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"Coffee sounds like a fine idea," Matt said.
"Why don't we go to the Marriott on City Line?" he said to the driver, and then turned back to Matt. "Is that Washington as good as people say?"
"I was just thinking about that," Matt said. "Yeah. He's good. Very good. He not only knows what questions to ask, but how to ask them. A master psychologist."
"He better be a master something," the driver said. "They don't have shit on who shot the cop, much less the
mob guy."
"Instead of going off shift," the cop with the cold blue eyes said, "we're doing four hours of overtime."
"I heard about that," Matt said. Peter Wohl had told him how it worked: While detectives rang doorbells and talked to people-conducted "neighborhood interviews"-Highway cops would cover the area, stopping people on the street and in cars, both looking for information and hoping to find someone with contraband-drugs, for example, or stolen property. If they did, the people caught would be given a chance to cooperate, in other words provide information. If they did, the contraband might get lost down the gutter or even dropped on the sidewalk where it could be recovered.
If they didn't have any information to offer, they would be arrested for the violation. By the time their trial came up, they might work hard on coming up with something the police could use, knowing that if they did and the Highway cops told one of the ADAs (assistant district attorneys) of their cooperation, he would be inclined to drop the charges.
Anyone caught in the area with an unlicensed pistol would be taken into Homicide for further questioning.
They pulled into the parking lot of the Marriott on City Line Avenue and went into the restaurant and sat at the counter. Matt sensed that they immediately had become the center of attention-much, if not most, of it nervous.
He remembered Amanda's reaction to the Highway cops in the diner at breakfast.
There is something menacing about the Highway Patrol. Is that bad? Any cop in uniform is a symbol of authority; that's why there is a badge, which, if you think about it, is descended from the coat of arms of a feudal lord and means about the same thing: I am in the service of authority. The badge says, "I am here to enforce the law, the purpose of which is to protect you. If you are obeying the law, you have nothing to fear from me. But, malefactor, watch out!"
Given that, isn't the very presence of these two, in their leather jackets and boots and rows of shiny cartridges, a deterrent to crime and thus of benefit to society? No stickup man in his right mind would try to rob this place with these two in here.
On the other hand, if some third-rate amateur came in here and saw only Officer Matthew Payne, in plainclothes, with his pistol cleverly concealed and his badge in his pocket, he would figure it was safe to help himself to what's in the cash register, using what force he considered necessary and appropriate.
A little fear of law enforcers, ergo sum, is not necessarily a bad thing.
There was almost immediate substantiation of Officer Payne's philosophic ruminations. The proprietor, wrapped in a grease-spotted white apron, came out from the kitchen smiling. He shook hands with both Highway Patrolmen.
"How about a cheese steak?" he asked. "I just finished slicing-"
"No thanks," the Highway cop with the cold blue eyes said. "Just coffee."
The driver said, "Thanks, anyway. Next time."
The proprietor, Matt saw, was genuinely disappointed.
He's genuinely pleased to see the Gestapo and sorry he can't show his appreciation for what they do for him; allow him, so to speak, his constitutional right to the pursuit of happiness.
"You hungry, Payne?" the blue-eyed cop asked, then saw the look of surprise in the proprietor's eyes and added, "He might not look it, but he's a cop."
"Actually," the driver said, "he's a pretty good cop. Dave, say hello to Matt Payne. He's the guy who took down the Northwest Philly rapist."
"Noshit" the proprietor said, and grabbed Matt's hand. "I'm really happy to meet you. Jesus Christ, I… can't I get you something more than a lousy cup of coffee?"
"Coffee's fine, thank you," Matt said.
"Well, then, you got to promise to come back when you have an appetite, for chrissake. My pleasure."
"Thank you, I will," Matt said.
I'm sorry he brought that up, Matt thought. And then, Don't be a hypocrite. No, you're not. You love it.
****
There was a good deal of resentment in Highway about Staff Inspector Peter Wohl's having named Officers Jesus Martinez and Charles McFadden as "probationary Highway Patrolmen."
