Final Justice Part 81

It occurred to Matt that unless they got off the wharf before the reserve captain got off Final Tort V, Final Tort V, he would probably be joining them for whatever happened next, which included a couple of beers, for sure, and then probably dinner. he would probably be joining them for whatever happened next, which included a couple of beers, for sure, and then probably dinner.

Worse, that he would probably recognize Mickey's name, and start asking questions about what it was like being a famous journalist, and even worse than that, Mickey would delight in telling him.

"All I had for lunch was a ham and cheese sandwich," Matt said. "Let's go get something to eat."

"Steamed clams," Mickey announced. "I didn't have any lunch at all, and steamed clams seems like a splendid idea."

He picked up the portable cooler and started down the wharf.

"Are we going out tomorrow?" the reserve captain called down from the Final Tort V. Final Tort V.

"I'll call you," Matt said.

In the Rendezvous, Mickey asked, "You okay, Matty?"

"I'm fine."

"I heard you came apart for a while."

"I came apart for a while, but I'm fine now."

Mickey handed him his cellular telephone.

"Call Denny Coughlin and tell him. He's worried about you."

"He sent you down here to keep me company?"

"He told me how to get here," O'Hara said. "You have to dial Zero Zero One first."

"Zero Zero One first?"

"That's the United States," O'Hara explained.

"I thought that's where we were."

"That's a worldwide telephone. You have to dial the country code first. Call Denny, for Christ's sake."

Matt punched in the numbers, including the Zero Zero One country code, then the Philadelphia area code, and then Commissioner Coughlin's number, and was finally connected with him.

He told him that he was fine, thank you; that Mickey had found him; that they were in his car en route to get some steamed clams; and that he felt fine, thank you, nothing has changed in the thirty seconds since you asked me that the first time.

"Is Mickey going to be in the way, Matty? He really wanted to see you. I thought maybe you'd like some company, so I told him where to find you."

"I'm glad you did. Thank you."

"Well, have a couple of beers, but get some rest. And give me a call every once in a while, okay?"

"I'll do it," Matt said, and pushed the Off b.u.t.ton.

They sat at the bar of the Ocean Vue Bar & Grill and viewed the ocean while eating two dozen steamers and drinking two Heinekens each. Aside from "Hand me the Tabasco, please," there was not much conversation.

Matt pushed the second tin tray of empty mollusk sh.e.l.ls away from him, finished his beer, signaled for another round, and then asked, "Can I ask you a personal question, Mick?"

"Shoot."

"Have you ever been out of the country?"

"No. Why should I have been?"

"Then what's with the worldwide dial Zero Zero One as the country code telephone all about?"

"I'm thinking of going to Europe," Mickey said.

"Really? What for?"

"Actually, Matty, that's one of the reasons I came all the way over here. The other was to apologize for not coming to see you after Doc Michaels told me that he let you out of the loony bin. I was busy."

"You have been discussing my mental condition with Dr. Michaels, I gather?"

"He said medical ethics prohibited his discussing your case with me, but apropos of nothing whatever, there was nothing wrong with you that a little rest wouldn't fix. He's a good guy."

"And he suggested you come to see me?"

"No," Mickey said, his tone suggesting that even the question surprised him. "What happened was after I heard that you'd been in and out of the loony bin, I called your mother, and she gave me the runaround about where you were, so I called your father, ditto, and I began to have visions of you in a rubber room somewhere, so I went and saw Doc Michaels, and he told me . . . what I told you he told me . . . so I called Denny and asked him where you were, and he told me. So I came."

"Tell me about Europe."

"I told you I was busy. What it was was that I was involved in a contractual dispute with my employers."

"About what?"

"I knocked my city editor on his a.s.s," Mickey said. "With a b.l.o.o.d.y nose."

"Why?"

"It was a matter of journalistic principle," Mickey said. "The lawyers for the Bulletin Bulletin said it was justification for my termination, unless I apologized to the sonofab.i.t.c.h, which I will do the morning after the Pope gives birth to triplets." said it was justification for my termination, unless I apologized to the sonofab.i.t.c.h, which I will do the morning after the Pope gives birth to triplets."

"So where does the matter stand now?" Matt said, smiling.

"Casimir responded that in this era of political correctness, it is not professionally acceptable behavior for a supervisor, before a room full of his fellow employees, to call an underling 'you insane Shanty Irish sonofab.i.t.c.h'. . ."

"He actually called you that?" Matt asked, on the edge of laughter.

Mickey nodded, smiling, and went on, obviously quoting Bolinski verbatim, ". . .'and to threaten a distinguished Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist such as Mr. O'Hara, before the same gathering of his peers, with using his influence to ensure that Mr. O'Hara would never find employment again, even with the National Enquirer, National Enquirer, a periodical generally held in contempt by responsible journalists.' " a periodical generally held in contempt by responsible journalists.' "

"He did that?"

"As blood dripped down his chin from his b.l.o.o.d.y nose onto his s.h.i.+rt," Mickey said.

"What set you two off?" Matt asked.

"That's not important. The sonofab.i.t.c.h has never liked me, and vice versa. It just happened."

"So what's going to happen?"

"We have entered a thirty-day cooling-off period, during which they hope that I will change my mind about apologizing-they know I won't-and the Bull hopes Kennedy will make a full and public apology for his reprehensible remarks and behavior to me-which he just might. During this period, I have withdrawn my professional services from the Bulletin. Bulletin. I still get paid, of course." I still get paid, of course."

"So what can we two rejects of society as we know it do for the next thirty days?" Matt asked.

"That's what I came to talk to you about," Mickey said.

"Whiskey and wild, wild women? You want to go to Atlantic City? What about Vegas?"

"Casimir has this nutty idea-has had it for years-that I should write a book."

"You told me about that, Mick. And I told you it doesn't sound nutty to me at all."

"The original idea was a collection of stuff that I've done, Matt, and I even started putting stuff together for that."

"I know."

"But what Casimir did now was call some publisher and tell him that what they really needed was a book about Fort Festung, and I was just the guy to write it."

"Why him?"

"Casimir said the Frogs can't stall much longer-he looked into it, I suppose-and they're going to extradite the slimy sonofab.i.t.c.h."

"I agree with the Bull," Matt said. "If they send Festung back, it'd be national news. That'd sell a lot of books. And you are just the guy to write it."

"Yeah, well, anyway they threw a lot of money at me- which I don't have to give back, by the way, even if I don't write the book, or they don't like it-and I'm going to France to have a look at him."

"Hence the worldwide telephone?"

"Yeah. My mother goes bananas in the nursing home unless I call her once a day. I think it's nine dollars a minute or something when you use it, but what the h.e.l.l."

"The more I think about this, it's a great idea," Matt said.

"Come with me," O'Hara said.

"What?"

"Come with me. What else have you got to do?"

"Wow!" Matt said. "That came out of left field."

"You've been there, right? You even speak a little Frog?"

"Very little," Matt said. "Ouvrez la porte de mon oncle. That means 'open the door of my uncle,' if you're taking notes." That means 'open the door of my uncle,' if you're taking notes."

"That's more than I speak. Come on, Matt. Everything on me, of course."

Matt didn't reply.

"I already know all I have to know about the sonofab.i.t.c.h, so all I have to do is take a quick look at this farmhouse, maybe get a couple of pictures of it, him and his wife, then we can go to Paris, or wherever, drink a lot of wine, and cherchez la femme. cherchez la femme."

"Mick, if I didn't think this was be nice to poor, loony Matt time, I actually think I'd go with you."

"I want you to go because I don't want to go by myself, okay?" O'Hara said.

Jesus, he means that. Mr. Front Page himself, the battling brawler of the city room, is afraid to leave Philadelphia by himself.

What the h.e.l.l, why not? What else have I got to do?

"What the h.e.l.l, Mick, why not?" Matt said.

Mickey took out the cellular, pushed one b.u.t.ton, and then put the instrument to his ear.

"What happened to the Zero Zero One routine?" Matt asked.

"The Bull's got one of these, too. They store a hundred numbers of other people with one of them," Mickey explained, then held up his hand to cut Matt off.

"Antoinette, this is Michael. Would it be possible for me to speak with Casimir, please?"

It took several minutes for Mr. Bolinski to get on the line. He explained he was floating around the pool.

"Matt says he'll go, Casimir," O'Hara said. "Set it up."

Bolinski said something Matt couldn't hear.

"You got a pa.s.sport? Is tomorrow night too soon for you?" Mickey asked.

"Yes and no," Matt said.

"That's fine with Matt, Casimir. Set it up."

Bolinski said something else Matt couldn't hear.

"He's fine. He was exhausted, is all."

Mickey broke the connection after Bolinski said something else.

"The Bull says he's glad to hear you're okay."

"That's nice of him."

Mickey pushed another b.u.t.ton on his worldwide telephone and put it to his ear.

"Hi, Mom!" he began. "How you doing?"