MOST WANTED by Nexxie John Gage rolled over and groped blindly for the telephone receiver. He'd just come off an overtime shift at 99's, a busy one, and stumbled wearily to bed, glad to fall asleep at last. Fires and moving vehicle accidents kept Station 99 busy all night and B-Shift was glad to hand over the squad to the incoming C-Shift. Now, after finally reaching the comfort of his king-sized water bed, some sorry individual the gall to wake Johnny from an exhausted slumber. "Gage home, John speaking," he mumbled sleepily. "Are you tired?" a female voice inquired. "Yes," Johnny responded irritably before hanging up the receiver. A telemarketer, most likely, he thought, trying to sell me vitamins or some such. Can't those people give a guy a break? The phone rang again almost immediately. Johnny looked at it with more than irritation this time before picking up the receiver. "Gage home." His answer this time was cranky bordering on rude. "I'm sorry to bother you again," the same female voice said in an apologetic tone, "but are you Tired?" "Look, I've been working for nearly 48 hours straight," Johnny replied. "Of course I'm tired. Can't you call back later?" Much later, he thought, like in two days...when I'm on shift. "I'm sorry," the voice said again, "I just wanted to be the first one to call." Johnny looked at the phone perplexed. The woman was obviously deranged. "Congratulations, you were the first. Now please let me go back to sleep." "Okay, when would be a good time to call back?" the woman persisted. Confused and more than a little tired of the game, Johnny answered, "In about five years." "I see. Look, if you don't want people to call, don't place an ad." There was a loud click on the other end of the line. "Must have been a wrong number," Gage mumbled before fumbling to put the receiver back on the cradle. Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang again. It could be a coincidence, Johnny thought. Maybe it wasn't the same chick. "Gage home, John speaking." "Hello? Are you sick?" It was a different woman. "No, I'm fine, just real sleepy. Who is this?" "You're not Sick?" "No, I'm tired." I'll play this silly game for a minute, he thought. There was a rustling of paper from the other end of the line. "I'm sorry, Tired, there must have been a misprint." "S'all right," Johnny said, hanging up the phone before he fell back onto the pillow and pulled the covers over his face. Two more calls within the next fifteen minutes yielded different women, one who wondered whether he was desperate, and another one concerned about whether he was sick. Desperate to get to sleep, he answered, and sick of phone calls. Finally he took the phone off the hook and drifted off to sleep. Several hours later, Johnny awoke, his body demanding relief and nourishment. As he laid out clean clothes and turned to head for the bathroom for a quick shower, he noticed the phone off the hook. Shaking his head at the games some people play, he placed it back on the cradle and padded into the bathroom. The hot steady spray of the shower did a lot to restore his mood to tolerant...until the phone rang. "Gage home, John speaking," he replied out of breath. He'd left a trail of water from the bathroom to the bedroom and was dripping steadily, wrapped only in a towel. "Hello, are you ready?" This time the quavering voice identified the caller as a woman in her golden years. Not willing to be rude to a grandmotherly type, Johnny replied, "No, I don't think so. I think there must be some kind of mistake." "Is this 555-3794?" "That's right," Johnny affirmed. "But you're not Ready?" "Ready for what?" "Ready for love," the tremulous voice replied, somewhat daunted by the responses to her queries. "Look, Ma'am, I think there must be some mistake. I'm not sure what you are talking about." "Oh. All right. Must be a misprint," she muttered and hung up. Johnny just shook his head and finished toweling off before donning a fresh pair of jeans and T-shirt. He headed down to the kitchen to check out the contents of the refrigerator. It wasn't encouraging. RING...RING. The phone interrupted his search for sustenance; not a wise thing to do with Johnny Gage. "Gage home, John speaking." He wondered what it would be this time. "Hello, are you free?" "No, lady, at the moment I'm hungry, and if you'll excuse me, I'm going to find something to eat." Johnny found vague satisfaction in the loud sound the handset made as it was smacked ungently back onto the cradle. As the day progressed, Johnny was asked several more times whether he was tired, sick, desperate, ready or free. It was irritating, but he was, nonetheless, intrigued. Each caller correctly identified Johnny's telephone number as the one they were trying to reach, and they were all women, although the ones that wondered if he was 'ready' sounded to be on their last legs. It occurred to him that someone given his phone number out, but who, and to whom? Beyond weary of the numerous calls, when the phone rang again, Johnny decided that maybe being downright rude would put a stop to them. "This is John Gage, 555-3794. I am definitely not tired, sick, desperate, ready or free. You got that?" "I'm glad to hear that, Junior, how 'bout hungry?" About to slam down the receiver, Johnny heard Roy's amused voice in time to avoid hanging up on his partner. "Did you say hungry?" Johnny asked. "I did," affirmed the senior paramedic. "Joanne is making lasagna for dinner. You interested?" "What time?" "Dinner is at six, as usual. By the way, what was that other stuff all about?" "Huh? Oh, I'll explain later. I'll see ya about six then." "Yeah." Puzzled, Roy hung up, shaking his head. Who knew what craziness possessed his partner this time? Over dinner, Johnny explained about the mysterious phone calls he'd been receiving all day. Baffled, at first, Roy agreed with Johnny that it was indeed strange, then he recalled what Johnny reported one woman said about placing an ad. "Chris, would you bring Daddy today's paper?" Roy requested of his eight-year-old son. With a nod, Chris complied and Roy proceded to rifle through the paper until he came to the classified ads. After a few minutes of scanning the pages the blond man chuckled and said, "Here it is." "What is it?" Johnny asked, intrigued. "SWM 25, tired of living alone, seeks SWF over 30 for stable long-term relationship. Marriage not ruled out. Call 555-3794. Ask for 'Tired'" "What?" Johnny squeaked, grabbing the paper from Roy's hands. "I don't believe this! Wait! Here's another one..." "SWM 46, sick of own cooking, seeks SWF over 40 for partnership. Ability to cook a must. Call 555-3794. Ask for 'Sick'" "And listen to this!" "SWM 37, recently widowed, father of six, seeks SWF over 30 as partner and homemaker. Must love children; parenting experience a plus. Call 555-3794. Ask for 'Desperate'" "Father of six! Someone actually answered that one? Here's two more, good grief." "SWM 75, bachelor and financially secure, seeks SWF over 70 to share retirement years. Finally ready for love. Call 555-3794. Ask for 'Ready'" "SWM 42, recently divorced, seeks SWF over 20 to share apartment. Must be tidy and organized. Call 555-3794. Ask for 'Free'" "I kind of like that last one." "You would, Johnny. What are you gonna do about this?" "Do about it? I'm gonna go home and answer the phone!" "Johnny, who could have placed these ads?" Johnny started to shake his head in bewilderment, then snapped his fingers and looked at his partner, realization dawning. "Do you remember last week, Chet borrowed Cap's typewriter? He said he was writing to his aunt in New Jersey? He only typed about twenty words on each page. I asked him why and he said she had a short attention span. That has to be it!" Roy just smirked as his partner tore out of the house and headed for the Rover at a dead run. Never a dull moment. "Roy, where's Johnny?" Joanne entered the living room carrying a large slice of spice cake. "He had to run home; he had some things to take care of." "Before dessert? Is he all right?" Roy explained and showed Joanne the ads. She handed him the cake and went to cut a smaller piece for herself. What wouldn't Johnny do? ***************** Johnny Gage whistled loudly and off-key as he entered the kitchen at the beginning of shift. Without a wasted motion, he filched the jelly donut from Chet Kelly's hand before it could make its way to the man's mouth for a first bite. "Gage! Give that...never mind." Half the donut was already in Johnny's smiling mouth, powdered sugar and jelly decorating his lips as he commented, "Thanks, Chester B., a whole bunch!" Chet looked away as the donut threatened to drop out. "So, Gage, how were your days off?" He snickered, anticipating the angry response. "They were absolutely incredible!" Johnny told him, his eyes twinkling. "I met this gorgeous brunette; she's a librarian. She's smart, loves the outdoors, is a gourmet cook and wants me to teach her to bowl. And get this...she called me for a date. Yep, guys, my days off are 'booked' up solid for the next five weeks." "Oh, and Chet," he addressed the Irishman whose mouth was still hanging slightly open, "next time you write your aunt in New Jersey, thank her for me." THE END |