I think I could probably talk myself out of the first time.Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. I realize I was wrong, sir. It won't happen again, sir.

And I couldn't let it happen again, which would mean that sonofabitch would continue to get away with it.

That's the worst possible scenario. That doesn't mean it will go down that way. For one thing, the odds are, because McFadden probably walked away thinking he had made a fool of himself, that he had walked into, and almost fucked up, a stakeout where he had no business, that McFadden won't mention what happened to anybody, least of all his lieutenant.

That, I suppose, is the best possible scenario. What will really happen is probably somewhere in between. Whatever it is, since I can't do a fucking thing about it, there's no point in worrying about it.

That puts me back to what I do next. The smart thing to do obviously, since I nearly got caught doing something that really threatens my career, is don't do that no more.

But I'm a cop, and Holland is a thief, and what cops are supposed to do is lock up thieves.

Maybe Wohl, if I went to him, would understand. He understands that some thieves are fucking pillars of the community. Christ, he locked up Judge Findermann, didn't he?

You're dreaming, Poor Jack Malone. You don't have anything to go on except a gut feeling, and if you said that to Wohl, you'd soon be commanding officer of the rubber-gun squad.

Inside the outer doors was a small flight of stairs. Malone went up that, and then through a second set of doors. He heard scurrying noises that experience told him was the sound of rats.

I wonder what the hell they eat in here? It doesn't look like anybody has been in here in years.

He waited for a moment, to let his eyes adjust to the dim light, and then went left down a corridor. The ancient hardwood floor squealed and creaked under his weight. There was a sign with PRINCIPAL still lettered on a door. He pushed that open and looked inside.

There was a counter inside, and several open doors, through which he could see rooms that could be used as Wohl's and Sabara's office.

"We could put the boss in there, I suppose," he said.

"Jesus!"

"And you, Officer Payne," Malone said. "I can see your desk right there by the hole in the wall."

"Do they really think we can use this place?" Payne asked.

"I think the inspector is desperate," Malone said. "We're sitting in each other's laps at Bustleton and Bowler."

"Well, there's a big enough parking lot. Already fenced in. We could start with that, I suppose, and build on it."

"Where?" Malone asked, and then went to a window and looked out where Payne pointed.

"I was reading the grant, and there's-"

"What?"

"The Justice Department Grant," Payne said. "That's where we got the money for Special Operations. A.C.T. It stands for Augmented Crime Teams."

Interesting. He's probably the only guy in Special Operations besides Wohl and Sabara who ever heard of the grant, much less read it.

"You were saying?"

"There's money in there, available on application, for capital improvement. About a hundred grand, if I remember correctly. The question is, would fixing this dump up be considered a 'capital improvement'?"

"I don't know," Malone said. "It's a thought."

"I'll mention it to the inspector," Payne said. Malone went back in the corridor and down it and into another room. It was a boys' room.

"Well, there's something else we could start with and build on," Malone said. "I saw a Highway guy this morning who's small enough to use one of those urinals."

"Hay-zus," Payne chuckled.

"What?"

"Hay-zus-Jesus-Martinez. He's a quarter of an inch and maybe two pounds over Department minimums."

"How did he get in Highway? Most of those guys are six feet something?"

"He was one of the two of the inspector's first probationary Highway Patrolmen. He was a Narc. He and his partner were the ones who caught the guy who killed Dutch Moffitt. The inspector gave him a chance to see if he could make Highway, and he did."

"Oh, yeah. I remember that. The doer got himself run over by an elevated train, right?"

"Right."

"I remember Dutch Moffitt too. He was a real pisser. Big, goodlooking guy. He screwed everything in skirts. What did they say?-'that he'd screw a snake if he could get it to hold still.' Did you know him?"

So that's why I have not been wallowing in Episcopalian remorse for having taken someone else's wife into my bed! My Moffitt genes have overwhelmed all my moral training.

"Dutch was my uncle," Payne said.

"Oh, Christ!" Malone said. "Payne, I'm sorry. I meant no offense."

"None taken," Payne said. "Dutch was-Dutch."

"If I'd have known he was your uncle, I wouldn't have-"

"Lieutenant, it's all right," Matt said. "But I would like to make a suggestion."

"Shoot."

"I think we have seen enough of this ruin to know that without spending a hell of a lot of money on it, it's useless. Why don't we go back and tell the inspector that? Maybe there is money in the grant we could get."

"Agreed. I'm freezing."

"Presuming we can get the door to shut, let's go find a cup of coffee."

Inspector Wohl was walking to the door of the building at Bustleton and Bowler as Matt Payne and Jack Malone drove up. He saw them and waited for them to get out of their car.

"Well, if it isn't the real estate squad," Wohl greeted them. "How did that go?"

"Well, we cut it sort of short, sir," Payne said. "The building is falling down. Unless we can get the money to fix it from ACT Capital Improvement, I think we should tell the City 'thank you, but no thank you.'"

He did not get the smile he expected.

"How many rooms?" Wohl asked. "Did you find someplace that could be used as a holding cell? Will the roof take antennae?"

"We didn't get that far, sir," Payne said.

"Go that far this afternoon when you come back from the FBI," Wohl said. "I didn't send you over there for a casual look. The building is ours; and there is money in the ACT Grant."

"I'm sorry, sir," Matt said.

"It's my fault, Inspector," Malone said.

"No, it's not," Wohl said flatly. "Matt, for Christ's sake, do me the courtesy of listening carefully to what I'm saying in the future."

"Yes, sir," Matt said.

"We'll take care of it, sir," Malone said.

"No, 'we' won't," Wohl said, "Hewill.He will come in in the morning with a sketch of the building, including dimensions. Indicate on it where people might fit. See what shape the furnace is in.If there is a furnace. You get the idea, and I don't care if you're there all night, Matt."

"Yes, sir."

"I don't see Jason Washington's car. Did you get in touch with him?"

"Yes, sir. He said he would be here."

"I want you in on this, Malone," Wohl said, and walked ahead of them into the building.

Well, the kid fucked up, sorry about that was the first thing Malone thought. This was immediately followed by, Now he has to do it all himself, and finally with a sudden insight: If Wohl knows the kid can examine that building by himself, then there was no reason for him to send me over there in the first place. Except maybe to compare what the both of us had to say; in other words, to see if I am as smart as the kid. I'll be a sonofabitch.

Jason Washington was standing by the door to Wohl's office.

"Got a minute, Inspector?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure," Wohl said. He looked over his shoulder. "You two go on in."

Captain Mike Sabara and Captain Dave Pekach were in Wohl's office, sitting on the couch in front of a small coffee table.

"Slide over, Dave, and make room for Malone," Sabara said, "otherwise we'll have Washington on here with us. Malone isn't nearly as broad in the beam."