Part 35 (2/2)
He checked his watch. ”Come on. I'll buy you lunch, and we'll talk about it.” So we walked to Jack's on Child Street and kicked the idea around over clam chowder and littlenecks.
”Way things are going, you'll probably clear eighty grand the first year,” McCracken said.
”That much?”
”Uh-huh.”
”More than I'm making now,” I said.
”Yeah, I heard the paper cut everybody down to a four-day week.”
”More than I was making before that,” I said.
”Really?”
”By a lot.”
”Ouch.”
”So what's your medical plan?” I asked.
”Don't get shot.”
”Dental?”
”Don't get shot in the mouth.”
”Retirement?”
”Buy lottery tickets.”
”Good plans. What about parental leave policy?”
”Don't have kids.”
”I guess that about covers it,” I said.
”So how about it?”
”I love being a reporter,” I said.
”I know you do.”
”But the paper is failing.”
”So I keep hearing.”
”I can't see myself working in TV.”
”'Course not. You're not pretty enough.”
”Not dumb enough, either,” I said.
”Maybe you could start a blog or something.”
”Know anybody who makes a living doing that?”
”No.”
”Me either.”
”Tell me again what you like about reporting,” he said.
”I like sticking my nose in other people's business,” I said. ”And then I like telling everybody in the state what I find out.”
”As a P.I.,” he said, ”you'd still be sticking your nose in other people's business, but you'd have to keep your mouth shut about it.”
”Half the satisfaction for twice the money,” I said. ”Not a bad trade-off, I guess.”
”Want to stick it out at the Dispatch a while longer?”
”I think so.”
”Then let's revisit this in a few months,” he said. ”There's no rush.”
”Thanks,” I said. Before I left, I remembered to ask him if he'd talk to Parisi. He said he would.
It was after three by the time I hit the road for Providence. I'd just pulled onto the Wampanoag Trail when ”b.i.t.c.h” started playing on my cell phone. I let it go to voice mail, but she called three more times in two minutes, so I pulled to the side of the road and dug the phone out of my pants pocket.
”Mulligan.”
”Hi. It's Dorcas.”
”I know who it is.”
”How are you?”
”I'm fine.”
”You sure? I've been reading your stories about all the murders. It must be horrible for you.”
Dorcas being civil? This was new.
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