"What's this?"
"The expense money. I didn't need it."
Detweiler took the money and held it for a moment before tucking it in the pocket of his open-collared plaid shirt.
"I didn't expect any back, and I was just about to say, 'Matt, go buy yourself something,' but you don't try to pay dear friends for an act of love, do you?"
Oh, shit!
Matt turned away in embarrassment, saw a cast-iron love seat, walked to it, and sat down.
"He doesn't need your money, Dick," Brewster C. Payne said. "He made a killing at the tables."
"Really?"
"More than six thousand," Brewster Payne said.
"I didn't know you were a gambler," Detweiler said.
"I'm not. That was my first time. Beginner's luck."
Detweiler, Matt thought, seemed relieved.
"You understand that the money I took from your father today," Detweiler went on, "is not really gambling."
"More beginner's luck?" Matt asked innocently.
His father laughed heartily.
"I meant, not really gambling. Gambling can get you in a lot of trouble in a hurry."
That's why you give your guests at the Flamingo a ten-thousanddollar line of credit, right? So they'll get in a lot of trouble in a hurry?
"Yes, sir," Matt said. He took a sip of his Scotch. "Nice booze."
"It's a straight malt, whatever that means," Detweiler said, "it suggests there's a crooked malt."
Penny Detweiler, trailed by her mother and Mrs. Payne, came onto the veranda. She had a long-necked bottle of Ortlieb's and a glass in her hands.
"What's that?" Detweiler asked.
"It's what Matt's been drinking all afternoon," Penny said. "When did you start drinking whiskey?"
"As nearly as I can remember, when I was eleven or twelve."
"No, he didn't," Patricia Payne said.
"Yes, he did, dear," Brewster Payne said. "We just managed to keep it from you."
Penny sat beside Matt on the cast-iron love seat.
"What am I suppose to do with this?" she asked.
"You might try drinking it," Matt said.
"Penny…" Grace Detweiler said warningly.
"A glass of beer isn't going to hurt her," her father said. "She's with friends and family."
There was a moment's awkward silence, and then Penny put the glass on the flagstone floor and put the neck of the bottle to her mouth. Her mother looked very uncomfortable.
"Did you have a good time at Martha Peebles's, Precious?" Detweiler asked.
"Very nice," she said. "And her captain is just darling!"
"Polish, isn't he?" Detweiler said.
"Don't be a snob, Daddy," Penny said. "He's very nice, and they're very much in love."
"I'm happy for her," Patricia Payne said. "She's at the age where she should have a little romance in her life. And living in that big house all alone…"
"I would have bet she'd never get married," Detweiler said.
"Her father was one hell of a man. Alexander Peebles is a tough act to follow."
"I thought about that," Penny said. "And I think that it has a lot to do with Captain Pekach being a cop." She stopped and turned to Matt, and her hand dropped onto his leg. "Does that embarrass you, Matt?"
"Not at all. I thought everyone knew that women find cops irresistible."
"Good God!" his father said.
"I mean it," Penny went on. "I was talking with Matt's boss, Inspector Wohl, and he's darling too…"
"Ex-boss," Brewster Payne interrupted.
"Please let me finish, Uncle Brew," Penny said.
"Sorry."
"I was talking to Inspector Wohl, and he moved, his jacket moved, and I could see that he was carrying a gun, and it occurred to me that every man in the barbecue pit, Martha's Captain Pekach, Captain Sabara, Lieutenant Malone, Matt, and even a young Irish boy who works for Inspector Wohl, was carrying a gun."
"They have to, I believe, Penny," Brewster C. Payne said. "Even off duty."
"Not here, I hope," Grace Detweiler said.
"Even here, Madame D.," Matt said.
"As I was saying," Penny went on, annoyance at being interrupted in her voice, "I realized that although they looked like ordinary people, they weren't."
For one thing, Matt thought, they make a hell of a lot less money than the people you think of as ordinary do.
He said, "We only bite the heads off roosters on special occasions, Penny. Barbecues. Wakes. Bar Mitzvahs. Things like that. We probably won't do it again for a month."
She turned to him again, and again her hand dropped to his leg.
"Will you stop?" she giggled. "I'm trying to say something flattering."
"Then, proceed, by all means."
"I realized that they were all-what was it you said about Mr. Peebles, Daddy?-'One hell of a man.' They're all special men. I can understand why Martha fell in love with Captain Pekach. He's one hell of a man."
I am wholly convinced that your hand on my leg, Precious Penny, is absolutely innocent; you have always been one of those kiss-kiss, touch-touch airheads. Nevertheless, I wish you would take it off. You are about to give me a hard-on.
Matt stood up and went to the table and splashed more Scotch into his glass. He did not return to the cast-iron love seat.
"You may very well be right, dear," Matt's mother said.
"Thank you," Penny said. She looked over at Matt. "You do work for Inspector Wohl, don't you, Matt?"
He nodded.
"Then what did you mean, Uncle Brew, when you said 'ex-boss'?"
"I've been transferred back to Special Operations, Dad," Matt said.
"When did that happen?"
"Yesterday."
"What are you going to do over there, as a detective?"
"Well, for one thing," Penny said proudly, "he's going to protect the Vice President when he comes to Philadelphia."
Jesus, you have ears like a fox, don't you?
"What I'm going to do," Matt said quickly, "is meet theSecret Service guy who is going to protect the Vice President at 30^th Street Station."
And that gives me my excuse to get out of here.
"I don't understand," Brewster Payne said.
"He and Wohl are playing King of the Mountain," Matt said. "He wanted our guy to go to the Secret Service office. Wohl wanted him to come to his. Wohl won. I pick up this guy at 30^th Street Station in the morning, and drive him to see Wohl." He looked at his watch. " Which means I have to leave now if I am to have a nice clean suit to wear to meet this guy."
"Oh, finish your drink," H. Richard Detweiler said. "And are you sure you don't want something to eat?"
"I had a steak an hour ago that must have weighed three pounds," Matt said. "Thank you, no."
He drained his drink and set it on the table.
"I know you're busy, dear," his mother said, "but if you could try to find time in your schedule to come see your frail and aged mother, I would be so grateful."
H. Richard Detweiler stood up and shook Matt's hand in both of his.
"Thank you, Matt. Don't be a stranger."
"Thank you, sir."
"I think I left my scarf in your car," Penny said. "I'll walk you out."
When they got to the Porsche, she said, "I didn't have a scarf. I just wanted to thank you for being so nice to me."
"No thanks necessary," he said, and then his mouth ran away with him. "Whenever I'm with a pretty blonde, I automatically shift into the seduce mode. Nothing personal."
She seemed startled for a moment, but only for a moment.
"Just to clear the air," Penny said. "It worked."
And her hand, ever so lightly, but obviously intentionally, grazed his crotch.
"I'd let you kiss me, but they're watching."
She stepped away from him, and said, loud enough for their parents to hear, "You heard what Daddy said, don't be a stranger."
He got quickly into the Porsche and dro
ve away.
TWELVE
Peter Wohl was only mildly surprised when he turned onto Rockwell Avenue and saw a gleaming black Cadillac limousine parked before the comfortable house in which he had grown up. He didn't have to look at the license plate to identify it as the official vehicle provided by the City of Philadelphia to transport its mayor; the trunk was festooned with shortwave antennae, and the driver, now leaning on the front fender conversing with two other similarly dressed, neatappearing young men, was obviously a police officer. There were two other cars, almost identical to Wohl's, parked just beyond the Cadillac.
He didn't recognize the drivers, but there was little doubt in his mind that the cars were those assigned to Chief Inspectors Matt Lowenstein and Dennis V. Coughlin.
I am about to get one of three things, good news, bad news, or a Dutch Uncle speech. I don't know of anything I've done, or anyone else in Special Operations has done, that should have me on the carpet, but that simply means I don't know about it, not that there is nothing. And the reverse is true. I can't think of a thing I've done that would cause the mayor to show up to tell me what a good job I've been doing.
He pulled the Jaguar to the curb behind the limousine and got out.
The two drivers who had been leaning on the Cadillac pushed themselves erect.
"Good evening, Inspector."
"I guess the party can start now," Wohl said, smiling, "I'm here."
"They been in there the better part of an hour, Inspector," one of the drivers said.
That was immediately evident when his mother opened the door to his ring. There was hearty laughter from the living room, and when he walked in there, the faces of all four men were unnaturally, if slightly, flushed.
There were liquor and soft drink bottles and an insulated ice bucket on the coffee table, and the dining-room table was covered with cold cuts and bowls of potato salad.
"Well, here he is," Chief Inspector Augustus Wohl, retired, said. "As always, ten minutes late and a dollar short."
"Mr. Mayor," Wohl said, and then, nodding his head at Lowenstein and Coughlin in turn, said "Chief."
"Always the fashion plate, aren't you, Peter?" the mayor said as he shook Wohl's hand. "Even when you were a little boy."
"I've been out hobnobbing with the hoi polloi, Mr. Mayor."
"Which hoi polloi would that be?" the mayor asked, chuckling.
"Captain Pekach's fiancee."
"Oh, yes, Miss Peebles."
"And Miss Penelope Detweiler was there too," Wohl said.
"Is Pekach doing a little matchmaking?" the mayor said, and then went on without waiting for a reply. "You could do worse, Peter. It's about time you found a nice girl and settled down."
"Miss Peebles is doing the matchmaking, but her target, I think, is Detective Payne. The Detweiler girl is a little young for me."
"He was there too?"
"He was at my place when Dave Pekach called. He said to bring him along. He came to tell me he had been reassigned to Special Operations."
"Oh, yeah. That was one of the things I was going to mention to you. I heard the commissioner was thinking of sending him back over there."
Do you really expect me to believe that was Czernick 's idea, and you knew nothing about it?
And "one of the things" you were going to mention to me? What else, Mr. Mayor?
Wohl's father handed him a drink.
"Thank you," Peter said, and took a sip.
"Jerry was just telling me that Neil Jasper's going to retire," Chief Wohl said.
It took a moment for Wohl to identify Neil Jasper as an inspector working somewhere in the Roundhouse bureaucracy.
Christ, is he going to tell me "the commissioner is thinking " of making me Jasper's replacement?
"A lot of people, Peter, including the commissioner," the mayor said, looking directly at him, "think Special Operations is getting too big to be commanded by a staff inspector."
"I'm sorry the Commissioner feels that way," Wohl said.
"Well, I'm afraid he's right," the mayor said.
Oh, shit! I have just been told that I'm going to lose Special Operations. That's what this is all about. Jerry Carlucci is softening the blow by letting me know ahead of time, and is about to throw me a bone: Pick a job, Peter, any job. I owe your father.
"Do I read you correctly, Peter? You don't want to work in the Roundhouse?"
"I would rather not work in the Roundhouse, Mr. Mayor."
"That's what I told Czernick," the mayor said. "That I didn't think you'd like that."
So what does that leave? Back to Staff Investigations? Probably not. If Carlucci is throwing the dog a bone, and tells Czernick not to give me a job in the Roundhouse, there's not really much left for a staff inspector. Maybe as an assistant to Lowenstein in the Detective Bureau, or to Coughlin in Special Patrol. Why else would they be here?
"May I ask who the commissioner's thinking of sending in to take over Special Operations?"
"That's pretty much up to you, Peter," the mayor replied.
What the hell does he mean by that?
"Unless, of course, you'd like to stay there," the mayor said.
"You just said that it had been decided Special Operations should have a full inspector…"
"And so it should," the mayor said. "You were what, when you took the Inspector's exam."
"Seventh," Wohl replied, without thinking.
"And they promoted five people off the list, right? That's what Czernick said."
"I think that's right," Wohl replied.
You know damned well it's right. Why are you being a hypocrite? You watched the promotions off the list like a hawk, until the twoyear life of the list ran out and you knew you weren't going to get promoted from it.
"Commissioner Czernick came to me with an idea," the mayor said. " He said that Marty Hornstein was number six, in other words next up, on the last Inspector's List, and said that it would be a pretty good idea if I could ask the Civil Service Board to extend the life of the list, so that Hornstein could be promoted and take Jasper's place."
Wohl was aware that the mayor was pleased with himself, and exchanging glances with Chiefs Wohl, Lowenstein and Coughlin.
What the hell is that all about?
"Now you have been around long enough, Peter, to know that I don't like to go to the Civil Service Board and ask them for a favor. They do something for you, you got to do something for them. But, on the other hand, I try to oblige commissioner Czernick whenever I can. So I thought it over, and what I decided was that if I had to go to all the trouble of going to the Board to ask them to extend the life of the Inspector's List so that we could promote one guy off it, why not promote two guys off it?"
Jesus H. Christ!
The last board made it pretty clear to me that they didn't think I was old enough to be a captain, much less a staff inspector trying for inspector. I squeezed by that one only because they believed the list would be long expired before I got anywhere near the top of it, and that I would spend the next five years or so as a staff inspector investigator. If they had known I'd be given command of Special Operations after eighteen months, they would have found some reason to keep me off the list, or at least put me near, or at, the bottom.
"If you can find time in your busy schedule, Peter," the mayor said. "Why don't you drop by the commissioner's office next Tuesday at say nine-thirty? Wear a nice suit. They'll probably want to take your picture. Yours and Hornstein's. But keep this under your hat until then."
I have just been promoted. By mayoral edict, screw the established procedure.
A massive arm went around his shoulders, and then Peter felt his father's stubbly cheek against his as he was wrapped in an affectionate embrace.
"You better have another drink, Peter," the mayor said. "You look as shocked as if you'd just been goosed by a nun."
****
The telephone was ringing when Matt climbed the narrow stairway to his apartment. He walked quickl
y to it, but at the last moment decided not to pick it up. On the fifth ring, there was a click, and then his voice, giving theI'm Not Home message. There was a beep, and then a click. His caller had elected not to leave a message.
The redYou Have Messages light was blinking. He pushed the PLAY button. There were four buzz and click sounds, which meant that four other people had called, gotten hisI'm Not Home message, and hung up.
Evelyn, he thought. It has to be her.
Why are you so sure it's her? Because the gentle sex, contrary to popular opinion, does not have an exclusive monopoly on intuition, and also because everybody, anybody, else would have left a message.
If you call her back, there is a very good chance that you can wind up between, or on top of, the sheets with her. Why doesn't that fill you with joyous anticipation?
The answer came with a sudden, very clear mental image of Professor Harry Glover outside the house in Upper Darby, specifically of the look in his eyes that said, "I know you have been fooling around with my wife."
Jesus Christ, could it be him? "Stay away from my wife, you bastard!"
Conclusions: You did the right thing, Matthew, my boy, because God takes care of fools and drunks, and you qualify on both counts, in not picking up the telephone. You neither want to discuss with Professor Glover your relationship with his wife, or diddle the lady.
And why not? Because he knows? Or because Precious Penny has made it quite clear that she would be willing, indeed pleased, to roll around on the sheets with you?
Oh, shit!
He turned on the television, sat down in his armchair, flicked through the channels, got up, and went to the refrigerator for a beer.
The telephone rang again.
He walked to the chair-side table, looked down at the telephone, and picked it up on the third ring.
"Payne."
"This is your friendly neighborhood FBI agent," a familiar voice said. "We have a report of a sexual deviate living at that address. Would you care to comment?"
"The word is 'athlete,' not 'deviate.' Guilty. What are you up to, Jack?"
Jack Matthews, a tall, muscular, fair-skinned man in his late twenties, was a special agent of the FBI. When Matt had been wounded by a member of the so-called Islamic Liberation Army, Jack had shown up to express the FBI's sympathy, and, Matt was sure, to find out what the Philadelphia Police knew about the Islamic Liberation Army and might not be telling the FBI. In addition, Lari Matsi, a nurse in the hospital who had raised Matt's temperature at least four degrees simply by handing him an aspirin, had suddenly found Matt invisible after a thirty-second look at the pride of the Justice Department.
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