QUITTERS, INC.
Morrison was waiting for someone who was hung up in
the air traffic jam over Kennedy International whe
n he saw a familiar
face at the end of the bar and walked down.
'Jimmy? Jimmy McCann?'
It was. A little heavier than when Morrison had see
n him at the Atlanta Exhibition the year before, bu
t otherwise he looked
awesomely fit. In college he had been a thin, palli
d chain smoker buried behind huge horn-rimmed glass
es. He had apparently
switched to contact lenses.
'Dick Morrison?'
'Yeah. You look great.' He extended his hand and th
ey shook.
'So do you,' McCann said, but Morrison knew it was
a lie. He had been overworking, overeating, and smo
king too much. 'What
are you drinking?'
'Bourbon and bitters,' Morrison said. He hooked his
feet around a bar stool and lighted a cigarette. '
Meeting someone, Jimmy?'
'No. Going to Miami for a conference. A heavy clien
t. Bills six million. I'm supposed to hold his hand
because we lost out on a
big special next spring.'
'Are you still with Crager and Barton?'
'Executive veep now.'
'Fantastic! Congratulations! When did all this happ
en?' He tried to tell himself that the little worm
of jealousy in his stomach was
just acid indigestion. He pulled out a roll of anta
cid pills and crunched one in his mouth.
'Last August. Something happened that changed my li
fe.' He looked speculatively at Morrison and sipped
his drink. 'You might be
interested.'
My God, Morrison thought with an inner wince. Jimmy
McCann's got religion.
'Sure,' he said, and gulped at his drink when it ca
me. 'I wasn't in very good shape,' McCann said. 'Pe
rsonal problems with Sharon,
my.dad died - heart attack - and I'd developed this
hacking cough. Bobby Crager dropped by my office o
ne day and gave me a
fatherly little pep talk. Do you remember what thos
e are like?'
'Yeah.' He had worked at Crager and Barton for eigh
teen months before joining the Morton Agency. 'Get
your butt in gear or get
your butt out.'
McCann laughed. 'You know it. Well, to put the capp
er on it, the doc told me I had an incipient ulcer.
He told me to quit
smoking.'
McCann grimaced. 'Might as well tell me to quit bre
athing.'
Morrison nodded in perfect understanding. Non-smoke
rs could afford to be smug. He looked at his own ci
garette with distaste
and stubbed it out, knowing he would be lighting an
other in five minutes.
'Did you quit?' He asked.
'Yes, I did. At first I didn't think I'd be able to
- I was cheating like hell. Then I met a guy who t
old me about an outfit over on
Fortysixth Street. Specialists. I said what do I ha
ve to lose and went over. I haven't smoked since.'
Morrison's eyes widened. 'What did they do? Fill yo
u full of some drug?'