He could never say whether the calls from Apelandia were imaginary or actual trans-species telepathy but the image in his mind of the leering, flea-bitten degenerate ape would not go away until he mentally answered it. He put his Tropical COckteaser--a specialty of the house--down on the bar (despite her whines of protest) and went back to the men's room, locking himself in a booth where he could concentrate on his ugly telepathic link or neurotic obsession, whichever it was. Just as he sat down the cell phone in his crotch went off like a hussy's two-dollar dildo and he doubled over in shock and pain.