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“And you will, all three of you, keep Commissioner Czernich up to date on what’s going on. I’m sick and tired of calling him up and having him tell me, ‘I don’t know, Jerry. I haven’t talked to Wohl, or Lowenstein or Coughlin today.’”
“Yes, sir,” the three of them replied almost in unison.
The mayor ground out his cigar in the ashtray in front of him, stood up, and walked out of the room without another word.
“When the police department looks bad,” Commissioner Czernich said, “it makes all of us, but especially the mayor, look bad. I think we should all keep that in mind.”
“You’re right, Tad,” Matt Lowenstein said. “You’re absolutely right.”
He turned his face so Czernich couldn’t see him and winked at Coughlin and Wohl.
At just about the same time, Officer Charles McFadden looked over Officer Matthew Payne’s shoulder at what was being stirred in a small stainless steel pot and offered:
“I always wondered how they made that shit.”
“I gather that creamed beef is not a regular part of your diet?”
“I eat in restaurants all the time, but I never had it in a house before.”
“But then, until you met me, you never knew that people had indoor toilets, did you?”
“Fuck you.”
“What’s his name?” Matt asked, softly, nodding toward the living room, where a large, muscular young man with a crew cut sat facing the television.
“Hartzog,” Charley furnished quietly.
“You sure you don’t want some of this, Hartzog?” Matt called, raising his voice. “There’s more than enough.”
“It’s okay. I ate just before I came over,” Hartzog replied.
Matt began to swirl the boiling water in another stainless steel pot.
“What the hell are you doing now?”
“I am about to poach eggs. Eggs are these unborn chickens in the obloid white containers you see in my hand.”
“In there?” Charley asked, genuinely surprised as Matt skillfully cracked eggs with one hand into the swirling water.
“As you see,” Matt said.
“My mother uses a little pan. It’s got little cups you put the eggs in.”
“Is that so?”
“I’ll be damned,” Charley said, peering into the pan. “That works, don’t it?”
“Just about every time,” Matt said. “Now, if you will be so good as to take the English muffins from the toaster—”
Matt split the English muffins, laid a half on each of two plates, ladled creamed beef on top of them, and then added, using a pierced spoon, two poached eggs on top.
“Maybe you are good for something,” Charley said, taking the plates and carrying them into the living room.
Matt, using a cane, hobbled after him. He lowered himself into the arm chair and Charley handed him his plate.
“Oh, good!” Matt said. “We’re in time for today’s episode of Mary Trueheart, Girl Nymphomaniac.”
Officer Hartzog looked at him without comprehension.
