"I'm sorry the Commissioner feels that way," Wohl said.
"Well, I'm afraid he's right," the mayor said.
Oh, shit! I have just been told that I'm going to lose Special Operations. That's what this is all about. Jerry Carlucci is softening the blow by letting me know ahead of time, and is about to throw me a bone: Pick a job, Peter, any job. I owe your father.
"Do I read you correctly, Peter? You don't want to work in the Roundhouse?"
"I would rather not work in the Roundhouse, Mr. Mayor."
"That's what I told Czernick," the mayor said. "That I didn't think you'd like that."
So what does that leave? Back to Staff Investigations? Probably not. If Carlucci is throwing the dog a bone, and tells Czernick not to give me a job in the Roundhouse, there's not really much left for a staff inspector. Maybe as an assistant to Lowenstein in the Detective Bureau, or to Coughlin in Special Patrol. Why else would they be here?
"May I ask who the commissioner's thinking of sending in to take over Special Operations?"
"That's pretty much up to you, Peter," the mayor replied.
What the hell does he mean by that?
"Unless, of course, you'd like to stay there," the mayor said.
"You just said that it had been decided Special Operations should have a full inspector…"
"And so it should," the mayor said. "You were what, when you took the Inspector's exam."
"Seventh," Wohl replied, without thinking.
"And they promoted five people off the list, right? That's what Czernick said."
"I think that's right," Wohl replied.
You know damned well it's right. Why are you being a hypocrite? You watched the promotions off the list like a hawk, until the twoyear life of the list ran out and you knew you weren't going to get promoted from it.
"Commissioner Czernick came to me with an idea," the mayor said. " He said that Marty Hornstein was number six, in other words next up, on the last Inspector's List, and said that it would be a pretty good idea if I could ask the Civil Service Board to extend the life of the list, so that Hornstein could be promoted and take Jasper's place."
Wohl was aware that the mayor was pleased with himself, and exchanging glances with Chiefs Wohl, Lowenstein and Coughlin.
What the hell is that all about?
"Now you have been around long enough, Peter, to know that I don't like to go to the Civil Service Board and ask them for a favor. They do something for you, you got to do something for them. But, on the other hand, I try to oblige commissioner Czernick whenever I can. So I thought it over, and what I decided was that if I had to go to all the trouble of going to the Board to ask them to extend the life of the Inspector's List so that we could promote one guy off it, why not promote two guys off it?"
Jesus H. Christ!
The last board made it pretty clear to me that they didn't think I was old enough to be a captain, much less a staff inspector trying for inspector. I squeezed by that one only because they believed the list would be long expired before I got anywhere near the top of it, and that I would spend the next five years or so as a staff inspector investigator. If they had known I'd be given command of Special Operations after eighteen months, they would have found some reason to keep me off the list, or at least put me near, or at, the bottom.
"If you can find time in your busy schedule, Peter," the mayor said. "Why don't you drop by the commissioner's office next Tuesday at say nine-thirty? Wear a nice suit. They'll probably want to take your picture. Yours and Hornstein's. But keep this under your hat until then."
I have just been promoted. By mayoral edict, screw the established procedure.
A massive arm went around his shoulders, and then Peter felt his father's stubbly cheek against his as he was wrapped in an affectionate embrace.
"You better have another drink, Peter," the mayor said. "You look as shocked as if you'd just been goosed by a nun."
****
The telephone was ringing when Matt climbed the narrow stairway to his apartment. He walked quickl
y to it, but at the last moment decided not to pick it up. On the fifth ring, there was a click, and then his voice, giving theI'm Not Home message. There was a beep, and then a click. His caller had elected not to leave a message.