tor scarcely glanced at the mottled board, it was that kind
of a day. He noted an occasional high in his log book, but most signals
were ignored. At 5:14 he noted a severe reading of 87 which stayed on
the board; at 5:16 another light came on, climbed slowly through the
sixties, then soared to 77 where it held steady. Neither light was an
honest red, their angry overtones chased each other rapidly.

The deAngelis operator called over to the audio controller, "Got us a
case of crinkle fender, I think."

"Where?" the controller asked.

"Can't tell yet," Blaney said. "A hot-head and a citizen with righteous
indignation. They're clear enough, but not too sharp." He swiveled in
his chair and adjusted knobs before a large circular screen. Pale
streaks of light glowed briefly as the sweep passed over them. There
were milky dots everywhere. A soft light in the lower left hand corner
of the screen cut an uncertain path across the grid, and two
indeterminate splotches in the upper half of the scope flared out to the
margin.

"Morningside," the operator said.

The splashes of light separated; one moved quickly off the screen, the
other held stationary for several minutes, then contracted and began a
steady, jagged advance toward the center of the grid. One inch down,
half an inch over, two inches down, then four inches on a diagonal line.

"Like I said," said Blaney. "An accident."

Eight minutes later, at 5:32, a slightly pompous and thoroughly outraged
young salesman marched through the doors of the station house and over
to the desk sergeant.

"Some clown just hit me ..." he began.

"With his fist?" asked the sergeant.

"With his car," said the salesman. "My car ... with his car ... he hit
my car with his car."

The sergeant raised his hand. "Simmer down, young feller. Let me see
your driver's license." He reached over the desk for the man's cards
with one hand, and with the other he sorted out an accident form. "Just
give it to me slowly." He started filling out the form.

The deAngelis operator leaned back in his chair and winked at the
controller. "I'm a whiz," he said to the young reporter, "I'm a pheenom.
I never miss." The reporter smiled and walked back to his colleague who
was playing gin with the book ... businessman.

The lights glowed on and off all evening, but only once had they called
for action. At 10:34 two sharp readings of 92.2 and 94 even, had sent
Blaney back to his dials and screen. He'd nar