Free McMurtry, Larry - Novel 05 by Cadillac Jack (v1.0) Page B

the little knobs on a TV
set: in order to sharpen the picture, bring out the living detail.
                   "Nineteen sixty-two," he said.
"I was AP then, of course. European desk. Had been in Berlin , covering the Wall. Seems hard to believe now, but the Wall was
a big story then. Jack Kennedy came over. The Wall was always worth a
trip."
                   Micah Leviticus, down two sets, was darting
anxious glances at Boss.
                   "Of course, the Wall got old,"
Moorcock said. "The Wall got very old. Went to
Vals-les-Bains to interview General LaRoche-Jacquelin. Played a hunch. You could do that then.
                   "LaRoche-Jacquelin had a chateau near the
Vals-les Bains. It was a little messy."
                   "Them chateaus is hard to keep
clean," Boog allowed. "All the hired help run off and become movie
directors."
                   "Oh no," Moorcock said, looking
surprised. "The chateau was impeccable. It was the situation that was
messy. The General's aide-de-camp was his mistress' brother."
                   "Shit, I wisht I had an
aide-de-camp," Boog said. "First thing I'd have him do is go around
and whip my kids for me. Bunch of little smartasses give me a haid ache."
                   "The General was tired of his mistress,
and the aide-decamp was tired of the General,'* Moorcock went on. " Can't blame him for that. LaRoche-Jacquelin was a mean
fucker."
                   Boss got down behind Micah and began to rub his
neck. One reason Micah was so far behind was because of his obsession with
trying to put topspin on the httle electronic ball. Electronic topspin was
beyond his manual skills, a fact Linda coolly took advantage of.
                   "To make a long story short," Moorcock
concluded, "the aide-de-camp drowned the pug while the General was
reciting his favorite passage from the 'Chanson de Roland.'"
                   Boss looked up for a moment. "For your
information, Bobby," she said, "you don't make long stories short.
You make short stories long."
                   Despite this criticism. Moorcock seemed satisfied with his account. He poured himself a drink from a
pitcher of cocktails sitting on the coffee table.
                   Micah stubbornly continued his quest for
topspin.
                   "I'd hate like shit to have to listen to a French general recite poetry," Boog said.
                   "Why, when you recite it to every little
hooker who will take your money?" Boss asked.
                   "Hail, I recite Thomas Hardy," Boog
said. "A man of wisdom. A man
who understood the human condition, which is more than can be said for any
French general."
                   "Match point," Micah said,
hopelessly.
                  

Chapter II
     
                   Linda Miller had the killer instinct. She
seemed to be the Tracy Austin of TV tennis. Instantly she rammed home a final
ace and switched the game oflf. Micah turned to Boss for comfort, while Linda
ran and jumped on Boog's stomach, catching him by surprise.
                   "I heard you call me a smartass,"
she said. "You asked for it and now you're gonna get it."
                   Everyone at the Millers' seemed to be in a strange,
Sunday afternoon mood, not easy to put one's finger on. Micah was the first to
articulate it.
                   "What we all need is Mary Tyler
Moore," he said. "I hate days when there are no reruns. I miss her
perky smile."
                   Moorcock Malone was glugging cocktails, a
little frustrated at not being allowed to finish his story.
                   "The aide-de-camp got cashiered," he
went on quickly. "Not for drowning the pug, for marrying a Greek woman.
Then LaRoche-Jacquelin got cashiered, for talking back to De Gaulle. That leaves
the mistress,