The Victim (Badge of Honor 3)

He had actually said, earlier on, "Damn my eyes," which sounded like a line from a Charles Laughton movie. But if it wasn't for his goddamn eyes, he would now be on his way to Okinawa and none of this business with the cops would have happened.

He would have gone to Chad and Daffy's wedding as a Marine officer and met Amanda, and they would have had their shipboard romance, as she called it, in much the same way. And things probably would have turned out much the same way, except that what had happened between them in the apartment would have happened in a hotel room or something, for if he had gone into the Marines, ergo, he would not have gotten the apartment.

But he had not gone into the Marines. He had gone into the cops and as a result of that had proven beyond any reasonable doubt that he was a world-class asshole with a naivete that boggled the imagination, spectacular delusions of his own cleverness, and a really incredible talent for getting other people-goddamngood people, Washington and Wohl, plus of course his father-in trouble because of all of the above. Not to mention embarrassing Uncle Denny Coughlin.

And now, having sinned, he was expected to do penance. He had not told Wohl the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about whether he thought he was too good to ride around in an RPW hauling drunks off to holding cells and fat ladies off to the hospital. He didn't want to do it. Was that the same as thinking he was too good to do it?

Presuming, of course, that he could swallow his pride and show up at the 12^th District on Monday, preceded by his reputation as the wiseass college kid who had been sent there in disgrace, what did he have to look forward to?

Two years of hauling the aforementioned fat lady down the stairs and into the wagon and then off to the hospital, perhaps punctuated, after a while, when they learned that within reason I could be trusted with exciting assignments, like guarding school crossings and maybe even-dare I hope?-filling in for some guy on vacation or something and actually getting to go on patrol in my RPC.

Then I will be eligible to take the examination for detective or corporal. Detective, of course. I don't want to be a corporal. And I will pass that. I will even study to do well on it, and I will pass it, and then what?

Do I want to ride shotgun in a wagon for two years to do that?

Amanda would, with justification, decide I was rather odd to elect to ride shotgun on a wagon. Amanda does not wish to be married to a guy who rides shotgun on a wagon. Can one blame Amanda? One cannot.

There was a rustling, and then a harsher noise, almost metallic.

The building is empty. I carefully locked the door to my stairs; therefore it cannot be anything human rustling around my door. Perhaps the raven Mr. Poe spoke of, about to quote "Nevermore" to me, as in " Nevermore, Matthew Payne, will you be the hotshot, hotshit special assistant to Inspector Wohl."

It's a rat, that's what it is. That's all I need, a fucking rat!

"You really ought to get dead-bolt locks for those doors," a vaguely familiar voice said.

Matt, startled, jumped to his feet.

Chief Inspector August Wohl, retired, was standing just inside the door, putting something back in his wallet.

"How the hell did you get in?" Matt blurted.

"I'll show you about doors sometime. Like I said, you really should get dead-bolt locks."

"What can I do for you, Mr. Wohl?"

"You could offer me a drink," he said. "I would accept. It's a long climb up here. And call me Chief, if you don't mind. It has a certain ring to it."

Matt walked into the kitchen and got out the bottle of Scotch his father had given him.

"Well, I'm glad to see there's some left," Chief Wohl said.

"Sir?"

"I really expected to find you passed out on the floor," Chief Wohl said. "That's why I let myself in. People who drink alone can get in a lot of trouble."

"I'm already in a lot of trouble," Matt said.

"So I understand."

"Water all right?"

"Just a touch. That's very nice whiskey."

"How'd you know I was here?"

"Your car's downstairs. There's lights on. There was movement I could see-shadows-from the street. It had to be either you or a burglar. I'm glad it was you. I'm too old to chase burglars."

Matt chuckled.