they always apologize before ...
(now known as The Riverside Times)