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“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 sonofabitch.”
“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 hell.”
“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’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 sonofabitch, 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.”
“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 hell, why not? What else have I got to do?
“What the hell, Mick, why not?” Matt said.
Mickey took out the cellular, pushed one button, and then put the instrument to his ear.
