Caleb glanced up at the phone Damien held by his
fingertips. ‘Looks like yours.’
‘But it ain’t.’
‘But it looks like it...’
Just then the offending machine began to ring. The two men stared at it as it blared out its
‘That’s not your phone,’ Caleb said, deadpan. ‘Give it to me.’
pulled it out of Caleb’s reach. ‘Every time
you go anywhere near my computer I end up with porn pop-ups I have to call on
others to delete. Every Friday for the
past two months Jimmy the IT guy has asked me if I want to join him and the
other techies at the Men’s Gallery.’
put porn on this phone by simply answering it.’
Caleb clicked his fingers, and half-believing
him Damien handed over the offending instrument.
‘This is Caleb,’ he said after answering the phone,
leaning back in his chair, and proceeding to grunt and ask sensible
questions. When Caleb’s voice dropped
and he began to have a chat, Damien kicked hard against the side of his desk.
‘Right, nice talking to you, Susan,’ Caleb said then
hung up. ‘She was returning a missed
call herself. Didn’t know whose phone it
was. If you’d let me talk for a few more
minutes we might have figured it out between us.’
‘I think it’s a chick’s phone,’ Caleb said.
‘I do believe it is.
Someone rang earlier looking for a Chelsea London.’
‘Now why do I know that name?’
‘You don’t,’ Damien said, knowing that Caleb wouldn’t
spot the obvious.
‘You bought a chick’s phone.’
‘On your recommendation.’
a month ago. Times change. I can’t see the future.’
‘I wonder what they did with my old Nokia. Do you think it’s too late to get it back?’
‘Far too late.
If they haven’t melted it down they’ve donated it to a museum.’ Caleb’s thumb began zooming over the keys at
‘You’re going through her personal files?’ Damien
‘That I am.’
‘Good idea.’ He
moved behind Caleb and looked over his shoulder at the bright flashing screens.
‘No photos of herself or her friends. Means she has no friends or isn’t the cutest
thing on her block. But we do have
Damien’s eyebrows lifted and he was sure Caleb’s did
the same. The first photo they came upon
was of a black studded dog collar. He
should have guessed.
‘Kinky,’ Caleb said.
‘Just your type,’ Damien said.
‘Ha. Ha. Okay, moving on, in her diary we have ‘lunch @ Amelie’s with Kensey’. Kensey.
Sounds like the name of a fortune teller. Ooh, maybe this Kensey knows what they’ve
done with your old Nokia.’