Snake Eater by William G. Tapply Read Free Book Online

Fifth Avenue in New York City. The heart of the publishing district.
    Back at my desk, I dialed their number. A sexy female voice answered.
    “Al Coleman, please,” I said.
    “Who should I say is calling?”
    “Brady Coyne. We’re friends.”
    “One moment, sir.”
    I was treated to two minutes of Mozart while I waited on hold. Then she came back on and said, “Mr. Coyne, what was it you wanted?”
    Fair enough, I thought. I hadn’t remembered Al Coleman, and he didn’t remember me. “Tell Al,” I said, “that he used to come down to the house that Charlie McDevitt and I rented while we were all at Yale Law together. Tell him he used to bring a beautiful blonde with him. Tell him I have a manuscript that I want to give him first shot at. Because we’re old friends.”
    “Oh,” she said. She started to say something, then stopped herself. “Well, okay,” she said instead. “Hang on a minute.”
    More Mozart. Then, “Hey, Brady. How’ve you been?”
    “Cut the shit, Al,” I said. “Charlie had to remind me of you, and you don’t remember me.”
    He laughed. It was a good, genuine laugh. “I do remember Charlie. And that shack you guys rented. I remember you, too, except your name failed to ring a bell. I remember the vats of fish chowder you guys’d cook up and all the beer. I used to play handball with Charlie.”
    “He said you were good.”
    “Nah. Charlie was bad, that’s all. You and Charlie used to claim that you made that chowder from fish you caught yourselves.”
    “True. We never told you what kind of fish they were, though.”
    “What, eels?”
    “Among other unmentionables,” I said.
    He chuckled. “So you’ve written a book, huh?”
    “Not me. One of my clients has written one, and he’s asked me to find an agent for it. I thought of you.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    “I haven’t read it.”
    “Send me an outline. I’ll give it a look.”
    “No outline. He refuses to do one. Says the book speaks for itself. He’s a funny guy. Very shy. Wants to use a pseudonym. He’s a Vietnam vet, got himself doused with Agent Orange over there.”
    “Well, what’ve we got? A novel or what?”
    “I don’t know. A story, he calls it.”
    “Christ,” he muttered. “How’m I supposed to take a book, you can’t even tell me what kind of book it is?”
    “I understand.”
    I heard Al sigh. “The market’s real soft on Vietnam stuff just now, Brady.”
    “I don’t even know if it’s a Vietnam book. I was just hoping you’d look at it. I know you can’t guarantee anything.”
    “You have any idea how many people are writing books these days?”
    “Too many, I guess.” I hesitated. “Listen,” I said, “if you could just glance at it, maybe tell me if it’s worth anything. You know, if I should just tell Daniel to forget it.”
    He was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “I guess I could look at it. That’s what the old school tie is all about, huh?”
    “I appreciate it, Al,” I said.
    “Send it down.”
    “I will.”
    “It’ll take me a few weeks to get back to you.”
    “Fine. Understood.” I hesitated. “Hey, Al?”
    “Yeah?”
    “What ever happened to that blonde?”
    “The one I used to bring to your parties?”
    “That one.”
    “I married her.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Yeah. She’s the one who answers the phone here. You just talked to her. We’ve got four kids. What about you?”
    “Me?”
    “Yeah. You used to have a knockout brunette with you. I can almost remember her name.”
    “Gloria,” I said.
    “Right. What happened to her?”
    “I married her.”
    “Oh.”
    “Yes. We have two boys. Divorced eleven years ago.”
    “Well, I’m sorry.”
    “Sometimes I am, too.”

6
    A L COLEMAN CALLED ME back two weeks later. “I really got my hands full here,” he said. “I hardly ever take on a new client. I’m trying to avoid hiring anybody. It’s just me and Bonnie. A two-person office, that’s how I want it.”
    “Me, too,” I said.