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“Who’s everybody?” Matt asked.
“Me, Jeanette, Terry, and Eddie.”
Jeanette, Matt decided, must be the gray-haired woman.
“Eddie’s the character with the pageboy?” he asked.
“My personal photographer,” Colt furnished.
“No,” Matt said.
“Eddie goes everywhere with me,” Colt said. “They all do.”
“They don’t go everywhere with you when you’re with me,” Matt said. “Your call, Mr. Colt.”
“You’re a real hardass, Payne,” Colt said, admiringly. “I’m going with Payne. The rest of you can go in the wedding limo.” He turned to Matt. “And after this party thing, you’ll show me stuff, right?”
“If you like,” Matt said.
“We’re here,” Sergeant Payne said to Mr. Colt after they had rolled up to the Broad Street entrance of the Bellvue-Stratford Hotel, third in line behind Lieutenant McGuire’s unmarked and the white Lincoln limo. Behind them were three unmarked cars, one belonging to Dignitary Protection and the other two to Detectives Martinez and McFadden.
Matt had taken a leaf from the uniforms who had kept Colt’s fans from leaving the North Philadelphia Airport and had ordered McFadden and Martinez to keep Eddie the photographer, and anybody else, from following Matt’s car when it left the hotel.
“Don’t get your balls in an uproar. I’m waiting for Eddie to get out of the limo.”
Eddie the photographer got quickly out of the limo, sort of knelt, and prepared to photograph Mr. Colt’s arrival at the Bellvue-Stratford.
“Come on, Payne,” Colt said.
“I’ll catch up with you inside,” Matt said. “I’ve got to park the car.”
“No, first you let Eddie take our picture, and then you park the car.”
“I don’t think so,” Matt said.
“If you don’t let him take our picture now, I’ll tell him I changed my mind, and he gets to go with us when we leave here.”
“That’ll be hard to do after McFadden handcuffs him to that brass rail.”
“Hey… It’s Matt, right?”
“Right.”
“I’m meeting you halfway, Matt. He’s shot two hundred pictures since we got here, and the only one that’ll do me any good is this one.”
“Excuse me?”
“The real press doesn’t give a shit about one more picture of me shaking hands with a mayor, or even a cardinal. But Stan Colt with a real Homicide sergeant, that’s news. Come on. Get out and smile.”
“I don’t want my picture in the goddamn newspapers.”
“Tough shit. Either now, or he follows us around all night.”
He paused, then did a very creditable mimicry of Matt: “Your call, Sergeant Payne.”
Matt got out of the car.
“Look serious, but think of pussy,” Mr. Colt whispered to Sergeant Payne as, following Eddie the photographer’s hand signals, he moved Matt where Eddie wanted them.
