M*A*S*H Goes to Las Vegas by Richard Hooker & William E. Butterworth

Author:Richard Hooker & William E. Butterworth [Hooker, Richard & Butterworth, William E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Humor, Historical Fiction, War, Comedy, Medical, Media Tie-In, Tv, Movie, United States, Military
ISBN: 9780671802653
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 1976-12-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

There came a great knock at the door of the modest apartment near St. Peter’s Church which the church had provided for His Eminence John Patrick Mulcahy, Titular Archbishop of Swengchan, China.

Thinking it was his secretary, Monsignor Pancho de Malaga y de Villa, the archbishop called out, “Come on in, Pancho, I’m nearly packed.” He was in the act of packing a small black suitcase. When he heard the door open and then close again, he added, “Be a good guy and bring me a beer, will you? There’s a couple of bottles in the refrigerator.”

“I’m afraid,” a gentle voice said in Latin, “that I don’t know where your refrigerator is, John.”

The archbishop, who was normally rather unflappable, stiffened in visible shock. There was only one man in the world with a gentle voice like that. He spun around, his mouth open, and started to drop to his knees. “Forgive me, Your Holi ….”

“I am here unofficially,” the small man in the white vestments said. “As a friend of long standing, to wish you well on your journey, John.”

The Archbishop of Swengchan was speechless.

“You did say that your refrigerator had a couple of bottles of beer?” the small man in the white vestments said. “Perhaps you would be good enough to share one with me?”

The archbishop stared at him. “Your Hol…”

“I am here, John, as nothing more than a fellow priest … or at least a fellow bishop, so perhaps it would be best if you just called me ‘Father.’ ”

“Yes, Father,” the archbishop said.

“I really would like a beer,” he said.

“Two beers coming right up, Father,” the archbishop said and rushed out to the kitchen.

“Don’t bother with a glass,” he called after him. “I always think it tastes better fresh from the bottle.”

When the beer had been delivered, the small man said, “I believe the proper American expression is ‘Mud in Your Ear’?”

“Mud in your eye, actually,” Archbishop Mulcahy said.

“How interesting,” the small man said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen this kind of beer before, Father? American, isn’t it?”

“I have a friend, Father,” Mulcahy, having partially gotten over his shock, said. “I mentioned one time that I really missed American beer, and ever since then he has a couple of cases of Fenstermacher’s Finest Old Creole Pale Pilsner flown over from New Orleans every week.”

“That would be Jean-Pierre de la Chevaux?” the small man asked.

“Yes, Father, it would.”

“The same man whose airplane sits at the airfield waiting to fly you to Nevada?”

“Yes, Father, the same man. He’s a good, Catholic man.”

“So the Archbishop of New Orleans informs me. A good Catholic man. A little out of the ordinary, perhaps, but a good man. The archbishop tells me that he gave the archdiocese a two-hundred-bed hospital.”

“That’s true, Father, he did,” Mulcahy said. “Horsey is very generous.”

“And also that he is a bit overfond of the grape.”

“I’m afraid that’s also true, Father,” Mulcahy admitted.

“I don’t believe a word of it, of course,” the small man said, “but there’s a

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