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When the mayor decided the time had come, what they were going to do in good ol’ Augie Wohl’s recreation room this afternoon was decide how they were going to clean up the Narcotics Unit, and how to do it right, so that nobody dirty would get to walk because some goddamned defense lawyer caught them with an i they hadn’t dotted, or a t they’d forgotten to cross.
He went in without knocking, and walked to the kitchen to kiss his mother.
There were six wives in the kitchen, dealing with the food: Chief Lowenstein’s comfortably plump wife, Sarah; Angeline “Angie” Carlucci, the slight, almost delicate woman who was said to be the only human being of whom Mayor Carlucci lived in fear; Mike Weisbach’s Natalie, a younger version of Sarah Lowenstein; Mike Sabara’s Helen, a striking woman with luxuriant red hair; Jack Fellows’s Beverly, a tall, slim woman who was an operating-room nurse at Temple Hospital; and Peter’s mother.
Peter wondered tangentially how Martha Peebles—once she became Mrs. Captain David Pekach—was going to fit in with her fellow officer’s wives. She would try, of course—she was absolutely bananas about her “Pre cious”—but her experience with feeding people was limited to telling her butler how many people would be coming to dinner, when, and what she would like to have them fed.
For that matter, he absolutely could not imagine Amy Payne in a kitchen, stirring spaghetti sauce, either.
Mrs. Carlucci and Mrs. Lowenstein insisted on their right, as women who had known him since he wore diapers, to kiss him.
“Your father and everybody’s downstairs,” his mother said.
“Really?” Peter replied, as if that was surprising.
“He’s always been a smarty-pants,” his mother said.
“Yes, he has,” Sarah Lowenstein agreed. “But his time is coming.”
“How’s that?” Peter asked.
“There’s a young lady out there—you just haven’t bumped into each other yet—who will change you.”
“And any change would be an improvement, right?”
“You took the words out of my mouth.”
Peter smiled at her and went down the narrow steps into the basement.
He made his manners first with Mayor Carlucci, a tall, large-boned, heavyset fifty-three-year-old with dark intelligent eyes and a full head of brown hair brushed close to his scalp.
“Mr. Mayor,” he said.
“I like your suit, Peter,” Carlucci said, and tried to crush Peter’s hand with his.
He failed.
“You’re stronger than you look,” the mayor said.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Smarter, too,” Peter’s father said, draping an arm around his shoulders.
Peter shook hands with the others, then made himself a drink.
The trip down memory lane started. Peter didn’t pay much attention. He had heard all the stories at least twice before. He sensed that both Mikes, Weisbach and Sabara, were slightly ill at ease.
Sabara’s uncomfortable, probably, Peter thought, because he’s here and Dave Pekach isn’t. And Weisbach is legitimately worried about how much of this Five Squad investigation is going to be placed on his shoulders.
The conference vis-à-vis the investigation of allegations of corruption within the Narcotics Unit began when everyone declined another piece of cake, whereupon Mrs. Wohl announced that she would put another pot of coffee on and leave them alone.
“Peter, you help carry the heavy things upstairs,” she ordered.
In three minutes, the Ping-Pong table pressed into service as a buffet table and all the f
olding tables were cleared and put away.
“I always like a second cup of coffee to settle my stomach,” Mayor Carlucci announced.
