Fletch’s Moxie

28

In the cool night, Fletch walked around Key West for awhile. He found himself in the center of the old commercial district so he went down the alley to Durty Harry’s. Frederick Mooney was not there. Few were. There was no band playing either.

He sat at the bar and ordered a beer. A clock he had seen said ten minutes past eleven but clocks in Key West are not expected to tell the real time. Clocks in Key West are only meant to substantiate unreality.

A dog, a black dog, a large black dog walked through the bar at the heels of a man who came through a door on the second storey and down a spiral staircase.

“What’s that dog’s name?” Fletch asked the young woman behind the bar.

“That’s Emperor. Isn’t he a nice dog?”

“Nice dog.” Fletch sipped his beer. He did not want the beer. The early morning phone call from Satterlee, the demonstrations, the day of sailing and swimming in the wind and sun made him glad to sit quietly a moment. He thought about Global Cable News and how quickly his phone call had been answered and he was allowed to speak to that hour’s producer because he was a stockholder. It should be the story that counts, not who is calling it in. Anything can be checked out. Your average stockholder is not any more honest or accurate than your average citizen. Fletch decided if he ever had a big story again he’d call it into Global Cable News under a phony name. It would be an interesting experiment—for a stockholder. He wanted to sleep. He left the rest of his beer on the bar. “Nice dog,” he said.