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“You were apparently wrong, Charles,” Matt said. “Mr. Boyle will not be cooperative. Mr. Boyle, you are under arrest for violating the laws of the City of Philadelphia and the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania vis-à-vis gambling and participating in an organized gambling enterprise. You have the right to an attorney…”
“Jesus Christ, Charley!” Sonny said. “Now wait a minute.”
“Remember who he is now, Sonny?” Charley asked.
“…and if you cannot afford an attorney,” Matt went on, “one will be appointed for you.” He paused. “I don’t seem to have my handcuffs, Charles. Might I borrow yours?”
“Charley, can we talk? Private?” Sonny asked.
“I have other things on my agenda, Mr. Boyle. I don’t have time to waste on you,” Matt said.
“Matt, Sonny and I go back a long way,” Charley said. “Be a good guy. Give me a minute alone with him.”
Matt gave this some thought. He looked impatiently at his wristwatch.
“Very well,” Matt said. “I will have a word with his accomplice.”
He got up and walked to the booth where Pat O’Hallihan sat with his hands obediently on the table.
“I don’t like your friend, Charley,” Sonny said.
“I don’t think he likes you, either. Too bad for you. He’s a mean sonofabitch sometimes. You don’t know who he is?”
Sonny shook his head.
“He’s the guy who popped the Northwest Serial Rapist in the head. Blew his brains out.”
“No shit, that’s him?”
“That’s him.”
“Charley, you’re going to get me killed,” Sonny said. “I’m not shitting you.”
“How am I going to get you killed?”
“Frankie Foley’s a hit man for the mob. If he finds out I’ve been talking to you, I’m a dead man.”
“An Irish hit man for the mob? Come on, Sonny.”
“I’m telling you. He does hits they don’t want to do themselves.”
Sonny looked over at Pat O’Hallihan. Matt Payne had the zipper bag open and was searching through its contents.
“How do you know?” Charley asked.
“I know. I know. Trust me.”
“‘How do you know?’ I asked.”
“He…uh, Jesus, Charley, you’re going to get me killed.”
“Think about it, Sonny,” Charley said. “When the word gets out that two cops were in here asking you about Frankie Foley, and then hauled you off, Frankie’s going to think you told on him anyway.”
Sonny Boyle felt sick to his stomach.
“He’s come to me a couple times and told me he needed alibis. Usually right after somebody hit one of the Guineas.”
“Lately?”
