"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 drove 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."