"The police are taking these threats seriously, honey," Patricia Payne said. "Getting in to see you is like trying to walk into the White House."

"I suspect Uncle Denny had a lot to do with whatever security there is here," Matt said. "In his godfather, as opposed to chief inspector of police, role."

"I think that probably has a lot to do with it," Brewster Payne agreed, smiling. "Okay. You change your mind-I suspect you'll get claustrophobia in your apartment-and we'll get you out to the house."

The door opened again, and a nurse came in. She was well under two hundred pounds, but she was every bit as formidable and outraged as the two-hundred-pounder Patricia Payne had imagined.

"Liquor is absolutely forbidden," she announced. "I should think you would have known that."

"I tried to tell my wife that," Brewster C. Payne said, straightfaced, "but she wouldn't listen to me."

Matt laughed heartily, and even more heartily when he saw the look on his mother's face. Each time his stomach contracted in laughter his leg hurt.

Jason Washington was waiting for Peter Wohl when he walked into the building at Bustleton and Bowler at five minutes to eight the next morning.

"Morning, Jason."

"Can I have a minute, Inspector?"

"Sure. Come on in the office. With a little bit of luck, there will be hot coffee."

"How about here? This will only take a yes or a no."

"Okay. What's on your mind?"

"Captain Sabara told me he wants Tiny Lewis-you know who I mean?"

"Sure."

"-on the security detail for Matt Payne. I'd rather he got somebody else."

"You have something for Lewis to do?"

Washington nodded.

"You got him. You discuss this with Sabara?"

"No."

"I'm sure he would have let you have Lewis."

"He would have asked why."

"You're losing me."

"I didn't know if he knew Tony Harris has been at the bottle."

"What's that got to do with Lewis?"

"Harris is sober. If we can keep him that way for the next seventytwo hours, I think we can keep him that way more or less indefinitely. Lewis will be with Harris all day, with orders to call me if Tony even looks at a liquor store."

"And at night?"

"Martha likes him. We have room at the apartment. He can stay with us for a while."

"Martha is a saint," Wohl said.

"No," Washington said, "it's just-"

"Yeah,"Wohl interrupted coldly. "Only a saint or a fool can stand a dedicated drunk, and Martha's not a fool."

"He's a good cop, Inspector."

"That's what I've been thinking, with one part of my mind, for the last three or four days. Theother part of my mind keeps repeating, ' He's a drunk, he's a drunk, he's a drunk.' "

"I think it's under control," Washington said.

"It better be, Jason."

"Thanks, Inspector," Washington said.

"You got something going now? I'd like you to sit in on what Malone has set up for Matt and Monahan. They're supposed to be waiting for me in my office."

"I can make time for that," Washington said.

Wohl led the way to his office. Sabara was standing by his desk, a telephone to his ear.

"He just walked in, Commissioner," Sabara said. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "This is the third time he called."

Wohl nodded and took the telephone from him.

"Good morning, Commissioner. Sorry you had to call back."

The others in the room could hear only Wohl's end of the conversation:

"I'm sure Mr. Stillwell has his reasons…

"I checked with the hospital fifteen minutes ago. We're planning on taking him out of there at about half past ten…

"Yes, sir…

"I can stop by your office as soon as the interview is over, Commissioner…

"I'm sure everyone else-No. I don't know about O'Hara, come to think of it. But every one involved but O'Hara has given a statement, sir. I'll check on O'Hara right away and let you know, sir…

"Yes, sir. I'll see you in your office as soon as they've finished with Payne. Good-bye, sir."

He put the telephone in its cradle, but, deep in thought, did not take his hand off it.

He finally shrugged and looked at the others.

"Stillwell wants to run Matt Payne, the shooting, past the Grand Jury. It probably makes sense, if you think about it-"

He paused, thinking, I wonder why that sonofabitch didn't tell me "-they will decline to indict, and then Giacomo can't start making noise about a police cover-up."

"It was a good shooting," Sabara said. "Stevens-what does he call himself?"

"Abu Ben Mohammed," Wohl furnished.

"-came out shooting. It wasn't even justifiable force, it was selfdefense."

"I guess that's what Stillwell figures," Wohl said, and then changed the subject. "Jack has polished my rough plan to protect Matt and Monahan. I'd like to hear what you think of it. Jack?"

Malone took the protection plan, which he had just had typed up and duplicated, from his jacket pocket.

Is he trying to give me credit for this to be a nice guy, Malone wondered, or trying to lay the responsibility on me in case something goes wrong!

TWENTY

Matt had been told "The Doctor" would be in to see him before he would be discharged, and therefore not to get dressed.

"The Doctor" turned out to be three doctors, accompanied, to Matt's pleasant surprise, by Lari Matsi, R.N.

No one acted as if there was a live human being in the bed. He was nothing more than a specimen.

"Remove the dressing on the leg, please," a plump doctor with a pencil-line mustache Matt could not remember ever having seen before ordered, "let's have a look at it."

Lari folded the sheet and blanket back, put her fingers to the adhesive tape, and gave a quick jerk.

"Shit!" Matt yelped, and then, a moment later, added, "Sorry."

Lari didn't seem to notice either the expletive or the apology.

The three doctors solemnly bent over and peered at the leg. Matt looked. His entire calf was a massive bruise, the purple-black of the bruise color coordinated with the circus orange antiseptic with which the area had apparently been painted.

There was a three-inch slash, closed with eight or ten black sutures. A bloody goo seemed to be leaking out.

"Healing nicely," one doctor opined.

"Not much suppuration," the second observed.

Pencil-line mustache asked, "What do I have him on?"

Lari checked an aluminum clipboard, announced something ending in "mycin, one hundred thousand, every four hours," and handed Pencil-line mustache the clipboard. He took a gold pen from his white jacket and wrote something on it.

"Have that filled before he leaves the hospital," he ordered.

"Yes, Doctor," Lari said.

Pencil-line mustache pointed at Matt.

Lari reached over and snatched the bandage on Matt's forehead off.

He didn't utter an expletive this time, but it took a good deal of effort.

Pencil-line mustache grunted.

"Nice job," Doctor Two opined. "Who did it?"

"Who else?" Doctor One answered, just a trifle smugly.

Pencil-line mustache looked from one to the other. Both shook their heads no.

Pencil-line mustache finally acknowledged that a human being was in the bed.

"You will be given a medication before leaving-"

" 'Medication'?" Matt interrupted. "Is that something like medicine?"

"-which should take care of the possibility of infection," Pencilline went on. "The dressing should be changed daily. Your personal physician can handle that. Your only problem that I can see is your personal hygiene, in other words, bathing. Until that suppuration, in other words that oozing, stops, I don't think you should immerse that leg, in other words, get it wet."