"Callahan 09 - Callahan's Key 1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Spider)

CHAPTER TWO
Going South


"One word sums up probably the responsibility of any vice president, and that one word is, 'to be prepared."
-J. Danforth Quayle, December 6, 1989'


"HI, UNCLE DOC!"
"Well, hello, Erin. How are you, dear? Having fun?" Doc Webster has one of those booming voices that sounds like he's on a speakerphone even when he isn't. When he is on a speakerphone, he could pass for the Great and Wonderful Oz. He is a large man, built like a very successful walrus, and it gives his voice a certain resonance and authority. And it probably doesn't hurt that he was one of the best doctors on Long Island for over forty years, until his recent retirement.
"Yeah," Erin assured him. "Some stupid men shot me and Daddy just now."
"Really? That must have been exciting for them." Doc is bulletproof, too. He was there that night. "If your parents need any help disposing of the bodies, I still know some people up there. I could-"
"Hi, Doc," I cut in. "Don't sweat it; we let 'em live."
"Really? Hello, Jake."
"They did penance. Let it pass; it's a long story and we have more interesting things to talk about."
"You have news, too?"
"Boy, do I ever. But you first: it's your dime. Before you start, though, let me introduce the audience. You're speaking to me, Erin, Zoey, Fast Eddie, the Lucky Duck, and Nikky Tesla."
"Am I really? How wonderful! By God, that's practically a quorum. I wish I was there."
"You are," Zoey pointed out. "Hi, Doc."
"Hello, Zoey-and you too, Eddie-Duck-Nikola." Greetings were called back. "Look, am I interrupting anything?"
"You are completing something, I think," Tesla said. "Pray go on, Sam."
"Well . . . okay-but everybody pour themselves one and find a comfortable chair, okay? I'm going to be talking awhile, and I've been rehearsing this for a long time so I'd appreciate it if none of you would interrupt until I finish my pitch, because it's really important to me to-"
"Doc?"
"-try and. . . dammit, Jake, I asked you not to interrupt. As you pointed out, it's my dime."
"So let me try and save you some of it. You are about to launch into a typically eloquent sales pitch for beautiful Key West, subtropical paradise, delineating its many charms and virtues and ending with a casual mention that you've located a property for sale down there that would make a really terrific bar."
There was a brief silence. Then, in a much softer voice, Doc said, "You must be reading my mail."
"Allow me to briefly summarize the events of the day so far. First I wrecked the car and got snow in my pants. Then Nikky showed up and gave me ten years to reunite the gang, on account of how we have to save the universe. I told him I'd need a new bar, someplace where you don't get snow in your pants, and money. He produced the Lucky Duck. Then Fast Eddie showed up with. . . how much money, Eddie?"
"A shitpot."
"And donated it to the cause. And then you called. You see the way this is shaping up?" Another long pause.
"The whole, entire universe?" the Doc asked finally.
Nothing gets past him. "Yep."
"And you and Erin got shot."
"With a .44 Magnum," Erin agreed. "Looters trying to take advantage of the blizzard." She giggled. "It tickled. And they were so funny. Even before they were naked, I mean."
"It sounds like you've had a full day."
"Well, we're certainly off to an interesting start," I said. "From here it's going to get busy, I think."
"Let me get this straight," he said slowly. "You are, really and truly, going to move down here. All of you. And open a bar. And try and reconvene the company. My dearest dreams are coming true."
I glanced around me, took a census of eyes. Zoey's eyes first, then Erin's, then Eddie's, then the Duck's, and finally the wise, sad old eyes of Nikola Tesla. Then for good measure I rechecked Zoey and Erin. There were no dissents. "That's the plan."
"God damn it, Jake," the Doc burst out, "if you had any idea how much time I wasted rehearsing my spiel. . . I didn't think I had a chance, I didn't really think any power on earth could ever convince you to leave Long Island, but I felt like I had to try."
"Snow in your underpants and .44 slugs in your face are powerful arguments," I said. "What the hell, Sam. This business has been going south since I opened it. Might as well go all the way."
"You can't get any farther south than this without getting your feet wet," he agreed. "Just give me a minute to shift gears, okay? Christ, I feel like I was braced to lift a half-ton truck and it turned out to be a hologram. Just a second."
We heard him put his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone, and even with that filter, his bellowed "WAA-A-A-A-HOO!" nearly broke my speakerphone.
"There," he said a moment later, "I think I'm back up to speed now. Boy, I'd forgotten how much fun those bootlegger turns are. Okay, when do you get here and what do you need?"


"I don't know and I don't know," I answered truthfully. "Let me get back to you on both. I haven't really got my mind wrapped around this, yet."
"You haven't? I feel like Scrooge on Christmas morning."
"We'll work all that stuff out. I'll let you know when to expect how many of us as soon as I know myself. How's the housing market down there?"
"Pricey."