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“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,” Matt said, and pushed the Off button.
They sat at the bar of the Ocean Vue Bar amp; 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 shells away from him, finished his beer, signaled for another round, and then asked,
