W. Griffith - The investigators

"You made that decision? By yourself, Inspector?"

"Yes, sir," Wohl said. "By myself."

"When I was a policeman, I respected the chain of command, " Carlucci said. "You should have discussed that with Coughlin and Lowenstein. And then they should have discussed it with the commissioner."

"Yes, sir," Peter said.

"Just for the record, Mr. Mayor," Coughlin said, "if Inspector Wohl had come to me-and I wouldn't have expected him to-I would have told him I thought it was the way to go."

Carlucci visibly debated whether to respond to Coughlin and then changed the subject.

"When is the Harrisburg scumbag due here?"

"An hour, I'd say," Wohl replied. "I told Matt to send him back with McFadden and Martinez, and to worry about sending the evidence later."

"Send the evidence? Or bring it?"

"Payne's still working on the terrorist thing for the FBI," Coughlin said. "I don't know when he's coming back to Philadelphia."

"But the bottom line here is that what we're hoping for is that you can get a couple of these scumbags to roll over, right?"

"That's right," Callis said. "In my judgment, that's the way to put these dirty cops away."

"And you're the district attorney, right?"

"Yes, I am, Mr. Mayor."

"And since all the decisions have already been made, what that boils down to is that the commissioner and I are about as useful as teats on a boar hog, right?"

"Let me think about that," Lowenstein said.

Carlucci glowered at him.

" 'Teats on a boar hog'? Is that what you said, Mr. Mayor? God, I wish I had your colorful command of the language, Mr. Mayor!"

Carlucci's scowl changed into a smile.

"Screw you, Matt," he said. "Get out of here. All of you get out of here."

They all started to get to their feet.

"It's a good thing we're all friends," the mayor said. "And that you know me well enough to know what I'm pissed at is not you. You've done a good job, all of you, and I'm grateful. The commissioner and I are grateful, isn't that so, Tad?"

"Absolutely, Mr. Mayor," Commissioner Czernich said.

"Peter, as soon as you hear something, let me know, will you?"

"Yes, sir. Of course."

"And pass my 'well done' down the line, will you?"

"Yes, sir."

They shuffled out of his office.

"I'm going to try to see Manny," Coughlin said. "Before he sees the Five Squad."

"And ask him what?" Lowenstein asked.

"To hold off on giving Savarese the names of the Five Squad."

"Good luck," Lowenstein said.

"At least hold off for a while. Until we get somebody to roll over. Or know nobody is," Coughlin said.

"You know, I got a guy in my office, Phebus," Tony Callis said. "He used to be a sergeant in Narcotics. Do you think he'd be useful? I mean, they see one of their own… They just might listen to him."

"I don't see how it could hurt," Wohl said. "But… could you send him out to South Detectives and tell him Washington's in charge?"

"Sure," Callis said. "I know he's in the office. I left word that I wanted to see him about the guy who shot Officer Kellog. That can wait. I'll have Phebus at South Detectives in thirty minutes."

"My arm is going to sleep," Officer Timothy J. Calhoun said to Detective Charles McFadden. He moved his right arm, which was held by handcuffs to the strap on the rear of the front seat of the unmarked Plymouth.

McFadden was sitting beside him. Martinez was driving. They were on U.S. 222, five miles out of Harrisburg, headed for the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

"What do you want me to do?" McFadden asked. "I can't take the risk of you doing something stupid, Timmy."

"He already did a lot stupid," Jesus said from the front seat.

"Like what?" Calhoun asked, trying to ignore Martinez.

McFadden went along with him. He felt a little sorry for him, and Jesus could be a real prick. Timmy had enough on his back without Jesus digging at him.

"Like jumping out of the car, for example," Charley said.

"I wouldn't do that, Charley," Calhoun said.

"I can't take that chance," McFadden said.

"Cuff me behind my back," Calhoun said.

"Fuck you, Calhoun," Martinez said. "Just sit there and shut up."

"Ease off, Jesus," Charley said.

"When they get you in the slam, Calhoun," Martinez said, "and some sweaty two-hundred-fifty-pound lifer starts shoving his schlong up your ass, you'll look back on your fucking arm going to sleep as the good old days."

"Just drive the car, will you, Jesus?" Charley said.

"I could be wrong," Martinez said. "Maybe he'll like getting fucked in the ass."

"Put your left hand behind your back, Timmy," Charley said. "Jesus, let me have your cuffs."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to cuff Calhoun behind his back."

"Fuck him, let his arm go to sleep. Let his arm turn black and fall off."

"Give me your goddamn cuffs, goddamn it!"

Martinez grunted as he shifted around on the seat trying to get his handcuffs out from where he carried them, in the small of his back. He finally succeeded and laid them on the back of the seat.

McFadden placed one of them on Calhoun's left wrist, and then freed his right wrist from the handcuff shackling him to the front seat. Then he put Calhoun's right wrist behind his back and clipped the handcuff to it.

Calhoun slumped back against the seat.

"Thanks, Charley."

"Okay," McFadden said.

Ninety seconds later, Calhoun announced: "Charley, I got to go to the toilet."

"Fuck you!" Martinez said. "Crap in your pants, you dirty cocksucker!"

"What the hell is the matter with you, Martinez?" Calhoun asked. "What did I ever do to you?"

"You were born, is what you did to me," Martinez said, and then seemed to warm to the subject. "I don't like dirty cops, is what's the matter with me," Martinez said. "And you know-you're a goddamn narc-what that shit does to people, and you were selling it. Stealing it from drug people, and then selling it! Probably to kids! You are the lowest of the fucking low, Calhoun!"

"Ease off, Jesus," Charley said.

"Fuck you, ease off! What I would like to do to this miserable shitheel is shoot him with a. 22 in both knees, and make him crawl to jail."

"I'm telling you to ease off, goddamn it!"

"With that damned Rolex watch shoved up his ass!" Martinez went on, undaunted.

"Charley, unless I get to go to the toilet, I'm going to crap in my pants!" Calhoun said plaintively.

"I don't give a shit!"

Two minutes later, Martinez turned off 222 into a Cities Service complex, a large service station with two rows of pumps, a store offering tires and other automotive accessories, and a restaurant.

He pulled the unmarked Plymouth up in front of the restaurant and jumped out of the driver's seat. He took his identification folder from his pocket and opened it so the shield was visible, then pushed his jacket aside so that his holstered pistol was visible. He waved his badge around at shoulder height.

"Nothing to worry about, folks. We are police officers! "

That, of course, caught the attention of everyone within fifty feet, including several people seated at tables inside the restaurant.

"Let him out, McFadden!" Martinez ordered.

Charley reached over Calhoun and opened the door.

Calhoun made his way awkwardly out of the backseat.

Charley slid across the seat and got out after him.

"You go set things up in the restaurant," Martinez ordered.

"I'm not going to leave you alone with him," McFadden said.

"You don't think I'd shoot him right here, do you?"

"I'm not going to leave him alone with you, Martinez," Charley repeated.

"Suit yourself," Martinez said, and walked into the restaurant, where, from the door, he repeated the "Nothing to worry about folks, we're police officers" routine.