Fletch and the Man Who by Gregory Mcdonald

Author:Gregory Mcdonald [Mcdonald, Gregory]
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fletch
ISBN: 9780307523853
Publisher: Vintage Books A Division of Random House, Inc.
Published: 1983-06-24T05:00:00+00:00

19

“It’s none of my business, but—”

“You’re right,” Bill Dieckmann snapped. Sitting at the bar, he didn’t even look up from his beer.

“Just wondering if I can help.” The bartender brought Fletch a beer. “Does whatever happened to you on the bus today happen often?”

“None of your business.”

“Have you been to a doctor about it?”

“None of your business.”

“Agreed,” Fletch said. “Let me know if ever I can be of help.” He looked around the bar. All motel bars are interchangeable, too. Even the people in them are interchangeable: the morose, lonely businessmen, the keyed-up, long-haul truck drivers, the few locals who are there solely for the booze. “Where is everyone?” Fletch asked. There were only a few campaign types in the bar.

“In their rooms, I guess,” Bill answered. “Not getting anything to eat. At the mayor’s dinner, not getting anything to eat. Betsy is at the 4-H Club dinner, trailing Walsh. She’s probably getting something to eat. Solov’s in his room, watching cable television.” Bill grinned. “He’s not getting anything to eat, either.”

“Does that guy ever take off his overcoat?” Fletch asked.

“No, no. He was born in it. You can tell he grew up inside it. Each time Pravda sends him out of the country his managing editor just moves the buttons for him.”

“Time they moved the buttons again.”

Dr. Thom entered. He put his black bag on the bar beside Fletch.

“Here’s a doctor now,” Fletch said brightly.

“Best bedside manner in the country,” Bill said. “If you don’t have a temperature when Dr. Thom arrives, you will when he leaves. Good for business, right, Doc?”

“Journalists,” Dr. Thom said. “If any journalist ever spoke well of me, I’d instantly overdose on a purgative.”

“Looks like you already have,” Bill said.

“It’s a medical fact,” Dr. Thom said to Fletch, “that all journalists are born with congenital diarrhea. Double Scotch, no ice,” he said to the bartender.

“I’m a journalist,” Fletch said.

“I trust you vacated yourself before you entered the bar.”

“Mr. Fletcher?” A woman was standing at Fletch’s elbow.

“At least a journalist has to empty himself,” Bill Dieckmann burped. “Doctors are born vacuous, and vacuous they remain.”

“Yes?” Fletch had turned to the woman.

“Are you Mr. Fletcher?”

“Yes. But you can call me Mr. Jones.”

“If only,” Dr. Thom intoned ever so slowly, “journalists would vacate themselves privately.”

“I’m Judy Nadich,” the woman said. “Feature writer for Farming-dale Views.”

“Great stuff you’re writing,” Fletch said. And then laughed. “I’m sure.”

Judy grinned. “You liked my last piece? On how to repair cracked teacups?”

“Thought it was great,” Fletch laughed. “Read it several times.”

“I knew that one would get national attention,” Judy said.

“Sure,” Fletch said. “Everyone’s got cracked teacups.”

“Hey,” Judy said. “Seriously. I’m trying to get an interview with Doris Wheeler.”

“I think you’re supposed to see Ms Sullivan about that.”

“I’ve asked and asked and she says no.”

“Why?”

“She says there’s no time on Mrs. Wheeler’s schedule for a full, sit-down interview. What she means is that the readership of the Farmingdale Views isn’t worth an hour of Mrs. Wheeler’s time. She’s right, of course. But it’s important to me.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.