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“Hello.”
“You and your goddamn wiseass answer machine messages. Where have you been?”
“Running errands.”
“You want to have a beer or something?”
“Just one. I got a date.”
“Me too. At seven.”
“You want to come here? Where are you?”
“Home. FOP?”
“Fifteen minutes?”
“Good.”
Matt Payne hung up.
Charley paid for the beer, the egg, and the sausage, and got in his car and drove to the FOP. Matt Payne’s Porsche was already in the parking lot, and he found him at the bar.
There was just time to order a beer and have it served when he heard Margaret’s soft voice in his ear.
“Hi!”
“Well, as I live and breathe, Florence Nightingale,” Matt said, smiling.
“Hello, Matt.”
“You’re early,” Charley said.
“You make it sound like an accusation,” Matt said.
“Get off early?” Charley asked.
“Not exactly.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I mean, I went in, and they said they really needed me from midnight till six.”
“They told you to come in,” Charley said indignantly.
“And I get an hour, at time-and-a-half, just for coming in,” Margaret said. “Plus double-time for midnight to six.”
“You’re not really going to go in at midnight?” Charley asked incredulously.
“Yes, of course, I am,” Margaret said. “I told you, it’s double-time.”
“If I were you, I’d tell them where to stick their double-time.”
“Charley!”
“May I make a suggestion?” Matt asked.
“Huh?” Charley asked.
