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“I know where it is, sweetheart. I’m from here.”
“… at six-thirty. Black tie. The limo will be here at six-fifteen. ”
“Where the hell did that virginal white one come from?”
“You want another color?” Terry asked.
Colt pointed to the young man on the telephone.
“That’s what Lex is doing,” he said. “Getting a black one.”
“The cocktail party will be over at seven-thirty, which leaves the question of dinner open. I think you can count on at least one invitation.”
“Let me think about that,” he said.
He recognized Lieutenant McGuire for the first time.
“You’re the security guy, right?”
“I’m Lieutenant McGuire of Dignitary Protection, Mr. Colt.”
Mr. Colt’s somewhat contemptuous shrug indicated he considered that a distinction without a difference.
“And you’re the Homicide detective, right?”
“I’m Sergeant Payne.”
“But Homicide, right? You’re the guy that was in the gun battle in Doylestown Monsignor Schneider told me about?”
Matt nodded.
“No offense, but you don’t look the part.”
“Perhaps that’s because I’m not an actor,” Matt said.
“You look-and for that matter sound like-you’re a WASP from the Main Line.”
“Do I really? Maybe that’s because I am indeed a White Anglo-Saxon Protestant who was raised in Wallingford; that’s not the Main Line, but I take your point.”
Matt saw that Lieutenant McGuire was being made very uncomfortable by the exchange.
“Why am I getting the feeling, Sergeant,” Colt asked, “that you would rather be somewhere else?”
“You’re perceptive?”
Colt chuckled.
“You want to tell me what you’d rather be doing?”
“I was working a Homicide before the commissioner assigned me to sit on you.”
“ ‘Sit on’ me? That sounds a little erotic. Kinky. You know?”
“It means that my orders are to see that you don’t do anything while you’re here that will embarrass in any way anybody connected with this charitable gesture of yours.”
“For example?”
“Payne!” Lieutenant McGuire said, warningly.
