Read Online Billy Phelan's Greatest Game by William Kennedy - Free Book Online
Authors: William Kennedy
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Freddie Dunsbach of the United Press.
“Martin, we’ve had a tip Patsy McCall’s nephew was kidnapped.”
“Is that so?”
“It’s so and you know it.”
“Who said I know it?”
“I called Patsy. He denied it and then said to call you.”
“Me? Why me?”
“I thought you could tell me that. Right now we’ve got an eight-hour jump on you, Martin, or are you putting out an extra? You can’t keep a story like this all to
yourself.”
“There’s no story, Freddie.”
“You really haven’t heard about it?”
“I’ve heard a wild rumor, but we don’t print rumors.”
“Since when?”
“Blow it out your ass, Fred.” And Martin hung up. The phone rang right back.
“Martin, I’m sorry. That was a joke.”
“I accept your groveling apology. What do you want?”
“Why did Patsy tell me to call you?”
“Damned if I know. Maybe to get rid of you.”
“I think we’re going with the rumor, as an editor’s advisory. Our source is a good one.”
“That’s a bad idea.”
“We can’t sit on it.”
“You can if it means Charlie’s life.”
“This is too big. Hell, this is national.”
Martin snorted. Freddie Dunsbach, boy bureau chief. Arrogant yokel.
“It’s all of that. But let me ask you. How long’ve you been in this town?”
“Almost a year.”
“Then you ought to know that if the McCalls are quiet on this thing, and the police are quiet, there’s one hell of a reason. Patsy must’ve sent you to me because I told him I
wouldn’t print any rumors. I see the significance escapes you, but Patsy’s concern is obviously for the safety of Charlie, if Charlie has in fact been kidnapped, which is really not
provable if nobody admits it.”
“Does he expect us to bury our heads and ignore the story?”
“What Patsy expects is known only to the deity, but I know what I’d expect if I broke this story and Charlie was murdered because of it. Would you know what to expect in a case like
that?”
Freddie was silent.
“Freddie, would you?”
“You’re talking about reprisals for reporting the news.”
“You ever hear about the time Bindy McCall beat a man half to death for insulting his wife? What do you suppose he’d do to somebody who caused the death of his only son? The only
child in the whole McCall family.”
“You can’t run a news organization on that basis.”
“Maybe you can’t. Maybe a five-minute beat—which is about all you’d get since we’d put it on the I.N.S. wire as soon as the word was out—is worth
Charlie’s life. Kidnappers are nasty bastards. You know what happened to Lindbergh’s kid, don’t you? And he was just a baby who couldn’t recognize anybody.”
“Yeah, there’s something in that.”
“There’s more than you think. We could’ve had an extra out an hour ago with the rumor. But who the hell wins that kind of game?”
“I see, but—”
“Listen, Fred, I don’t run the show here. You talk to Emory when he comes in. He’ll be calling the shots for us and I think I know what he’s going to do, which is nothing
at all until there’s a mighty good reason to print something.”
“It’s going to be all over the world in a couple of hours.”
“Not unless you send it.”
“I’ll talk to Emory.”
“You do that.”
Martin dialed Patsy, and the great gravelbox answered, again on the first ring.
“Are you sending people to me for a reason, Patsy?”
“You’ll keep ’em quiet.”
“Hey, this thing is already spreading all over town. Some of these birds don’t give a damn about anything but news. They’ll blow it wide open unless they’re convinced
there’s a hell of a good reason not to.”
Silence.
“Call Max at the office in five minutes.”
In five minutes precisely Martin called Max Rosen, law partner to Matt McCall.
“The story is this, Martin,” Max said. “I answered a call here forty-five minutes ago. A man’s voice told me to tell Patsy and Matt they’d picked up their
“Martin, we’ve had a tip Patsy McCall’s nephew was kidnapped.”
“Is that so?”
“It’s so and you know it.”
“Who said I know it?”
“I called Patsy. He denied it and then said to call you.”
“Me? Why me?”
“I thought you could tell me that. Right now we’ve got an eight-hour jump on you, Martin, or are you putting out an extra? You can’t keep a story like this all to
yourself.”
“There’s no story, Freddie.”
“You really haven’t heard about it?”
“I’ve heard a wild rumor, but we don’t print rumors.”
“Since when?”
“Blow it out your ass, Fred.” And Martin hung up. The phone rang right back.
“Martin, I’m sorry. That was a joke.”
“I accept your groveling apology. What do you want?”
“Why did Patsy tell me to call you?”
“Damned if I know. Maybe to get rid of you.”
“I think we’re going with the rumor, as an editor’s advisory. Our source is a good one.”
“That’s a bad idea.”
“We can’t sit on it.”
“You can if it means Charlie’s life.”
“This is too big. Hell, this is national.”
Martin snorted. Freddie Dunsbach, boy bureau chief. Arrogant yokel.
“It’s all of that. But let me ask you. How long’ve you been in this town?”
“Almost a year.”
“Then you ought to know that if the McCalls are quiet on this thing, and the police are quiet, there’s one hell of a reason. Patsy must’ve sent you to me because I told him I
wouldn’t print any rumors. I see the significance escapes you, but Patsy’s concern is obviously for the safety of Charlie, if Charlie has in fact been kidnapped, which is really not
provable if nobody admits it.”
“Does he expect us to bury our heads and ignore the story?”
“What Patsy expects is known only to the deity, but I know what I’d expect if I broke this story and Charlie was murdered because of it. Would you know what to expect in a case like
that?”
Freddie was silent.
“Freddie, would you?”
“You’re talking about reprisals for reporting the news.”
“You ever hear about the time Bindy McCall beat a man half to death for insulting his wife? What do you suppose he’d do to somebody who caused the death of his only son? The only
child in the whole McCall family.”
“You can’t run a news organization on that basis.”
“Maybe you can’t. Maybe a five-minute beat—which is about all you’d get since we’d put it on the I.N.S. wire as soon as the word was out—is worth
Charlie’s life. Kidnappers are nasty bastards. You know what happened to Lindbergh’s kid, don’t you? And he was just a baby who couldn’t recognize anybody.”
“Yeah, there’s something in that.”
“There’s more than you think. We could’ve had an extra out an hour ago with the rumor. But who the hell wins that kind of game?”
“I see, but—”
“Listen, Fred, I don’t run the show here. You talk to Emory when he comes in. He’ll be calling the shots for us and I think I know what he’s going to do, which is nothing
at all until there’s a mighty good reason to print something.”
“It’s going to be all over the world in a couple of hours.”
“Not unless you send it.”
“I’ll talk to Emory.”
“You do that.”
Martin dialed Patsy, and the great gravelbox answered, again on the first ring.
“Are you sending people to me for a reason, Patsy?”
“You’ll keep ’em quiet.”
“Hey, this thing is already spreading all over town. Some of these birds don’t give a damn about anything but news. They’ll blow it wide open unless they’re convinced
there’s a hell of a good reason not to.”
Silence.
“Call Max at the office in five minutes.”
In five minutes precisely Martin called Max Rosen, law partner to Matt McCall.
“The story is this, Martin,” Max said. “I answered a call here forty-five minutes ago. A man’s voice told me to tell Patsy and Matt they’d picked up their
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