Halfway there, he had another thought, which almost made him change his mind: Am I really being a nice guy about this? A supervisor doing the right thing? Or am I trying to show Payne what a nice guy I am, so that if I get the chance to ask him not to tell Wohl that I am watching Holland, he will go along?
You can be a conniving prick, Jack Malone, always working the angles, he finally decided, but this is not one of those times. You are going there because Payne wouldn’t be there if you hadn’t been a jackass.
When he reached the building, he at first thought that he was too late, that Payne had done what he had to do and left, because the building was dark. But then he saw, on the second floor, lights. Moving around.
A flashlight. No. A floodlight. Too much light for a flashlight. That’s Payne.
Stupid, you know the lights aren’t turned on!
He had another stupid thought a moment later, when he turned off Frankford Avenue onto Castor Avenue. There was a Porsche 911, what looked like a new one, parked against the curb, lightly dusted by the snow that had begun to fall as he had driven out here.
If there is a more stupid place to park a car like that, I don’t know where the hell it would be. When the jackass who owns that car comes back for it, he’ll be lucky to find the door handles.
He pulled his Mustang to the curb behind a battered Volkswagen, and added to his previous judgment: Because of the generosity of the Porsche owner, the Bug is probably safe. Why bother to strip a Bug when you can strip a Porsche?
It occurred to him, finally, as he got out of the car that possibly the Porsche was stolen. Not stolen-stolen, never to show up again, but stolen for a joy ride by some kids who had found it with the keys in the ignition.
Maybe I should find a phone and call it in.
Fuck it, it’s none of my business. A district RPC will roll by here eventually and he’ll see it.
Fuck it, it is my business. I’m a cop, and what cops do is protect the citizenry, even from their own stupidity. As soon as I have a word with Payne, I will call it in.
There was now a layer of snow covering the thawed and then refrozen snow on the steps to the building, and he slipped and almost went down, catching himself at the last moment.
When he straightened up, he could see Payne’s light, now on the first floor. He stopped just outside the outer door. The light grew brighter, and then Payne appeared. Except it wasn’t Payne. It was a Highway cop.
McFadden!
Payne appeared a moment later.
I should have guessed he might be over here helping out his buddy.
All of a sudden, he was blinded by the light from one of the lamps.
“Who are you?” McFadden demanded firmly, but before Malone could speak, McFadden recognized him, and the light went back on the ground. “Hello, Lieutenant. Sorry.”
“How’s it going?” Malone asked, far more cheerfully than he felt.
“Aside from terminal frostbite, you mean?” Payne said. “Did Wo—Inspector Wohl send you to check on me?”
“No. I just thought you might be able to use some help. You’re finished. I guess?”
“Yes, sir. McFadden’s been helping me. Do you know McFadden, Lieutenant?”
“Yeah, sure. Whaddaya say, McFadden?”
“Lieutenant.”
“Well, at least let me buy you fellas a hamburger, or a cheese-steak, something, and a cup of coffee,” Malone said, adding mentally, said the last of the big spenders.
“Well, that’s very kind, Lieutenant,” Payne said. “But not necessary. We’re going over to my place and, presuming our fingers thaw, make a nice drawing, drawings, for Inspector Wohl. I thought we’d pick up some ribs on the way.”
“It’d be my pleasure,” Malone said. “Where do you live?”
“Downtown. Rittenhouse Square.”
“I live at 19th and Arch,” Malone said. “We’re all headed in the same direction. And I haven’t had my dinner. Why don’t you let me buy the ribs?”