The Traffickers (Badge of Honor 9)

Good point, Payne thought. I hadn’t given it much thought.

Maybe because there hadn’t been time to think about it.

I’ve only been back on the job this one day.

“I hadn’t given it much thought,” Payne said. “I guess since the insurance company is footing the bill, it’s not coming out of my pocket. I could put in for reimbursement. Not that that’s going to be any big wad of cash.”

“They won’t issue you a Police Interceptor?”

“We have the Crown Vics. They’re just hard to come by. There’s a shortage. But if you need one, I’m sure we could get a loaner. Or something close. Maybe an undercover car from the pool at Special Operations. I’ve got a connection there.”

Matt Payne had been in Special Operations when he’d made the top five list for promotion to sergeant, and had then to go to Homicide. The commanding officer of Special Operations was one Inspector Peter Wohl, who of course was Payne’s rabbi. There also was another connection: Payne’s sister and Peter Wohl sometimes considered themselves a couple.

Byrth shook his head. “No. Thanks. Like I said, just curious.”

Payne glanced at him and nodded, then made the turn onto Second.

Then he said, “Shit! She beat us here. So much for our drink in peace.”

Byrth saw only two vehicles parked in the angled spaces. Payne pulled in next to the nearest vehicle, a nearly new black Honda Accord coupe with deeply tinted windows. On the other side of it was a two-year-old, somewhat battered, GMC Yukon XL. Its right rear tire was up on the curb, causing the massive SUV to sit at an awkward pitch, like a ship that had run aground.

“She?” Byrth repeated.

“Amy. That’s her Yukon.”

“Back home, that and its twin, the Suburban, is called the National Truck of Texas. Damn near every elementary and middle-school drop-off/pickup lane is packed bumper to bumper with those twice a day.”

“Not Amy. No kids.”

“That’s a late-model Yukon,” Byrth said. “What the hell happened with all those dents and scratches? A Demolition Derby? And was it parked there-or deserted?”

Payne looked at it and chuckled at the observation.

The SUV had originally belonged to Brewster Payne. He had made it a gift to his daughter, Amelia Payne, MD. It wasn’t that she needed it for its large size. She had yet to marry and, appropriately, she had no children. Which may have been fortuitous in and of itself, as any husband or child would have been terrified to be a passenger of a motor vehicle operated by Amy Payne.

Amy Payne had many fine qualities. For whatever reason, being a decent driver was not among them. And it baffled everyone why she even bothered getting behind the wheel. Her mishaps with her various motor vehicles on (and occasionally off) the roads of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania bordered on the legendary. No curb, street sign, light pole, or other vehicle in her path was safe.

And knowing all this, Brewster Payne passed his Yukon to her in the hope that the big truck just might keep her alive.

Matt Payne put the rental Ford in park, turned off the engine, and looked at Jim Byrth. “You know, if you’re feeling brave, I’ll let you ask its owner. My sister just loves nothing more than to talk cars.”

“Why do I suspect you’re setting me up?” Byrth replied.

Payne’s cellular phone started ringing.

“Excuse me.”

He pulled it from his pants pocket and saw from the screen who was calling. He pushed the key to answer. “Yes, sir?” he said into it. There was a pause. Then he said: “No, Jason, no problems in the ECC. Thanks for asking. We left it not twenty minutes ago. I’m about to introduce Jim to the stubby Statue of Liberty-” He paused again.

Byrth grinned as he looked out the windshield. On the sidewalk in front of the bar’s window was a scale model of the Statue of Liberty. It was green and stood about five feet tall. The bar itself was a narrow three-story brick-faced structure that was at the end of a block-long building. Its wooden front door was on the left, under a half-circle canvas awning.

Payne went on: “Right. And he’s about to meet our favorite family shrink. I thought we could combine a welcome party with some shop talk. Care to join us?” Payne listened a moment. “Great. See you shortly.”

Payne ended the call and looked at Byrth. “Good news. The Black Buddha is going to join us.”

Byrth laughed aloud at that.

“You’ve got the cojones to call him that behind his back?”