My King The President

by Tom Lewis

  Sammy Tyson crossed his good leg over his bad one, frowning over the chessboard. “Nastiest winter I can ever remember in Tryon’s Cove. This cold weather makes my leg ache, and it’s bad for business, too. Where’s Cal? He ain’t hardly ever late. I can’t boil those lobsters till he gets here.”

  “He told me he had some important business to take care of,” I said.

  “On Christmas Eve?”

  I shrugged.

  “You ain’t even touched your beer. Look, Jeb, you gotta pull yourself out of this depression. What’s buggin’ you anyway? You been moping around town for a week with a face long enough to eat soup out of a gun barrel. Is it the girl?”

  “Partly. I miss her like the devil, but mostly I’m disappointed about what’s going on in Washington.” I looked up, into Sammy’s sympathetic brown eyes. “It’s the biggest cover-up since Watergate, and I’m part of it.”

  Sammy tried his best to change the subject. “People here sure were glad you weren’t dead. It was one helluva Christmas parade this time around. Cal said—Hey, here he comes now.”

  Cal came stomping in, blowing on his hands. “Christ, it’s cold out there. Those lobsters ready, Sammy?”

  “Gimme ten minutes,” Sammy answered. “See if you can cheer your boy up some. I ain’t never seen him so far down.”

  Cal took off his overcoat and hat. Walked over to the old wood heater and warmed his hands. Without turning around, he said, “They caught the Miami shooter, Jeb. Some Coast Guard psycho with an IQ of twelve who hated teachers. Took it out on anybody in his gunsights.”

  When I didn’t respond, he eased himself into the chair opposite me. “Listen to me, son. President Fordham hardly had any other choice. She’s got a mountain of ice to move out of her way with only one dull ice pick. The full story will come out someday, maybe twenty years from now, but since she never really had positive proof, keeping the whole thing under the government sheets was the most expeditious thing to do.”

  “It’s still a cover-up.”

  “Some things never change, especially in Washington. What’s really bothering you is that you can’t write a word about it. Well, neither can I, and neither can Ernie Latham. We all signed the same papers.” He stood. Stuck his hands in his pockets. “Anyway, I’ve got some more news.”

  “What?” Sammy wanted to know. He had come back in and had heard what Cal said.

  Cal coughed dramatically. “Got a big insurance check in the mail yesterday, and, I just finished up with the lawyers and bankers. I’ve sold the paper.”

  That got my attention. “You what?”

  “Randy Deason’s been after me for years to buy the Telegram. You know that. He ran it well while I was gone, and is quite capable of keeping its standards high. I’ve decided it’s time I quit. Retired.”

  Sammy and I were both speechless. Cal reached into his jacket pocket, extracted three colorful envelopes, and slapped them on the table. “Merry Christmas, boys. Time to open our presents. These are tickets to Hawaii. We’re all three going for a long vacation, as far away from here as we can get, and where it’s warm.”

  “Lord God,” Sammy said. “You serious?”

  “As much as I’ll ever be.”

  “Hot Damn!” Sammy yelled, and danced an awkward jig, bad leg and all. “How about that, Jeb! Come on, get that dog’s look off your face.”

  “Now you listen,” I said to Cal. “I’ve got blood on my hands, I’ve lost my girl and my boat, a shot at maybe a Pulitzer, and I’m flat broke. What’s Hawaii going to change about that?”

  Cal winked at Sammy. “I know this guy pretty well. I hear Hawaii is a good place to find a bargain on a blue water boat, and that most of the women over there are beautiful.” He looked back at me. “Besides, you are not broke. You’ve forgotten that your mother owned one third of the paper, which she left to you. You’ve got money in the bank. A fair amount, too, since I made such a good deal.”

  Sammy said, “We’d better watch him like a hawk, though. If we don’t, he’ll probably go looking for another mess to get into.”

  Cal laughed. “He won’t have to look. Trouble always finds him.”

  He pushed his sleeves up, selected two pawns, and hid his hands beneath the table. “Now, how does Hawaii look?”

  In spite of myself, I laughed, too. “Not bad, I guess, now that I think about the possibilities. Okay, you two jokers. Count me in.”

  Cal said, “Hear that, Sammy? Like I said, some things never change.”

  He held his hands up for me to choose. I pointed to his left one.

  “White again. You see, pal, your luck’s changing already. Your move.”

  McBryde Publishing

  NEW BERN, NORTH CAROLINA USA