The telephone on the night table jangled jarringly.
Johnny Liddell grunted, turned over and tried to bury his head in the pillow. The phone continued to screech at him.
Finally he managed to get his eyes open. He glared at the instrument with no appreciable effect on its insistence. He reached a hand out, snagged the receiver. For a moment he debated the advisability of leaving the receiver off its hook and enjoying the blessed silence. He dropped the decision, relayed the instrument to his ear. “Yeah?”
“You sure took your time about answering,” Pinky’s voice scolded him.
“I didn’t take long enough,” Liddell grunted. “What could be on your mind at this hour?”
“At this hour?” Pinky sniffed. “You’re just lucky I decided to get in late today. Andrew Reeves’ secretary’s been bugging the a
