Final justice - W.E.B. Griffin [222]
Matt, sitting in a fishing chair with his feet on the stern rail, watching the churning water, had time for two beers and some private thoughts before he saw that they were nearly at the dock and he would have to go forward and handle the lines.
He had reached no profound conclusions, except that he didn't want to do this again tomorrow.
When he went forward, he saw a familiar vehicle, a Buick Rendezvous with an antennae farm on its roof, sitting beside the house.
Michael J. O'Hara himself was sprawled in a lawn chaise on the wharf, drinking from the neck of a beer bottle. The chair was from the deck of the house. There was a portable cooler beside Mickey that he'd obviously brought with him.
He waved, but rose from the chair only when Matt called, "Hey, Mickey, want to grab the line?"
On the third try, he managed to do so, whereupon he inquired, "What am I supposed to do with it?"
Matt resisted the temptation to tell him the first thing that came to his mind, and instead said, "Wrap it, twice, around that pole, and then hang on to it."
When he saw that Mickey had done so, he went aft to handle the stern lines.
I wonder what he's doing here. Who cares? I really am glad to see him.
"You didn't answer your phone," Mickey said, by way of greeting. "I was about to call the cops."
"On the water, you call the Coast Guard, not the cops," Matt said. "Write that down."
"So why didn't you answer the phone?"
"I didn't have it turned on, for one thing," Matt said, helping himself to a beer from the cooler, "and for another, I was probably out of range."
"You're not supposed to be," O'Hara said.
"Well, sorry. My profound apologies."
"I meant of this," Mickey said, and patted his shirt pocket, which held what looked to Matt like a bulky cellular telephone. "They advertise worldwide service. They use satellites."
"Then I guess I didn't have my phone turned on."
"I guess not," Mickey said.
It occurred to Matt that unless they got off the wharf before the reserve captain got off 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.
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.
"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,"