"But, Mr. Malone, you must help me again. Because now my Mike says he
must not stay at home! He is leaving, he is leaving right away!"
"Leaving?" Malone said.
He thought of a thousand things to do. He could send a squad of men to
arrest Mike. And Mike could disappear while they were trying to get
hold of him. He could go down himself--and be greeted, if he knew Mike
Fueyo, with another giant economy-size raspberry. He could try to
plead with Mike on the phone.
And what good would that do?
So, instead, he just sat and stared while Mrs. Fueyo went right on.
"He says he will send me money, but money is nothing compared to my
own boy, my own Mike. He says he must go away, Mr. Malone, but I know
you can stop him. I know it!"
"Sure," Malone said. "But I--"
"Oh, I knew that you would," Mrs. Fueyo shrieked. She almost came
through the screen at him. "You are a great man, Mr. Malone. I will
say many prayers for you. Every day I will pray for you in all your
work. I will never stop praying for you because you help me." Her
voice and face changed abruptly. "Excuse me now," she said. "I must go
back to work."
"Well," Malone said, "if I--"
Then she turned back and beamed at him again. "Oh, thank you, Mr.
Malone. Thank you with the thanks of a mother. Bring my boy back to
me."
And the image faded and died.
Boyd tapped Malone on the shoulder. "I didn't know you were involved
in an advice column for the lovelorn," he said.
"I'm not," Malone said sourly.