man!"
"-- but I can't be in anything has to do with your business. I just can't, babe."
"It's not business."
"What is it?"
"It's Francine."
"Jesus, what's the matter? Never mind, you'll tell me when I get out there. You're at home, right?"
"Yeah, I'm at home."
"I'll get a cab. I'll be right out."
WHILE Peter Khoury was looking for a cabdriver willing to take him to his brother's house inBrooklyn , I was watching a group of reporters on ESPN discussing the likelihood of a cap on players' salaries.
It didn't break my heart when the phone rang. It was Mick Ballou, calling from the town ofCastlebar inCountyMayo . The line was clear as a bell; he might have been calling from the back room at Grogan's.
"It's grand here," he said. "If you think the Irish are crazy inNew York you should meet them on their own home ground. Every other storefront's a pub, and no one's out the door before closing hour."
"They close early, don't they?"
"Too bloody early by half. In your hotel, though, they have to serve drink at any hour to any registered guest that wants it. Now that's the mark of a civilized country, don't you think?"
"Absolutely."
"They all smoke, though. They're forever lighting cigarettes and offering the pack around. The French are even worse that way. When I was over there visiting my father's people they were peeved with me for not smoking. I believe Americans are the only people in the world who've had the sense to give it up."
"You'll still find a few smokers in this country, Mick."
"Good luck to them, then, suffering through plane rides and films and all the rules against it in public places." He told a long story about a man and a woman he'd met a few nights before. It was funny and we both laughed, and then he asked about me and I said I was all right. "Are you, then," he said.
"A little restless, maybe. I've had time on my hands lately. And the moon's full."
"Is it," he said. "Here, too."
"What a coincidence."
"But then it's always full overIreland . Good job it's always raining so you don't have to look at it all the time. Matt, I've an idea. Get on a plane and come over here."
"What?"
"I'll bet you've never been toIreland ."
"I've never been out of the country," I said. "Wait a minute, that's not true, I've been toCanada a couple of times andMexico once, but--"
"You've never been toEurope ?"
"No."
"Well, for Jesus' sake, get on a plane and come over. Bring herself if you want"-- meaning Elaine-- "or come alone, it makes no matter. I talked to Rosenstein and he says I'd best stay out of the country awhile yet. He says he can get it all straightened out but they've got this fucking federal task force and he doesn't want me on American soil until the all clear's sounded. I could be stuck in this fucking pesthole another month or more. What's so funny?"
"I thought you loved the place, and now it's a pesthole."
"Anywhere's a pesthole when you haven't your friends about you.
Come on over, man. What do you say?"
PETER Khoury got to his brother's house just after Kenan had had still another conversation with the gentler of the kidnappers. The man had seemed rather less gentle this time, especially toward the end of the conversation when Khoury tried to demand some evidence that Francine was alive and well. The conversation went something like this: KHOURY: I want to talk to my wife.
KIDNAPPER: That's impossible. She's at a safe house. I'm at a pay phone.
KHOURY: How do I know she's all right?
KIDNAPPER: Because we've had every reason to take good care of her. Look how much she's worth to us.
KHOURY: Jesus, how do I even know you've got her in the first place?
KIDNAPPER: Are you familiar with her breasts?
KHOURY: Huh?
KIDNAPPER: Would you recognize one of them? That would be the simplest way. I'll cut off one of her tits and leave it on your doorstep, and that will put your mind at rest.
KHOURY: Jesus, don't say that. Don't even say that.
KIDNAPPER: Then let's not talk about proof, shall we?
"-- but I can't be in anything has to do with your business. I just can't, babe."
"It's not business."
"What is it?"
"It's Francine."
"Jesus, what's the matter? Never mind, you'll tell me when I get out there. You're at home, right?"
"Yeah, I'm at home."
"I'll get a cab. I'll be right out."
WHILE Peter Khoury was looking for a cabdriver willing to take him to his brother's house inBrooklyn , I was watching a group of reporters on ESPN discussing the likelihood of a cap on players' salaries.
It didn't break my heart when the phone rang. It was Mick Ballou, calling from the town ofCastlebar inCountyMayo . The line was clear as a bell; he might have been calling from the back room at Grogan's.
"It's grand here," he said. "If you think the Irish are crazy inNew York you should meet them on their own home ground. Every other storefront's a pub, and no one's out the door before closing hour."
"They close early, don't they?"
"Too bloody early by half. In your hotel, though, they have to serve drink at any hour to any registered guest that wants it. Now that's the mark of a civilized country, don't you think?"
"Absolutely."
"They all smoke, though. They're forever lighting cigarettes and offering the pack around. The French are even worse that way. When I was over there visiting my father's people they were peeved with me for not smoking. I believe Americans are the only people in the world who've had the sense to give it up."
"You'll still find a few smokers in this country, Mick."
"Good luck to them, then, suffering through plane rides and films and all the rules against it in public places." He told a long story about a man and a woman he'd met a few nights before. It was funny and we both laughed, and then he asked about me and I said I was all right. "Are you, then," he said.
"A little restless, maybe. I've had time on my hands lately. And the moon's full."
"Is it," he said. "Here, too."
"What a coincidence."
"But then it's always full overIreland . Good job it's always raining so you don't have to look at it all the time. Matt, I've an idea. Get on a plane and come over here."
"What?"
"I'll bet you've never been toIreland ."
"I've never been out of the country," I said. "Wait a minute, that's not true, I've been toCanada a couple of times andMexico once, but--"
"You've never been toEurope ?"
"No."
"Well, for Jesus' sake, get on a plane and come over. Bring herself if you want"-- meaning Elaine-- "or come alone, it makes no matter. I talked to Rosenstein and he says I'd best stay out of the country awhile yet. He says he can get it all straightened out but they've got this fucking federal task force and he doesn't want me on American soil until the all clear's sounded. I could be stuck in this fucking pesthole another month or more. What's so funny?"
"I thought you loved the place, and now it's a pesthole."
"Anywhere's a pesthole when you haven't your friends about you.
Come on over, man. What do you say?"
PETER Khoury got to his brother's house just after Kenan had had still another conversation with the gentler of the kidnappers. The man had seemed rather less gentle this time, especially toward the end of the conversation when Khoury tried to demand some evidence that Francine was alive and well. The conversation went something like this: KHOURY: I want to talk to my wife.
KIDNAPPER: That's impossible. She's at a safe house. I'm at a pay phone.
KHOURY: How do I know she's all right?
KIDNAPPER: Because we've had every reason to take good care of her. Look how much she's worth to us.
KHOURY: Jesus, how do I even know you've got her in the first place?
KIDNAPPER: Are you familiar with her breasts?
KHOURY: Huh?
KIDNAPPER: Would you recognize one of them? That would be the simplest way. I'll cut off one of her tits and leave it on your doorstep, and that will put your mind at rest.
KHOURY: Jesus, don't say that. Don't even say that.
KIDNAPPER: Then let's not talk about proof, shall we?
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