"Yyyes?" Again the heavy, authoritative Azzurri voice comes through.

"Yyyes?" Again the heavy, authoritative Azzurri voice comes through.

"Derrotado, pero inclaudicable."

A long pause.

It feels as though the line is about to go dead.

"Where are you calling from? This is not in agreement." The voice spits its displeasure.

"Call from Party Alley payphone, on the stairs. At night. Or nothing." A click, and he's gone.

"I'm calling about some meds..."

For a moment, it seems like he's about to hang up.

Silence wielded like a meat cleaver.

"Process." He spits out the word slowly, turning each syllable into multiple. "Or I hang up now."

"No! Don't hang up yet."

"Do not call again." The line goes dead.

Talk your way into the supply line.

He's cocooned himself tight, wrapped thick in threats and demands for process. There is only a slim gap with which to disarm him -- act familiar.

"Why doesn't Gonza call you himself?"

Again, silence. But the line does not cut off.

"What did you say?"

"He's never explained why he has to use me as a middle man."

You hear a deep, sucking inhalation precede the words.

"Process. Intermediary only. I have not forgotten what I owe him... but he should not push luck."

"What do you owe him?"

"Do not ask more questions."

"Especially to driver. Do not talk to driver. He does not know how to keep mouth shut."

There. Finally he makes the mistake of assuming your identity and letting drop something he shouldn't.

The weak link in the operation is the driver. This does not solve the problem of placing the order, but it is a step forward.

"Got it. I won't talk to your man."

"He is honest, and this rare. I do not want to get rid of him."

A principled man who can't keep his mouth shut. This can be exploited.

The receiver is set down with a heavy click.

"When did I talk to your driver?"

"Do not lie. After last shipment, he told me he invite you for drink, you ask him things. This is mistake."

"I'm asking, not him."

"Then do not ask."

"And one more thing -- next time, you do not talk to driver. He does not know how to keep mouth shut."

Say nothing. Wait.

"Gonza has your number. He could call you himself."

Time for total earnestness.

"Look, please, I just need to buy meds for my friend, he's an epileptic."

The silence lingers. The man on the other end of the line lets out a breath, but doesn't hang up.

"Heh heh... epileptic." The humourless chuckle deforms the voice.

"In Azzurria, we make the epileptics dance. Yes?"

"Sick cunts over here do as well."

"Yes. So you be smart, epileptic. Erase this number." The line goes dead.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Another long pause.

"Erase this number. Be smart, epileptic." The line goes dead.

Absolutely not.

You have already failed to pull this off as a spy. Your only option -- to do it as a human being.

Let him go.

"Sorry, wrong number."

You hear a tut, before the line goes dead.

"I'm calling on behalf of Doctor Gonza."

"Gonza..." He turns the name over in his mouth.

"You tell doctor... process." The word comes out slowly, each syllable turned into multiple. "I hang up now."

Hang up without a word.

The other end is likewise silent as you put the receiver down.

"Yyyes?" Dragging the y-sound, a heavily accented male voice comes through the line.

"What is the ailment?" He intones.

Every vowel turned into a dipthong -- unmistakable Azzurri accent.

That's a call and answer protocol, also known as a sphynx. He asks a question to which there is only one right answer.

It could not be more obvious. This is him. Gonza's wholesale supplier.

You can't be totally sure this is Gonza's wholesale supplier, but sometimes you have to take a risk.

If you're wrong, that means you're talking to an oblivious civilian -- you can just hang up.

Every vowel turned into a dipthong -- the kind of intonation that disgusted Gonza over the phone.