Special Operations (Badge of Honor 2)

“Not a damned one.”

“Well, I’ll check and make sure they keep trying,” Wohl said.

“I intended to do that, Inspector,” Pekach said, coldly.

“I didn’t mean that, David,” Wohl said, evenly, “the way you apparently thought it sounded.”

“I also let the word get out that maybe AID could use a little help,” Pekach said.

“Meaning exactly what, David?” Wohl asked, his voice now chilly.

Pekach didn’t reply; it was obvious he didn’t want to.

“Come on, David,” Wohl insisted.

Pekach shrugged.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Pekach said, “if a bunch of people in sports jackets and ties went around the neighborhood ringing doorbells. And if one of them turned up a witness, and then, anonymously, as a public-spirited citizen, called AID and gave them the witness’s name, what’s wrong with that?”

“Off-duty people in sports coats and ties, you mean, of course? Who could easily be mistaken for newspaper reporters or insurance investigators because they never even hinted they might be connected with the Police Department?”

“Of course,” Pekach said.

“Then in that case, David,” Wohl said, smiling at Pekach, “I would say that the new commander of Highway was already learning that some of the things a commander has to do can’t be found in the book.”

“I’m sorry I snapped at you before,” Pekach said. “I don’t know what the hell is the matter with me. Sorry.”

“Maybe we’re both a little nervous in our new jobs.”

“You bet your ass,” Pekach agreed, chuckling.

“You want another beer, David?”

“No. This’ll do it. Now that I had it, I’m getting sleepy.” He got up. “Something will turn up, Peter, it always does,” he said.

“I’m afraid of what will,” Wohl said. “How long do you think it will take your wife to learn that the Highway Captain doesn’t have to work eighteen hours a day?”

“Forever; I don’t have a wife,” Pekach said. “Or was that to politely tell me not to ride around?”

“It was to politely tell you to knock off the eighteen-hour days,” Wohl said.

Pekach looked at him long enough to decide he was getting a straight answer, and gave one in return.

“I think Highway is sort of an honor, Peter. I want to do it right.”

“You can do it right on say twelve hours a day,” Wohl said, smiling.

“Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”

“The difference is that you have a kindly, understanding supervisor,” Wohl said. “I have Coughlin, Czernick, and Carlucci.”

“You may have a point.” Pekach chuckled. “Good night, Peter. Thanks for the beer.”

“Thanks for the talk,” Wohl said. “I wanted to bounce what Dr. Payne said off someone bright.”

“I’m very much afraid she’s going to be right,” Pekach said, and then he added, “Don’t read those newspapers tonight. Let them ruin your breakfast, not your sleep.”

“That bad?”