–Reviews: Leonard Pinth Garnell
–The Reviews Just Keep on Comin’
Got a note from a reader who wrote that he was moved by the “cascading conclusions” to the novel. Obviously, a very discerning chap. I picked up the paperback and thumbed through it. I stopped when I came across a short passage I remember inserting just before the ending as an homage to the “Duet” – my fond farewell to two dear friends.
LAST MONDAY NIGHT
11:15PM: The Blue Meanie Tavern, 9th Street, Park Slope.
Quinn and Gilliam, leaning against the same stand-up counter they occupied every Monday night, were finding it easier to talk without shouting, now that the New York Jets were down by four touchdowns.
The door blew open.
“Damn, not again,” Quinn complained, turning to kick it closed with alcohol-fueled fury.
The noise caused some nearby college-age guzzlers to take stock of their surroundings for the first time all night, wondering if it was safe to be around the old door-kicking White guy and particularly his Black companion who was just then gesticulating wildly.
Gilliam continued playing a furious lick, low on the neck of his air guitar, intent on making his point.
“Mike, nobody could shred like Prince! Nobody!”
Gilliam took a swig of his beer, satisfied that his judgment had been delivered with the appropriate intensity.
They were silent for a minute, watching the college kids polish off their final beers before trudging out into the plunging temperatures and intermittent snow squalls. Now less than a dozen patrons remained, sadly trying to forestall the rapid resumption of their work-week.
Harry the bartender waved to Gilliam and Quinn. They held up two fingers to signal another round. “Hope he doesn’t take that as four drinks again,” said Gilliam.
“Hey, Bernie, remember our first day working counterterrorism? On the Intrepid?”
Gilliam was focused on the flat-panel screen hanging on the side wall displaying a list of side-effects for a new medication. “Please, Mike, I wanna see if this one can give me a four hour erection too.”
“You wish. Seriously, though, now that we’re counting down to our last days together…”
“My dear Watson,” Gilliam began, draping an arm over Quinn’s shoulder, “I have also been giving the matter a great deal of thought when I’m on the other side of the pond you Americans call Prospect Park Lake.”
He took a long gulp of beer, emptying the bottle. “At first I considered you an ignorant Irishman with a miniscule sex organ but then as time passed I started to see you for who you really are” – Gilliam drew Quinn near and whispered – “Watson, you just an instrument of The Man’s occupying force, motherfucker.”
Quinn sighed. Then, pretending Gilliam’s empty bottle was a microphone, he began narrating a new episode of their long-running imaginery radio soap opera, FBI Dragnet:
It was 9AM. We were working the day watch out of Federal Plaza when the phone rang.
It was a wrong number.
I hung up.
Seconds later it rang again.
It was Chu.
“Why did you hang up on me?” he asked.
I couldn’t say.
He moved on.
“I got a new assignment from the ADIC. He met a billionaire who told him the American Nazi Party is racist. Check it out.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And tell Gilliam not to go calling them racists for Crissakes.”
Suddenly inspired, Gilliam started singing his favorite Blaxploitation theme song, gradually thrusting an angry face until it was inches away from his pal: “You don’t know what you’ll do until you’re put under pressure, but Across Federal Plaza is a hell of a tester!”
A brunette on a stool, ignoring the attentions of an increasingly obnoxious over-served customer, noticed the tense interaction behind her, reflected in the bar mirror. As she turned around apprehensively, Harry set down two bottles of Coors Light for Gilliam and two glasses of Dewars on the rocks for Quinn. Seeing the woman’s concern as the men approached, Harry offered reassuringly: “Oh, don’t worry, Miss, they’re always like that.”
Atomic Duet - An FBI Story 