Bruce DeSilva - Providence Rag

Charlie wandered over, plunked a cup of coffee in front of Mulligan, and took his order of bacon and scrambled eggs.

“The army’s not a bad idea,” Mulligan said, “now that Iraq is over and Afghanistan is winding down.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Pugliese said.

“Then again, we might end up in a shooting war with Iran,” Mason said, trying not to show his irritation at the way Mulligan had usurped the interview.

“Or Pakistan,” Mulligan said.

“Or North Korea,” Pugliese said. “Then I’d have more than shivs to worry about.”

They were still kicking the sorry state of the world around when Charlie slapped Mulligan’s order on the table and topped off his coffee.

“If you’re serious about quitting,” Mason said, “why not talk to me about Galloway? I mean, what do you have to lose?”

“What do I have to gain?” Pugliese said.

“Not a thing,” Mulligan put in.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Mason said.

“No?” Pugliese said.

“You’d have the satisfaction of helping me expose officials who are perverting the criminal justice system,” Mason said. “I think that’s worth something.”

“Not much,” Pugliese said. “Besides, if you succeed, they’d have to release Diggs. When he killed again, it would be on me.”

“Maybe he wouldn’t,” Mason said.

“He would,” Mulligan put in. “And it wouldn’t just be on Pugliese. It would be on you, too, Mason.”

Mason let out a long sigh. “I’ve thought a lot about this in the last few weeks,” he said. “The way I see it, my first obligation as a journalist is to the truth.”

“Regardless of the consequences?” Mulligan said.

“No,” Mason said. “But what about the consequences of letting them get away with this? If they can frame Diggs, what’s to stop them from doing the same thing to the next guy who comes along? Maybe somebody whose crime isn’t as serious. Maybe somebody who isn’t guilty of anything at all. Our public officials are supposed to uphold the law, not break it.”

“You do realize we are in Rhode Island, right?” Mulligan said.

“Yeah, yeah. I know all about our sordid history,” Mason said. “Crooked politicians, corrupt judges, dirty cops. It’s been that way for as long as anybody can remember. Hell, it’s been that way for three hundred years. But for the last hundred and fifty of them, the Dispatch has crusaded against it. Sure, we don’t catch them all. Not even close. But we nail enough to make the rest of them think twice.

“Now the paper is dying,” he continued. “Who’s going to investigate public corruption when we’re gone? Bloggers? The bobbleheads on TV? Don’t make me laugh. When we know public officials are corrupting the criminal justice system, it’s our job to do something about it. If we don’t, the First Amendment is just words on paper. And this could be one of our last chances to set something right.”

“Nice speech,” Mulligan said.

“It was,” Pugliese said. “Did anyone else hear the music playing?”

“One of our last chances?” Mulligan said.

“That’s right,” Mason said.

“Something going on that I should know?” Mulligan asked. “Is the paper closing down?”

“Not in front of Pugliese,” Mason said. “We’ll talk about it later.”

That was a conversation stopper. The three men sat for a while and sipped their coffee.

“You know, Mulligan,” Pugliese finally said, “I remember you giving me that same speech one time-minus the part about the newspaper dying.”

“When was that?”

“About six years ago when you wanted me to spill my guts about no-show jobs at medium security.”

“Oh, yeah,” Mulligan said. “I remember now. I tried to snow you with that First Amendment crap, but you didn’t tell me shit.”

“Did the speech work any better this time?” Mason asked.

“I’m thinking about it,” Pugliese said.

“According to court records,” Mason said, “Galloway and another guard had just taken Diggs out of his cell for his exercise period when a scuffle broke out.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Diggs supposedly got mad for no apparent reason, charged into Galloway, cracked his head against the hallway wall, and then head-butted him.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Earlier, you said you know all about it. What do you know?”

Pugliese slid his eyes off Mason and looked at Mulligan.

“Up to you, John,” Mulligan said. “I wouldn’t, but it’s your ass.”

The guard stared at the tabletop and rubbed his chin. Then he moved his eyes back to Mason.

“I was there,” Pugliese said.

“You were?” Mason said. “According to the court records, the other guard was named Quinn.”

“Eddie Quinn. That’s right.”

“So what were you doing there?”

“Normal procedure,” Pugliese said, “is for two guards to escort a prisoner to the exercise yard, but Diggs was so big that three were always assigned to him.”

“And that day, you were the third?”

“I was.”

“So you were a witness. Why didn’t you testify at the trial?”

“The warden asked me to, but I refused.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to commit perjury.”

Mason and Mulligan both stared at Pugliese, knowing that whatever he said next could change everything.

“So what really happened in that hallway, John?” Mason asked.

“Not a fucking thing. We led Diggs out of his cell, and he walked quietly to the yard. He didn’t give us any trouble at all.”

After Pugliese left, the first thing Mulligan said was, “Are you going to quote him by name?”

“Why shouldn’t I? He never said it was off the record.”

“Better give him a heads-up before the story runs, then.”

“I will once I have enough to get it in print.”

“Are you close?”

“I think so, yes.”

“On just the Galloway case, or the Araujo assault too?”

“Both,” Mason said. “And the drug charges as well.”

“Prison guards are your sources for all this?”

“For most of it, yeah.”

He picked up his mug, discovered that the coffee had gone cold, and waved Charlie over for a refill.

“Tell me what more you need,” Mulligan said, “and maybe I can help.”

“The same way you’ve been helping so far?”

“I culled that list of guards for you.”

“That was a help,” Mason said. “I crossed the ones you recommended right off my list. Saved me a lot of time.” And then he laughed.

Mulligan stared at him and shook his head.

“How long have you known?”

“Right from the start,” Mason said.

“You’re getting pretty good at this, aren’t you.”

“Not as good as you.”

“Of course not,” Mulligan said, and they both chuckled.

“Still friends?” Mulligan asked.

“Always,” Mason said.

“So what’s going on with the paper that you couldn’t talk about in front of Pugliese?”

“I’m not supposed to talk about it at all,” Mason said. “Can I trust you not to repeat this?”

“I promise, Thanks-Dad.”

“Will you please stop calling me that?”

“Sorry, Thanks-Dad, but some habits are hard to break.”

Mason shot Mulligan an annoyed look, then said, “The board has decided to put the paper on the market. They’re hoping to get an offer from one of the major chains like Belo or Media General.”

“They won’t.”

“Probably not, but General Communications Holdings International has expressed interest.”

“Who the hell is that?”

“Not anybody either of us would want to work for, even if they didn’t lay us off, which I’m pretty sure they would.”