Liam Mulligan: Cliff Walk Part 36

"Hey," I said, "it keeps me on the front page."

"Well, that's something, I guess."

"It is."

"Well ... uh, I've got something to tell you."

"Yes?"

"I've been seeing somebody."

Seeing somebody? Must mean she finally went to a psychiatrist. To be this nice to me, she had to be on some heavy meds.

"Who?" I asked.

"His name is Doug, and he's really sweet. Treats me like a queen."

Oh. "How nice for you."

"He's an older guy, owns his own construction business."

"I see."

"Are you okay with this? I was afraid you might take it hard."

"I'm happy for you, Dorcas."

"You are?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Mulligan?"

"What?"

"He's asked me to marry him."

"Congratulations."

"Doug's doing real well, so I won't be needing alimony after all."

"That's good to hear."

"So I was kind of hoping you'd be willing to expedite the divorce."

"Sure thing."

"You can have the house if you want it."

"I don't," I said. "I wouldn't be able to make the payments."

"You could sell it."

"The housing market has collapsed, Dorcas. Selling it could take a long time, and it probably would go for less than we owe on it."

"You want me to keep it, then?"

"Yes, I do."

"Okay. I'll have my lawyer draw up the papers."

"Good."

"You think you could sign them right away? We want to get married next month."

"I can do that."

"Thank you."

"You bet."

"You're sure you're okay with this?"

"I'll survive."

"Well, okay, then. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Dorcas."

As I clicked off, I had the fleeting thought that I should warn poor deluded Doug; but I stifled it. I pulled back onto the road, cranked the prost.i.tution playlist up loud, and sang along with the music. At one point I think I may have shouted, "Yippie!" But as I crossed the bridge over the Providence River, I felt suddenly deflated.

The witch was getting married again. How come I didn't have somebody?

50.

Lomax stripped Mason's story across page one on Sunday, and it caused an immediate sensation. Preachers denounced the governor and the state legislature from the pulpit. The governor, in turn, denounced the paper for spreading the lie that he'd taken money from a p.o.r.nographer-and then promised to return it. The Sword of G.o.d, a.s.sault rifles at port arms, picketed the governor's McMansion in Warwick, chanting, "Little Rhody is not for sale"-a slogan that couldn't have been more inaccurate. Fiona announced a criminal investigation and demanded immediate pa.s.sage of her bill outlawing prost.i.tution. All the national TV networks trumpeted the story. CNN embellished its coverage with a hastily prepared feature on Rhode Island corruption through the ages, complete with video of a dozen mayors, judges, and state legislators being led away in handcuffs. FOX News dressed up its report with spy camera video of half-naked hookers cavorting inside the Tongue and Groove. And a good time was had by all.

On Tuesday, the judiciary committees sent Fiona's bill to the floors of the house and senate. Wednesday morning, the house pa.s.sed it by a vote of 722 with one abstention, and that afternoon, the senate approved it by a vote of 380. Thursday morning, the governor signed it into law. And that evening, Fiona went on television to crow that "the shameful era of legalized prost.i.tution in Rhode Island is over" and to hint that she was considering a run for governor. I had to squint to be sure, but I think she was wearing makeup.

Next morning, the Dispatch's editors huddled to discuss whether the newspaper should continue to refer to Fiona as "Attila the Nun." Lomax was in favor, calling the appellation colorful and instantly recognizable. The fuddy-duddy copydesk chief was opposed, saying it was now technically inaccurate. As the debate heated up, I could hear their raised voices through the closed conference room door.

The new law made prost.i.tution a misdemeanor punishable by six months in prison, a one-thousand-dollar fine, or both, and it applied equally to hookers and their Johns. The strip clubs were given just a week to clean up their act, and Mayor Carroza vowed that the Providence Police Department would be vigilant in enforcing it. So the night the law went live, I decided to check it out.

There were only a dozen cars in the parking lot at the Tongue and Groove. Inside, I found Joseph DeLucca chugging a beer at the bar. He wiped the foam from his upper lip with the tail of his Hawaiian s.h.i.+rt as I sat beside him.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. "I thought you got promoted."

"That's only for when the ex-SEALs are out of town."

"Oh. Too bad."

"Not really. I like this job better."

"How come?"

"Free beer and p.u.s.s.y."

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I spotted several bullet holes from slugs that had gone wide of King Felix's nervous triggerman. I looked around and saw only six girls and a handful of customers in the place.

"Slow night?" I said.

"Thank G.o.d," he said. "I need the breather."

"How do you mean?"

"It's been f.u.c.kin' nuts in here the last week. Guys in a panic about the new law showed up in droves. All the regulars, half the student bodies of URI and PC, busloads of h.o.r.n.y b.a.s.t.a.r.ds from Boston, Hartford, and Worcester. All of 'em desperate to legally screw a hooker one last time. And don't even ask me about last night. It was un-f.u.c.kin'-believable!"

"Tell me more."

"By nine o'clock I counted four hundred guys in here, which is fifty over the legal limit, and there were more outside trying to force their way in. I put the other bouncer on the door, told him not to let anyone else in until somebody came out. That left me alone on the inside, and it wasn't pretty."

"How so?"

"Four hundred h.o.r.n.y guys and forty hookers? You do the f.u.c.kin' math."

"Fistfights?"

"A couple, yeah. And a whole lot of pus.h.i.+n' and shovin'."

"That how you got the s.h.i.+ner?"

"Uh-huh."

"You got only ten private rooms here, right?"

"Right."

"How'd that work out?"

"Would have had a f.u.c.kin' riot, we hadn't let the girls straddle guys reverse cowgirl at the c.o.c.ktail tables. Shoulda been here, Mulligan. It was one h.e.l.l of a party."

"But it's all over now," I said.

"No, not really."

"How do you mean?"

"Business will pick up again once word gets around."

"What word?" I asked.

"Hang around for a while and you'll see for yourself." He waved the bartender over and asked him to bring us a couple of Buds.

"How's the leg?" I asked.

"Healed up good as new."

We were watching a Hispanic girl with a strawberry birthmark on her a.s.s hump a stripper pole when a tall brunette in a G-string and nothing else pranced up and rubbed her palm against the front of my jeans.

"I'm Caramel. What's your name?"

"They call me Mulligan."

"Want to have some fun with Caramel tonight, Mulligan?"

What I thought was that Marical would be even more fun, but what I said was: "I heard all the fun ended last night."

"You heard wrong."

"Yeah?"

"Why don't we find a dark corner where I can suck your c.o.c.k? Or if you want, we can get a private room, and you can f.u.c.k me."

The complimentary card for a trip around the world was still in my wallet. I wondered if I was the only one who heard it singing. It crooned the chorus to "Bad Girl" and segued into the opening verse of "Honky Tonk Women."

I met a gin-soaked barroom queen in Memphis ...

"Sorry, Caramel. I think I'll just sit here and watch the show."

"You sure?"

"I am."

"If you change your mind, just call out my name, okay?"

"Sure thing," I said.

She spun on her stilettos and was gone.

"What's up with that?" I asked Joseph.

"Just business as usual."