“Then I guess we’ll just have to make do,” Payne said solemnly.
Radcliffe turned quickly to look at Payne, who calmed his fears by smiling.
Payne introduced the others, then said, “That’s one helluva wheelchair, Andy. It looks like a high-dollar office chair on a space-age rocket pod.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s pretty much as you describe. Watch.”
Using the joystick on the right armrest, he maneuvered the chair around the command center. It made a soft humming sound as he showed off, the joystick controlling speed and direction. With six wheels-four small ones in each corner and two larger ones directly below each armrest-the power chair could spin in its own space. And Andy had it do exactly that.
“Impressive,” Harris said.
Payne said, “Mind if I ask the rude question…?”
Andy shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. I got robbed three years ago. Was walking home-we live in North Philly-from work. I was bringing my mom and little brother dinner. I couldn’t outrun them. They got my wallet. I got a knife in the back. It nicked my spinal cord. So now I’m a sophomore at La Salle, doing a double major in computer science and criminal justice.”
Nice kid, Payne thought, genuinely impressed. He projects nothing but a positive outlook.
Not sure I could do that if I were in his shoes.
“Good for you, Andy.”
He shrugged again.
“What are my alternatives?” he said logically. “Sit in a corner and wither while I complain bitterly about the cards I’ve been dealt?”
Payne didn’t trust his voice to speak. He squeezed Andy’s shoulder and nodded softly.
After a moment, Payne turned to Byrth and said, “La Salle University is just west of Broad Street, a few miles north of Temple University Hospital where the shooting took place.”
Andy Radcliffe’s face lit up at the mention of that.
“We were watching that video loop,” he said, nodding at the flat-screen TVs. “That was one pretty cool foot chase, Sergeant Payne.”
Now Payne felt a little embarrassed by the praise. He nodded his thanks.
Radcliffe pushed the joystick so that the power chair spun, then moved with that soft humming sound to the command center’s control panel. Radcliffe popped the black-and-white surveillance video up on the main bank of sixteen sixty-four-inch flat-screen TVs.
“We’ve already seen Marshal Earp’s chase,” Jim Byrth said.
Andy Radcliffe grinned at the nickname.
He said, “I can’t watch it enough. You know, before I got robbed and all, I never thought twice about cops. Except to avoid them on the street. But the patrolman-Will Parkman? They call him ‘Pretty Boy’-the cop who got my case?”
Payne shook his head. “Don’t know him.”
“I do,” Rapier said. “Because of Andy, of course. Really good guy. Ex-Marine. Did some amazing things in Southeast Asia. Not just ’Nam.”
Payne nodded appreciatively.
“Anyway,” Andy said, “Pretty Boy-he’s not really pretty at all, you know, more like kinda dumpy, which is why they call him that-he kept coming around the hospital to check on me. Then he came by the house, made sure my mama and baby brother were…”
He looked away for a moment. He cleared his throat. When he looked back at Payne, Matt could see the boy’s eyes were glistening.
Tears. He’s holding them back.
“So, this Parkman, you’re saying, didn’t have to do what he did,” Payne said. “That he was a pretty good guy?”
“Yeah,” Radcliffe said. “Is. He’s helping out with my tuition at La Salle till I get on with the department here. He’s what some call an M amp;M.”