“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.”