Page 39 - The Gluckman Occasional Number Eleven

KELLERMAN: It’ll be on your desk in the morning, sir, just as l
promised.

SINCLAIR: Well, see that it is. And it better be clean. I don’t
think I’m going to feel like tearing apart your calculations at eight

a.m. just to find some stupid little error. (staggers out to right)

KELLERMAN: Damn! I know I’m right! I had a perfect fit to all
the data for the last twelve months. Why should this month be
off? (paces, looking at papers; MORTON enters) Well, did you fix
it?

MORTON: {shakes head) There’s no new data off the wires—
here: see for yourself—and the projection is still one higher than
the actual number of suicides. It’s almost midnight. Not much
chance of another pill-popper cashing in now. I’ve done all I can.
It just doesn’t compute.

KELLERMAN: (takes output and studies it) Morton, you can’t let
me down. This is too important.

MORTON: I’m doing all I can! I need to hold onto my job, too,
you know. You’ve got a hell of a lot more seniority than I do. God,
it feels warm in here after being in the computer room. (goes to
window and opens it; KELLERMAN goes to desk, looks at clock)
I know my equations are right. If the program doesn’t have any
bugs in it, then the data must be wrong. How could it be off by
just one? (goes to window, leans out) It’s really quiet down there on
the street this time of night.

KELLERMAN: (stealthily approaches MORTON, pushes him out
of window; after a second, shudders; then quickly sits at desk,
picks up phone, and dials) Operator, give me the police. This is an
emergency. (waits a few seconds) Hello? Listen, a man just jumped
out of the window here at the Department of Vital Statistics. Yes,
yes, just now, at 11:57 p.m. (smiles)

(curtain)