"You got a screwdriver, a drill, and a staple machine, I can install it."

"I think I've got a screwdriver, but I don't have a drill or a staple machine."

"You don't have a drill?" McFadden asked, surprised.

"No."

"How about a hammer? You're going to need a hammer for the brick nails."

"No hammer, either."

"Hay-zus can get a hammer and the brick nails and the drill and the staple machine when he gets the intercom," Charley said.

"Don't forget the screwdriver," Matt said, and shifted on the couch and took out his wallet.

"What the fuck, Payne, if they don't kill you, it'll come in handy later," Jesus said as he took three twenties. "If you've got some broad up here, and some other broad comes to see you, you could tell her you're busy on the intercom."

"I could also just not answer her knock," Matt said.

"You want the intercom or not? You're not doing me any favors."

"I want the intercom, Hay-zus, thank you."

Martinez returned in a little over half an hour, his arms full of kraft paper bags.

"Goddamn sidewalks are all ice," he said. "I almost busted my ass, twice."

"How would you like to be walking a foot beat in this weather?" McFadden asked.

"How about standing at Broad and Vine in a white cap, directing traffic?" Martinez said as he put the packages on the coffee table.

In one of the bags was a PhiladelphiaDaily News. He tossed it on Matt's lap.

"In case you don't know where you are," he said. "This is an ' undisclosed location.' "

"What?"

"You're on the front page," Jesus said.

Matt unfolded the newspaper. There was a photograph of him being carried to Coughlin's car at Frankford Hospital. Beneath it was the caption:

COP UNDER DEATH THREAT-As heavily armed police stand by, Officer Matthew M. Payne, whose life has been threatened by the Islamic Liberation Army is carried from Frankford Hospital to a police car that took him to an undisclosed location. Payne was wounded in the gun battle in which he shot to death ILA member Abu Ben Mohammed. (See ILA, Page 5)

Charley leaned over Matt's shoulder and read the caption.

"Well, the bastards got what they wanted, didn't they?" he asked. " The front page of theNews, and we sure look like we're scared of them."

"I don't know aboutyou being scared, white boy," Matt heard himself say, "butwe are."

McFadden looked at him curiously, and after a moment said seriously, "You'll be all right, buddy. You can take that to the bank."

There was a moment's awkward silence, which Jesus finally broke.

"The first thing you have to decide is where you want this end of the intercom."

"How about on the kitchen wall?"

"Why not?"

Matt was impressed with the skill with which Jesus installed the intercom. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing. It reminded him of Charley's mechanical drawing skill, and that made him consider his own practical ineptitude.

Matthew Mark Payne, B.A., Cum Laude, University of Pennsylvania, you don't have one salable skill, something you could find a paying job doing, except being a cop, and, truth to tell, you ain't too good at that.

By half past five, the intercom was installed and tested.

"Anybody else getting hungry?" Matt asked as Jesus-workmanlike, Matt thought-neatly coiled the leftover wire and put the tools back in their boxes.

"I could eat something," Jesus said.

"I'm going to finish hanging your naked lady picture," Charley said, "and then leave. I'm going to have supper with Margaret. I'll be back at midnight and relieve Hay-zus."

"Bring her back here, and her friend Lari too, and we'll send out for food."

"No," Charley said. "For one thing, I wouldn't bring a nice girl like her anyplace where there's a naked lady hanging on the wall."

"You're kidding!"

"Her uncle and aunt are feeding us," Charley said. "We have to go there."

"Don't break your ass on the way to the subway," Jesus said.

"You don't have your car, do you?" Matt asked, and, when Charley shook his head, asked, "where is it, Bustleton and Bowler?"

"Yeah."

"Why don't you leave it there and take the Porsche?"

"I don't know, Matt. I'd hate to tear it up."

"You can't leave a Porsche sit," Matt said. "And I damned sure can't drive it. Where'd you put the keys?"

"Jesus, I forgot!" Charley said, and pulled them from his trouser pocket.

"Take the car. Just try to keep it under a hundred and ten."

"Well, okay," Charley said, trying and failing to give the impression he would drive the Porsche only as a favor to Matt.

Five minutes after Charley left, the intercom was first put to use.

"Let me in, Hay-zus," Charley's voice announced mechanically from the speaker in the kitchen. "It's me."

Jesus went down and unlocked the door and Charley followed him back up the stairs.

"Wouldn't start?" Matt asked.

"The front tires are slashed," McFadden announced. "And they got the hood and doors with a knife or something."

"Jesus H. Christ!" Matt exploded.

"Did you look at the car when we came here?" Charley asked.

"No. Except to see that it was there. My mother's car was there. You couldn't see it clearly."

"Shit!"

The bell rang.

Martinez went into the kitchen.

"Who's there?"

"Peter Wohl."

"Just a minute, Inspector."

Wohl appeared at the head of the stairs carrying a large paper bag.

"I thought the patient might like a beer," he said, and then, when he saw the look on Matt's face, asked, "What's going on?"

"Those fuckers slashed my tires and did a scratch job on my hood and doors," Matt said. "Charley just found it that way."

Wohl walked into the kitchen and started putting the beer into the refrigerator.

"You just found this out, McFadden?"

"Yes, sir. I went down to get the car, and I saw it was down in front."

"And you didn't see any damage to it when they brought Matt here?"

"No, sir."

"We didn't look," Matt said.

"I just walked past it myself," Wohl said, "and didn't see anything out of the ordinary."

Wohl came into the living room and picked up the telephone beside Matt. He dialed a number from memory.

"This is Inspector Wohl," he announced. "Let me speak to the senior supervisor present."

I wonder who he's calling? Matt thought.

"Inspector Wohl, Lieutenant. We have a case of vehicular vandalism. The vehicle in question belongs to Officer Payne. I rather doubt we'll be able to find the vandals, but I want a complete investigation, especially photographs. Even dust the damned car for fingerprints. We may get lucky. It's in the parking lot under the Delaware Valley Cancer Society Building on Rittenhouse Square. Payne lives in the topfloor apartment. I'll be here with him."

He put the telephone down.

"Inspector, I'm supposed to meet my girl," Charley said uncomfortably.

"Well, I guess that will have to wait, won't it?" Wohl snapped. " Central Detectives are on their way. Obviously, they'll want to talk to you."

"Yes, sir."

"No. Wait a minute," Wohl said, exhaling audibly. "What exactly did you see, Charley, when you went down to the garage?"

"When I started to unlock the door, I saw the nose was down. So I looked at the tires. And then I saw what they did to the hood and doors with a knife or something."

"You're coming on at midnight, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'll tell the detectives what you told me," Wohl said. "Go ahead, Charley. I didn't mean to snap at you like that."

"That's okay, sir."

He hurried down the stairwell as if he was afraid Wohl would change his mind.

Wohl lost his temper, Matt thought. He was nearly as mad as I am about the car. No. That's impossible. Nobody can be nearly as fucking outraged as 1 am.

"Inspector, I was about to send out for supper for Hay-zus and me," Matt said. "Will you have something with us?"