"Stupid ...FUCK!"
He yelled in frustration, trying to get his cold numbed fingers to punch out the right sequence of numbers on the too small payphone buttons.
"Hey Buddy, Cut that shit out! " the bartender called over, half heartedly.
Gerard never paid him any heed; he was too busy praying this was still the right number, that this would work, this would answer his question, all the while dreading hearing that much longed for voice, feeling guilt for the longing, even throughout the horrified screams for his mother that echoed around his head.
"Hello, Mr Iero, Sir?" the young blue haired receptionist babbled into the phone with obvious relief threading through her voice.
"Um... no, sorry, I was just... um, is he there? I was hoping to speak to him " the unfamiliar male voice stammered into the phone, he sounded upset.
oh shit!
Was this the call her boss had been waiting for before he took off? Could it be THE Gerard himself?
She knew the others voices and it wasn't any of them; this one was softer, hoarse, but not shy like Mikey.
She pulled the yellow legal pad across the desk reading the hastily scribbled notes she'd been left a few hours earlier.
"contact me IMMEDIATELY be nice , don't push , don't spook him , don't let on you know who he is ,don't screw it up,do not be a fangirl !, the last in capitals and underlined.
"Only Mikey, Ray, me or Gerard have this number – so if it rings it will be one of us." She remembered him saying, his kind face lined with worry,his calloused hand pulling at the starchy shirt collar and black tie, the other hefting the weight of the scruffy old rucksack he still insisted on using for trips .
"No, I'm sorry he's out of the office just now, but if you like - I can transfer you to his cell, or if you leave me a number, he can call you straight back" she told the heavy silence on the end of the phone,trying not to rush her words.
She made a note of the caller ID and started composing a text message.
"Um, yeah.. can he call me here, soon...it's a bar, I don't know the number though..."he trailed off sounding unsure.
"That's fine, I can get the number from this end ...is that alright?"
she asked trying not to babble or rush in her excitement, as she clicked the blinking 'run' button on her monitor screen that would start running the line trace programme she'd been itching to use since it was installed.
Her cell lit up silently, telling her of an incoming text reply "WHERE?" it demanded.
Gerard hung up the phone and stared at it.
Now what?
He felt his pocket to make sure the fold of bills and small coins were still there, he hadn't checked in his headlong flight to find the nearest phone.
He turned and made his way to the greasy bar and hoisted himself up onto the stained red plush barstool. "Bottle of bud and a JD "he told the indifferent bartender.
May as well wait, see if he phones.
Frank was frantic, he felt like he was going crazy with anger, worry, frustration and grief - all underscored by guilt. why the hell hadn't they heard from him by now?
Why hadn't anyone found him? -he and the guys had had everyone they knew keeping an eye open for Gerard and all this time nothing.
Then, just when he began to believe as the others did, that he was dead after all, right out the blue - a phone call from some bar in a city he couldn't remember if they'd ever been to –if they had he couldn't remember it.
What made him come here of all the dammed places? He thought, impatiently waiting to clear airport security.