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"Have you considered that may be simple female insanity, not connected with narcotics?"
Matt laughed again.
"No," he said. "But isn't that a cheerful thought?"
****
Peter Wohl was not prepared to admit that Matt Payne's miracle auto polish was better in every way than his imported British wax, but there was no doubt that it went on and off faster, and with less effort.
For at least the last fifteen minutes, Detective Payne had been leaning on his gleaming Porsche, sucking on a bottle of beer and smiling smugly as he waited for Staff Inspector Wohl to finish waxing his Jaguar.
"Mine will last longer," Wohl said, when he had finally finished.
"We don't know that, do we?" Matt replied. "And you will notice thatI am not sweating."
"No one loves a smartass."
"It is difficult for someone like myself to be humble," Matt said.
"I wonder what a contract on the mayor would cost?"
Matt picked up on that immediately.
"You think he was responsible for sending me back to Special Operations?"
Wohl put the galvanized steel bucket, the car polish, and the rags into the garage, came out again, closed the door, and motioned for Matt to follow him into his apartment before replying.
"Who else? Not only does it smell like one of his friendly suggestions for general improvement of departmental operations, but who else would dare challenge the collective wisdom of Lowenstein and Coughlin-and my dad, by the way-that the best place for you to learn how to be a detective was to send you to East Detectives?"
He turned on the stairs and looked back at Payne.
"I'd say five thousand dollars," Matt said. "I understand the price goes up if the guy to be hit is known to go around armed."
Mayor Carlucci was known to never feel completely dressed unless he had a Smith amp; Wesson Chief's Special.38 caliber snubnose on his hip.
"Maybe we could take up a collection," Wohl said. "Put a pickle jar in every district."
He pushed open the door to his apartment and went inside.
"I need a shower," he said. "If you haven't already drunk it all, help yourself to a beer, and then call the tour lieutenant and tell him I'll be at Pekach's…Martha Peebles's."
"Yes, sir," Matt said.
He sat down on the white leather couch and pulled the telephone to him. There were lipstick-stained cigarette butts in the ashtray.
"You forgot to conceal the evidence," he called. "How did you do with whoever likes Purple Passion lipstick?"
"And clean the ashtrays," Wohl called back. "And not that it's any of your business, but she told me she was not that kind of girl. She was deeply annoyed that I thought she would do that sort of thing on the fifth date."
Matt chuckled and dialed, from memory, the number of the lieutenant on duty at Special Operations.
"Special Operations, Lieutenant Wisser."
Must be somebody new. I don't know that name.
"Lieutenant, Inspector Wohl asked me to call in that until further notice, he'll be at the Peebles's residence in Chestnut Hill. The number's on the list under the glass on his desk."
"Who is this?"
