"Callahan 06 - The Callahan Touch 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Spider)

The Callahan Touch Version 1.0

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1 - The Immediate Family


Opposites make good companions sometimes. The reason Irish coffee is the perfect beverage is that the stimulant and the depressant play tug of war with your consciousness, thereby stretching and exercising it. Isometric intoxication, opposed tensions producing calm at the center, in the eye of the metabolic hurricane. You end up an alert drunk. I suppose speedballs-the cocaine-heroin combination that killed John Belushi-must be a similar phenomenon, on a more vivid and lethal level. Fear and lust is another good, heady mixture of opposites...as many have learned in war zones or hostage situations.
But if you can get hope and pride and serious fear all going at the same time, balanced in roughly equal portions, let me tell you, then you've really got something powerful.
You can turn your head around with a mixture like that, end up spinning like a top and paralyzed, exhausted and insomniac, starving and nauseous, running a fine cold sweat. Like a car in neutral, with the accelerator to the floor. It's exhilarating, in a queasy kind of way.
I'm embarrassed to admit I hinged on it for days before I realized that was what I was doing, and then another day before I made up my mind to kick. Finally I admitted to myself that I was being selfish, that other people's hopes- and cash-were involved in this too. They'd been waiting a long time already. Besides, in a three-way tug of war, the chances of one side suddenly letting go with a loud snap are doubled.
Hell, I'd already jumped. It was time to open my eyes and see where I was going to land...
So one fine day in May of 1988, I picked up the phone and made the call.
"Hello there, son," he said when they finally tracked him down. "I was just thinking about you. Been too long. What's the good word?" His voice was strong and clear despite the lousy connection. As always.
"I think I'm ready," I said.
Short pause. "Say that again. Like you believe it, this time."
I cleared my throat. "Well, I don't know if 1' 11 ever be ready. But I think it's ready. I truly do, Sam. As ready as it's ever gonna be."
"Why, that's fine! Uh. . . want me to come over and take a look? Before you-"
"Thanks. But no. I'll take it all in one dose. Put the word out for me, okay? I open Friday at nine. Just the immediate family."
"Friday, huh? Appropriate date. We'll all be there. I'm looking forward to it. It's been awful too damn long. Good luck-wups, Code Blue, got to go!" The line was dead.
Friday was two days away. Time for one last binge of conflicting emotions before the balloon went up. .
The thing is, I had accomplished a miracle-and I knew in my heart it wasn't good enough.
After two years of careful planning and hard work, I had produced something excellent. I believed that, and I guess I should have been proud. Oh hell, I guess I was proud. But I was trying to match something long-gone that, in its own backassward way, had been perfect. And it seemed to me, in those last couple of days, that the distance on the scale between lousy and excellent is nothing compared to the distance between excellent and perfect.
There was nothing I could do about it. Perfection exceeded my grasp. I didn't have the tools. Nonetheless, I spent those last days like a frustrated cat, trying to bite myself on the small of the back.

My staff was the first to arrive that Friday night, pulling in at about eight, but he didn't count. He'd already seen the place, under oath of secrecy, because I'd needed his help in finishing it. (If you can't trust a guy with his background to keep a vow, who can you trust?) But I was glad to see him, and gladder when he was dressed for work.
It was the sheer familiarity of the sight of him in that getup, I think. So much about this place was different from the old one, and he was a thread of continuity that I appreciated. Some of those differences had been driving me crazy.
Getting ready to open took us a combined total of maybe five minutes. I'd been there all afternoon-and we'd been essentially ready for a week. Then he had the grace to not only suggest a game of darts, but fail to notice how badly I was playing. It took him some doing; at one point I actually threw one shank-first. It bounced halfway back to me. Terrific omen, for those who believe in such.
At ten minutes to nine, I left him in command and went out into the big foyer, letting the swinging door close behind me. Its breeze started all the empty coat hangers whispering. I felt the need to wait out there, to talk to the whole crew, at least for a few minutes, before I brought them inside and showed them the place.
At nine precisely, the outer door burst open and Doc Webster, Long-Drink McGonnigle, Fast Eddie Costigan, Noah Gonzalez, Tommy Janssen, Margie Shorter, Marty Matthias and his new wife Dave, all three Masers, Ralph von Wau Wau, Willard and Maureen Hooker, Isham Latimer and his new wife Tanya, Bill Gerrity, Jordin and Mary Kay Kare, and both of the Cheerful Charlies all came crowding into the foyer at once. Don't tell me that's physically impossible; I'm telling you what I saw.
My head pulsed like a giant heart, and my heart spun like a little head. A couple of fairly bad years began to melt away.


They advanced on me like a lynch mob, baying and whooping, arms outstretched, and then we all hugged each other. Don't tell me that's physically impossible; I'm telling you what we did. The coat hangers became Zen bells. The more physically demonstrative of us pummeled the rest of us and each other, hard enough to raise bruises, and all of us grinned until the tears flowed. Somewhere in there it occurred to me that the foyer now held every single soul who had been present on the first night I ever had a drink in Callahan's Place-with the two exceptions of Callahan himself, and of course Tom Flannery (it was the twelfth anniversary of Tom's death that night). We stopped hugging when our arms stopped working.
There was a moment of warm silence. Then the combined pressure of them tried to back me into the bar, and I stood my ground.
"Hold it a second, folks," I said, smiling ruefully. "There's something I want to get straight before We go in, okay?"
"It's your place, Jake," Doc Webster said.
"That's the first thing to get straight," I said. "It's not. It's our place. I know I hogged all the fun of putting it together, but that's because a design committee is a contradiction in terms, and I had some strong opinions. And. . . well, I wanted to surprise you all. But if there's anything you really don't like, we can change it."
"You're saying you want us to complain?" Long-Drink asked.
"I tink we c'u'd handle dat," Fast Eddie said helpfully.
"I hate the Jacuzzi," the Doc said promptly, and Ralph bit him on the ankle just as promptly. In fact, the dog may have started to bite before the Doc had started to wisecrack. They know each other.
"Come on, let's see de joint," Eddie said.
"One more thing," I said. "Before I show you all what Mary's Place is, I want to talk for a second about what it is not." I could see that they all knew more or less where I was going, but I said it anyway. "This is not Callahan's Place. This is Mary's Place. It will never be Callahan's Place. No place will ever be that place again, and certainly no place we build. Even if Mike should ever come back from the future and open another bar, it wouldn't be Callahan's Place, and he wouldn't call it that if he did. We can all have some fun here-but if we try and make this be Callahan's Place, it will all go sour on us."
"Hell, we know that," Long-Drink said indignantly.
"Relax, Jake," Tommy Janssen said. "Nobody expected you to work miracles."
"We're not fools," Susie Maser said. Then she glanced at her husband Slippery Joe and co-wife Suzy. "Wait a minute, maybe I take your point. We are fools."
"Look," I pressed on, "I don't mean that the layout is different or the setup is different. I don't even mean just that Mike is gone. He'll be less gone in this building than anywhere else, I think, because he'll be in our collective memories, and maybe if we're lucky a little bit of Callahan magic will linger on.
"But a lot of it won't. Some of the specific 'magic,' if that's what you want to call it, that made Callahan's Place work is simply not available to us anymore."
Rooba rooba rooba. The Doc's foghorn baritone rose over the rest. "What are you saying, Jake?"