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"Whatever Jason tells him to. I think Washington likes him. I think they may have the same tailor."
"Well, you better hope Harris and Washington get lucky," Lowenstein said. "Your salami is on the chopping block with these two jobs, Peter."
"Chief, that thoughthas run through my mind," Wohl said.
Chief Lowenstein, who had not finished delivering his assessment of the situation, glowered at Peter Wohl for cutting him short and then went on.
"When the Payne kid got lucky and put down the serial rapist, that only made Arthur Nelson and his goddamnLedger pause for breath. It did not shut him up. Now he's got two things: drug-related gang warfare in the center city with a nice little rich girl lying in a pool of blood as a result of it; and a cop shot down in cold blood, the cops not having a clue who did it. Nelson would make a case against the Department, and Carlucci, if the doers were already in Central Lockup. With the doers still running around loose-"
"I know," Wohl said.
"I don't think you do, Peter," Lowenstein said as he hauled himself to his feet. "I was sitting at my kitchen table this morning wondering if I had the balls to come out here and apologize to you when Carlucci made up my mind for me."
"I'm sorry?" Wohl asked, confused.
Chief Lowenstein examined the glowing end of his cigar for a moment and then met Wohl's eyes.
"The dago called me at the house," he said. "He said he wanted me to come out here this morning and see how things were going. He said that he'd told Lucci to call him at least once a day, but that 'too much was at stake here to leave something like this to someone like Lucci.' "
"Jesus Christ!" Wohl said bitterly. "If he didn't think I could do the job, why did he give it to me?"
"Because if you do the job,he looks good. And if you don't,you look bad. They call that smart politics, Peter."
"Yeah," Wohl said.
"I think I can expect at least a daily call from the dago, Peter, asking me how I think you're handling this. I wouldn't worry about that. I don't want these jobs back, so all he's going to get from me is an expression of confidence in you, and the way you're doing things. On the other hand, whatever else I may think of him, your Lieutenant Lucciis smart enough to know which side of the bread has the butter-no telling what he's liable to tell the dago."
"Christ, my father warned me about crap like this. I didn't believe him."
"Give my regards to your dad, Peter," Lowenstein said. "I always have admired him."
Wohl stared at the phone on his coffee table for a moment. When he finally raised his eyes, Lowenstein was gone.
****
Lieutenant Foster H. Lewis, Sr., who was wearing a light blue cotton bathrobe over his underwear, had just offered, aloud, although he was alone in the apartment, his somewhat less than flattering opinion of morning television programming and the even more appallingly stupid people who watched it, himself included, when the chimes sounded.
He went to the door and opened it.
"Good morning, sir," the uniformed policeman standing there said, "would you like to take a raffle ticket on a slightly used 1948 Buick?"
"What did you do, Foster, lose your key?"
He looks good in that uniform, even if I wish he weren't 't wearing it.
"So that I wouldn't lose it, I put it somewhere safe," Tiny Lewis said. "One of these days I'll remember where."
"I just made some coffee. You want some?"
"Please, Dad."
"What are you doing here?"
"I've got to get a suit," Tiny said. "Mom said she put them in a cedar bag."
"Probably in your room," Foster Lewis, Sr., said. "Am I permitted to ask why you need a suit?"
"Certainly," Tiny said. He followed his father into the kitchen and took a china mug from a cabinet.
