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Inside the Grand Ballroom of the Bellvue-Stratford, Sergeant Payne hurried to answer Commissioner Mariani’s summons, a crooked finger.
“Yes, sir?”
“Colt just told the mayor how grateful he is for the opportunity to, quote, hang out, unquote, with you.”
“Yes, sir?”
“What are you going to do with him?”
“I thought I’d show him Liberties Bar and, if nobody from Homicide is there, take him to Homicide.”
“And if somebody from Homicide is in Liberties?”
“Hope I can get them talking about closed cases.”
Commissioner Mariani nodded.
When they saw that Sergeant Payne and Mr. Colt had gotten into the Crown Victoria, two white-capped Traffic Unit uniforms stopped traffic moving in both directions on South Broad Street, and then one of them gestured to Sergeant Payne, who then made a U-turn that saw him headed toward City Hall.
The traffic uniforms then blew their whistles and gestured, restoring traffic to its normal flow, and incidentally effectively preventing anyone from following Matt’s unmarked car.
“Thanks, guys!” Detective McFadden called to the uniforms, and gave a thumbs-up gesture.
Detectives McFadden and Martinez then got into their unmarked cars and drove off. The members of the press who were cleverly prepared to follow them, did so. They followed Martinez to the Ritz-Carlton front door, where he parked his car and went inside to await the return of Sergeant Payne and Mr. Colt, or the arrival at midnight of Detective McFadden, whichever came first.
The members of the press who followed Detective McFadden drove deep into South Philadelphia, where he pulled the unmarked half onto the curb in front of a row house on Fitzgerald Street, then went inside to catch a couple of hours’ sleep before relieving Hay-zus at the Ritz-Carlton.
“Aren’t I going to stand out like a sore thumb in this?” Mr. Colt inquired of Sergeant Payne, indicating his dinner jacket. “Maybe we could stop by the hotel and let me change?”
“Not at all,” Matt said. “We’re going to Liberties Bar, and the last time I was there, my boss was there, dressed just like that.”
“You’re bullshitting me, right?”
“Boy Scout’s Honor,” Matt said.
“Were you a Boy Scout?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I was.”
“Me, too,” Colt said. “Well, what the hell.”
He pulled open his black bow tie.
There were no members of the Homicide Division in Liberties Bar.
“We can wait a couple of minutes and see if somebody shows up,” Matt said.
“I will have one of three drinks I allow myself a day,” Colt said. “This will be number two; I had a beer at the hotel.”
“You allow yourself three drinks a day?” Matt asked.
“If I have more than that, I get in trouble,” Colt said. “Sometimes, I have four, if like I have one at lunch and a beer in the afternoon, then I might have two at night, but never any more than that.”
They had a drink. Matt ordered a scotch on the rocks, Colt-at Matt’s suggestion-a Bushmills martini, aka an Irish Doctor’s Special.
When the bartender delivered them, he looked closely at Colt.
“Anybody ever tell you you look a lot like Stan Colt?”
