Broken Trust (Badge of Honor 13)

“Certainly not today. Probably not tomorrow, either. But let’s see what he says.”

Carlucci leaned into the microphones and in a deep, dramatic voice said, “Operation Thunder Road begins today.”

“Anybody know about this?” Kennedy said.

“Nothing,” McCrory said. “Seems we’re always last to be told anything.”

Payne and Harris shook their heads.

“Some months ago,” Carlucci went on, “I quietly asked the Honorable Randle Bailey, Esquire, to spearhead an exploratory team.”

A heavyset male stepped into frame, stopping almost directly behind Carlucci. He was in his mid-sixties. He wore a baggy two-piece suit, the jacket of which was pulled taut over his ample belly, looking ready to pop its two buttons. He had wisps of silver hair that tended to flop from one side of his scalp to the other. His beady dark eyes were set deep in a liver-spotted face.

Carlucci turned and took a long time shaking Randle’s hand while they both mugged for the media.

“That Bailey,” Harris said. “Yet another who just loves to be in front of the cameras.”

“That is when Randy Randle’s not groping the almost attractive women behind the cameras,” Payne said.

“Almost attractive?” Harris parroted.

Payne grinned. “They apparently like the attention, and don’t complain. It’s when Randy Randle plays grab ass with the pretty ones—literally, gets touchy-feely—that the complaints start. He really has a thing for TV reporters, preferably the hot blonde ones, something that goes beyond his usual perversion.”

“This usual perversion being . . . ?”

“What you said, his insatiable hunger for seeing himself on TV.”

McCrory said, “I thought he lost his gig with the D.C. national political committee for doing exactly that, groping the local affiliate’s ace reporter?”

“Dick, in Washington circles you get brownie points for that sort of behavior. The trick is, you have to do it after you’re elected. Not like, say, that slick lawyer who, while running for president, knocked up his aide—which we later learned about shortly before his wife was diagnosed with terminal cancer.”

Harris said, “Yeah. A real class act. No end of those types.”

“And each party has its share,” Payne said. “We just seem to have more than most in Philly.”

Carlucci turned back to the microphones.

“As you know,” he said, “Randle Bailey has long been a friend of our great city, first serving as the Philadelphia district attorney before becoming mayor. He then went on to be governor of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. I think that it goes without saying that Randle has unique insight into what works here in our historic home.”

McCrory said, “That baggy suit of Bailey’s looks like it was cut from a circus tent.”

“Ha!” Kennedy said. “He could be a carny. Anyone want to start a betting pool for when he drops the first word that gets bleeped? First minute, second, third? Then how often each minute? He really lets them fly.”

“I’m in,” Nasuti said, pulling a dollar bill from his pocket, holding it out to Kennedy.

Kennedy, grinning, waved it away.

“In addition to the serious high crime rate we struggle with,” Carlucci went on, “there is a confidence issue concerning our police department. Some people have gone so far as to describe it as a trust that’s broken. We intend, beginning right now, to fix that, to regain the public’s full faith. I assure you that we will get to the root of these problems.”

“That’s easy,” McCrory said, “The problem is dietary. It’s always something from the three major food groups—drugs, money, weapons.”

Carlucci said, “These challenges are not unique to our city, of course. Others wrestle with it, too. But I was elected to lead. And that is why I recruited Randle Bailey. The result of his task force’s work is Operation Thunder Road, which will define law and order. We are assigning more veteran officers on Last Out, the midnight-to-eight shift when most violent crime occurs. Additionally, we are going to put two hundred academy grads on foot beats in crime hot spots. They will be supported by forty patrol cars rolling through known problem areas. Highway Patrol’s elite officers will be a constant sight.”

“Well, that’s a good start, Jerry,” Payne said. “But I bet it will result in more shootings—”

“You should know, Marshal,” Nasuti said, grinning.

“And how can you field academy grads when no one is getting recruited?”