was looking up in friendly amusement, Harry Beevers—pencil frozen halfway to
his mouth—with irritation and incredulity.
Conor leaned toward Beevers and winked. “Time for another beer.” He took a dripping
bottle from the ice bucket and twisted off the cap. Beevers was still glaring at him.
“So the lieutenantthinks we ought to send a little search party after Underhill, check him out, see
how crazy he is?”
“Well, Conor, since you ask,” Beevers said very lightly and quietly, “something along
those lines might be possible.”
“Actually go there?” Pumo asked.
“You said it first.”
Conor poured nearly half of the beer down his throat in a continuous series of swallows.
He smacked his lips. Conor returned to his chair and took another slug of the beer.
Things had just gone totally out of control—now he could sit back and relax and wait
for everybody else to see it.
If the Lost Boss says that he still considers himself Underhill’s lieutenant, Conor
thought, I am gonna puke.
Beevers said, “I don’t know if you want to call this a moral responsibility or not,
but I think we should handle this situation ourselves. We knew the man, we were there.”
Conor opened his mouth, swallowed air, and let the pressure build on his diaphragm.
After a second or two he emitted a resounding burp.
“I’m not asking you to share my sense of responsibility,” Beevers said, “but it would
be nice if you could stop being childish.”
“How can I go to Singapore, for Chrissakes?” Conor yelled. “I don’t have money in
the bank to go around the block! I spent all my money on the fare here, man. I’m sleeping
on Tina’s couch because I can’t even afford a room at my own reunion, man. Get serious,
okay?”
Conor felt immediately embarrassed at blowing up in front of Mike Poole. This was
what happened when he went over his limit and got drunk—he got mad too fast. Without
making himself sound like an even bigger fool, he wanted to explain things. “I mean—okay,
I’m an asshole, I shouldn’t ought to of yelled. But I’m not like the rest of you guys,
I’m not a doctor or a lawyer or an Indian chief, I’m broke, man, I used to be part
of the old poor and now I’m part of the new poor. I’m down at sore heels.”
“Well, I’m no millionaire,” Beevers said. “In fact, as of several weeks ago I resigned
from Caldwell, Moran, Morrissey. There were a lot of complicated factors involved,
but the fact is, I’m out of a job.”
“Your wife’s own brother gave you a pink slip?” Conor asked.
“I resigned,” Beevers said. “Pat is my ex-wife. Serious differencesof opinion came up between myself and Charles Caldwell. Anyhow, I’m not made of money
any more than you are, Conor. But I did negotiate a pretty decent golden handshake
for myself, and I’d be more than willing to loan you a couple thousand dollars interest-free,
to be repaid at your convenience. That ought to take care of you.”
“I’d help out too,” Poole said. “I’m not agreeing to anything, Harry, but Underhill
shouldn’t be hard to find. He must get advances and royalties from his publisher.
Maybe they even forward fan mail to him. I bet we could learn Underhill’s address
with one phone call.”
“I can’t believe this,” said Pumo. “All three of you guys just lost your minds.”
“You were the first to say you’d go,” Conor reminded him.
“I can’t run out on my life for a month. I have a restaurant to run.”
Pumo hadn’t noticed when everything went out of control. Okay, Conor thought, Singapore,
what the hell?
“Tina, we need you.”
“I need me more than you do. Count me out.”
“If you stay behind, you’ll be sorry the rest of your life.”
“Jesus, Harry, in the morning this is going to sound like an Abbott and Costello movie.
What the hell do you think you’re going to do if you ever manage to find him?”
Pumo wants to
his mouth—with irritation and incredulity.
Conor leaned toward Beevers and winked. “Time for another beer.” He took a dripping
bottle from the ice bucket and twisted off the cap. Beevers was still glaring at him.
“So the lieutenantthinks we ought to send a little search party after Underhill, check him out, see
how crazy he is?”
“Well, Conor, since you ask,” Beevers said very lightly and quietly, “something along
those lines might be possible.”
“Actually go there?” Pumo asked.
“You said it first.”
Conor poured nearly half of the beer down his throat in a continuous series of swallows.
He smacked his lips. Conor returned to his chair and took another slug of the beer.
Things had just gone totally out of control—now he could sit back and relax and wait
for everybody else to see it.
If the Lost Boss says that he still considers himself Underhill’s lieutenant, Conor
thought, I am gonna puke.
Beevers said, “I don’t know if you want to call this a moral responsibility or not,
but I think we should handle this situation ourselves. We knew the man, we were there.”
Conor opened his mouth, swallowed air, and let the pressure build on his diaphragm.
After a second or two he emitted a resounding burp.
“I’m not asking you to share my sense of responsibility,” Beevers said, “but it would
be nice if you could stop being childish.”
“How can I go to Singapore, for Chrissakes?” Conor yelled. “I don’t have money in
the bank to go around the block! I spent all my money on the fare here, man. I’m sleeping
on Tina’s couch because I can’t even afford a room at my own reunion, man. Get serious,
okay?”
Conor felt immediately embarrassed at blowing up in front of Mike Poole. This was
what happened when he went over his limit and got drunk—he got mad too fast. Without
making himself sound like an even bigger fool, he wanted to explain things. “I mean—okay,
I’m an asshole, I shouldn’t ought to of yelled. But I’m not like the rest of you guys,
I’m not a doctor or a lawyer or an Indian chief, I’m broke, man, I used to be part
of the old poor and now I’m part of the new poor. I’m down at sore heels.”
“Well, I’m no millionaire,” Beevers said. “In fact, as of several weeks ago I resigned
from Caldwell, Moran, Morrissey. There were a lot of complicated factors involved,
but the fact is, I’m out of a job.”
“Your wife’s own brother gave you a pink slip?” Conor asked.
“I resigned,” Beevers said. “Pat is my ex-wife. Serious differencesof opinion came up between myself and Charles Caldwell. Anyhow, I’m not made of money
any more than you are, Conor. But I did negotiate a pretty decent golden handshake
for myself, and I’d be more than willing to loan you a couple thousand dollars interest-free,
to be repaid at your convenience. That ought to take care of you.”
“I’d help out too,” Poole said. “I’m not agreeing to anything, Harry, but Underhill
shouldn’t be hard to find. He must get advances and royalties from his publisher.
Maybe they even forward fan mail to him. I bet we could learn Underhill’s address
with one phone call.”
“I can’t believe this,” said Pumo. “All three of you guys just lost your minds.”
“You were the first to say you’d go,” Conor reminded him.
“I can’t run out on my life for a month. I have a restaurant to run.”
Pumo hadn’t noticed when everything went out of control. Okay, Conor thought, Singapore,
what the hell?
“Tina, we need you.”
“I need me more than you do. Count me out.”
“If you stay behind, you’ll be sorry the rest of your life.”
“Jesus, Harry, in the morning this is going to sound like an Abbott and Costello movie.
What the hell do you think you’re going to do if you ever manage to find him?”
Pumo wants to