ELEVEN

As they drove down Delaware Avenue Officer Charley McFadden pushed himself off the backseat of Staff Inspector Peter Wohl's car and rested his elbows on the backrest of the front seat.

"I never been in an Inspector's car before," he said, happily. " Nice."

"It certainly doesn't look like a police car, does it?" Matt Payne, who was driving, said.

McFadden looked at him curiously.

"It's not supposed to," Jesus Martinez said, and then put into words what was in his mind. "Where'd you come from, if you don't mind my asking?"

"The Academy," Matt said.

"You was teaching at the Academy?"

"I was going through the Academy," Matt said. "I was on the range yesterday When Chief Matdorf came out and told me to report to Highway in plainclothes this morning."

"I'll be goddamned," Charley McFadden said, and then added, "we was in Narcotics. Hay-zus and me. We were partners, working undercover."

"For the last week, we were over in the Twelfth District, catching guys robbing stuff from parked cars," Jesus said. "I wonder what the hell this is all about?"

Both Matt Payne and Charley McFadden shrugged their shoulders.

"We're gonna find out, I guess."

"Where we're going is to that area behind the fence on the way to the Academy, right?" Matt asked.

"Yeah," Martinez said.

"I sure like your wheels," Charley said. "Porsche, huh?"

"Nine Eleven T," Matt said.

"What did something like that set you back?" Charley asked.

"Christ, Charley!" Martinez said. "You don't go around asking people how much things cost."

"I was just curious, Hay-zus, is all," Charley said. "No offense."

"I don't know what it cost," Matt said. "It was a present. When I graduated from college."

"Nicepresent!" Charley said.

"I thought so," Matt said. "What do you call him? Hay-zus?"

"That's his name," Charley said. "It's spick for Jesus."

"Spanish,you fucking Mick," Jesus Martinez said.

"I didn't get your name," Charley said, ignoring him.

"Matt Payne," Matt said.

Charley put his hand down over Matt's shoulder.

"Nice to meet you," Charley said as Matt shook it.

"Me, too," Jesus said, offering his hand.

They were able to draw two cars-both new Plymouths, one blue, and the other a dark maroon-from the Police Motor Pool without trouble, but when they got to the Police Radio Shop in the 800 block of South Delaware Avenue, things did not go at all smoothly.

It even began badly. The man in coveralls in the garage examined all three cars carefully as they drove in, and then returned his attention to what he was doing, which was readingPopular Electronics.

He did not look up as, one after the other, Matt, Jesus, and Charley walked up to stand in front of his desk.

"Excuse me." Matt spoke first. "I have Inspector Wohl's car."

"Good for you," the man said without looking up.

"You're supposed to install some communications equipment in it," Matt said.

"I ain't seen nothing on it," the man said. "You got the paperwork?"

"No," Matt said. "I'm afraid I wasn't given any."

"Well, then," the man said, returning toPopular Electronics.

"My instructions are to wait while the work is done," Matt said.

"And my instructions are no paperwork, no work," the man said. "And we don't do work while people wait. Who the hell do you guys think you are, anyway?"

"We're from Special Operations," Matt said.

"La dee da," the man said.

"Well, I'm sorry you fell out of bed on the wrong side," Matt said, " but that doesn't help me with my problem. Where can I find your supervisor?"

"I'm in charge here," the man flared.

"Good, then you pick up the telephone and call Inspector Wohl and tell him what you told me."

"What are you, some kind of a wiseass?"

Matt didn't reply.

"You can leave the car here, and when the paperwork catches up with it, we'll see what we can do," the man said.

"May I use your telephone, please?" Matt asked.

"What for?"

"So I can call Inspector Wohl, and tell him that not only are you refusing to do the work, but refusing, as well, to telephone him to say so."

The man gave him a dirty look, then reached for the telephone. He dialed a number.

"Sergeant, I got a hotshot here, says he's from Special Operations, without a sheet of paperwork, and demanding we do something-I don't know what-to three unmarked cars."

There was a reply, unintelligible, and then the man handed Matt the telephone.

"This is Sergeant Francis," the voice said. "What can I do for you?"

"My name is Payne. I'm assigned to Special Operations, and there has apparently been a breakdown in communications somewhere," Matt said. " I'm here with three unmarked cars, one of them Inspector Wohl's. Somebody was to have telephoned down here to arrange all this."

"I don't know anything about it," Sergeant Francis said. "Why don't you go back where you came from and ask somebody?"

"No, Sergeant," Matt said. "What I would like to do is speak to your commanding officer. Can you give me his number, please?"

"I'll do better than that," Sergeant Francis said. And then, faintly, Matt heard, "Lieutenant, you want to take this?"

"Lieutenant Warner."

"Sir, this is Officer Payne, of Special Operations. I'm at the radio shop. I was told to bring Inspector Wohl's car here to have-"

"Christ, you're there already?"

"Yes, sir. With Inspector Wohl's car, and two others."

"I thought when your Sergeant called, he was talking about tomorrow, at the earliest."

"We're here now, sir. Inspector Wohl sent us."

"So you said. Is there a man named Ernie around there, somewhere?"

Matt looked at the man at the desk. "Is there somebody named Ernie here?" he asked.

"I'm Ernie."

"Yes, sir, there is," Matt said.

"Let me speak to him," Lieutenant Warner said.

Matt handed him the telephone.

Ernie, to judge by the look on his face, did not like what he was being told.

"Yes, sir, I'll get right on it," Ernie said, finally, and hung up. He looked at Matt. "Four bands in every car? What the fuck is this Special Operations, anyway?"

"We're sort of a super Highway Patrol," Matt said, with a straight face.

"Well, what do you think of him?" Charley McFadden asked as Jesus Martinez turned the unmarked Plymouth onto Harbison Avenue and headed north, toward Highway Patrol headquarters.

"I think he's a rich wiseass," Jesus said.

"Meaning you don't like him? I sort of like him."

"Meaning he's a rich wiseass," Jesus said. "Either that or he's a gink."

"Well, he got that shit-for-brains working on the radios, didn't he? I thought he handled that pretty well."

Jesus grunted. "That's what makes me think he may be a gink. He didn' t act like a rookie in there. He as much as told that sergeant on the phone to go fuck himself. Rookies don't do that."

"Why would Internal Affairs send a gink in? Christ, they just formed Special Operations today. Internal Affairs sends somebody in undercover when they hear something is dirty. There hasn't been time for anything dirty to happen."

"He could be watching Highway."

"I think you're full of shit," Charley said, after a moment's reflection. "Whatever he is, he's no gink."

"So, you tell me: what is a rich guy who went to college doing in the Police Department?"

"Maybe he wants to be a cop," Charley said.

"Why? Ask yourself that, Charley."

"I dunno," Charley replied. "Why do you want to be a cop?"

"Because, so far as I'm concerned, it's a good job where I can make something of myself. But I didn't go to college, and nobody gave me a Porsche."