in his cramped office , calendars layering the bare plaster walls , no adjoining shire horse or cute blonde thing displaying the same month or with the same day ringed , machine parts and kittens impaled by darts , a few not opened to january , february , march at all , covering a territory of years , taylor picked the receiver from its cradle and punched molhenny 's number , that which had been beaten into him one rainy friday ( tuesday ? )