W.E.B Griffin - The Murderers

They promptly dubbed the alley “Stockton Place,” closed one end of it, and put a Colonial-style guard shack at the other.

Having been informed that Mr. Chadwick Thomas Nesbitt IV, who with his wife occupied Number Nine B Stockton Place-an apartment stretching across what had been the second floor of three Revolutionary-era buildings-did in fact expect a Mr. Payne to call, the Wachenhut Security officer pressed a switch on his control console which caused the barrier pole to rise.

Matt drove nearly to the end of Stockton Place, carefully eased the right wheels of the Porsche onto the sidewalk, walked quickly into the lobby of Number Nine, and then quickly up a wide carpeted stairway to the second floor.

The door to Nine B opened as he reached the landing. Standing in it, looking more than a little annoyed, was Miss Penelope Detweiler, who was twenty-four, blond, and just this side of beautiful. She was wearing a simple black dress, adorned with a string of pearls and a golden pin, a representation of a parrot.

“Where the hell have you been?” Miss Detweiler asked, and then, seeing how Detective Payne was attired, went on: “Matt, for Christ’s sake, we’re going to dinner!”

“Hi!” Detective Payne said.

“Don’t ‘Hi’ me, you bastard! We had reservations for nine-thirty, you’re not even here at nine-thirty, and when you finally show up, you’re dressed like that!”

He tried to kiss her cheek; she evaded him, then turned and walked ahead of him into the living room of the apartment. Wide glass windows offered a view of the Benjamin Franklin Bridge, the Delaware River, and an enormous sign atop a huge brick warehouse on the far-New Jersey-side of the river showing a representation of a can of chicken soup and the words N ESFOODS I NTERNATIONAL.

“I would hazard to guess, old buddy, that you are on the lady’s shitlist,” said Mr. Chadwick Thomas Nesbitt IV, who was sprawled on a green leather couch. Sitting somewhat awkwardly beside him was his wife, the former Daphne Elizabeth Browne, who was visibly in the terminal stages of pregnancy.

A thick plate-glass coffee table in front of the couch held a bottle of champagne in a glass cooler.

“What are we celebrating?” Matt asked.

“Look at how he’s dressed!” Penny Detweiler snapped.

“Never fear, Chadwick is here, the problem will be solved,” Chad Nesbitt said, waving his champagne glass as he rose from the couch. “Will you have a little of this, Matthew?”

“What are we celebrating?” Matt asked again.

“I am no longer peddling soup store by store,” Nesbitt said. “I will tell you all about it as you change out of your costume.”

Chadwick Thomas Nesbitt IV and Matthew Mark Payne had been best friends since they had met, at age seven, at Episcopal Academy. They had been classmates and fraternity brothers at the University of Pennsylvania, and Matt had been Chad’s best man when he married.

Nesbitt grabbed the champagne bottle from its cooler by its neck, snatched up a glass, handed it to Matt, then led him down a corridor to his bedroom. There he gestured toward a walk-in closet and arranged himself against the headboard of his king-sized bed.

“What the hell are you dressed up for?” he asked. “Or as?”

“I was on the job.”

“Unstopping toilets?”

“That’s not original. I was asked the same question just fifteen minutes ago,” Matt said as he selected a shirt and tie from Chad Nesbitt’s closet.

“In other words, it’s secret police business, right? Not to be shared with the public?”

“Right.”

“I wouldn’t count on dipping your wick tonight, Matthew. Penny’s really pissed.”

“I told her I didn’t know when I could get here,” Matt said.

“Your tardy appearance is a symptom of what she’s pissed about, not the root cause.”

“So what else is new?”

“How long are you going to go on playing cop?”

“I am not playing cop, goddamn it! And you. This is what I do. I’m good at it. I like it. Don’t you start, too.”

“I’m afraid I have contributed to the lady’s discontent,” Nesbitt said. “The champagne is because you are looking at the newest Assistant Vice President of Nesfoods International.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I hate to admit it, but the old man was right. The whole goddamned business does ride on the shoulders of the guys who are out there every day fighting for shelf space. And the only way to really understand that is to go out on the streets and do it yourself.”

The business to which Mr. Nesbitt referred was Philadelphia’s largest single employer, Nesfoods International. Four generations before, George Detweiler had gone into partnership with Chadwick Thomas Nesbitt to found what was then called The Nesbitt Potted Meats amp; Preserved Vegetables Company. It was now Nesfoods International, listed just above the middle of the Fortune 500 companies and still tightly held. C. T. Nesbitt III was Chairman of the Executive Committee and H. Richard Detweiler, Penny’s father, was President and Chief Executive Officer.

“Newest Assistant Vice President of what?” Matt asked.

“Merchandising.”

“Congratulations,” Matt said.

“A little more enthusiasm would not be out of order,” Chad said. “Vice President, even Assistant Vice President, has a certain ring to it.”

Matt threw a pair of Nesbitt’s trousers and a tweed sports coat on the bed, then started to take his gray uniform trousers off. He had trouble with the right leg, which he finally solved by sitting on the bed, pulling the trousers leg up, and unstrapping an ankle holster.

“Doesn’t that thing bother your leg?” Chad asked.

“Only when I’m taking my pants off. I meant it, Chad. Congratulations.”

“Penny was already here when I got home,” Chad said. “When I made the grand announcement, her response was, ‘And Matt is still childishly playing policeman,’ or words to that effect.”

“If I had gone into the Marine Corps with you, I would just be finishing my first year in law school,” Matt replied. “I wonder what she would call that.”

“Sensible,” Chad said. “Your first foot on the first rung of your ladder to legal and/or corporate success. Anyway, if she is bitchy tonight, you know who to blame.”

“I don’t want to be a lawyer, and I don’t-especially don’t-want to work for Nesfoods International.”

“‘ Especially don’t ’? What are you going to do when you marry Penny? It’s a family business, for Christ’s sake.”

“Your family. Her family. Not mine.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Chad said. “She’s an only child. I don’t know how much stock she owns now, but…”

“Let it go, Chad!”

“…eventually, she’ll inherit…”

“Goddamn it, quit!”

“Your old man sits on the board,” Chad went on. “Mawson, Payne, Stockton, McAdoo and Lester’s biggest client is Nesfoods.”

“Just for the record, it is not,” Matt said. “Now, are you going to quit, or do you want to celebrate your vice presidency all by yourself?”

Nesbitt sensed the threat wasn’t idle.

“One final comment,” he said. “And then I’ll shut up. Please?”

After a moment, as he closed the zipper of Chad’s gray flannel slacks, Matt nodded.

“I liked the Marine Corps. I was, I thought, a damned good officer. I really wanted to stay. But I couldn’t, Matt. For the same reasons you can’t ignore who you are, and who Penny is. I think they call that maturity.”

“You’re now finished, I hope?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Now we’ll go out and celebrate your vice-presidency. I can handle you alone, or Penny, but not the both of you together.”