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“Jesus, I didn’t even say the appropriate things about Matty, did I? It was all over the TV. You must be proud as hell of him. Hell, we all are.”
“I am. I just spoke to him. He confirmed what Denny Coughlin told me. There’s no doubt this is the fellow who killed the Williamson girl.”
“And now what happens to him? He pleads he had an unhappy childhood, and they award him damages?”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen. As a matter of fact, the only thing Denny seemed worried about is how to get him back to Philadelphia.”
“He’s going to fight extradition? Do we have diplomatic relations with Alabama?”
“The problem is one of transportation, Tom. Bringing him back on the airlines poses a number of problems, as you can well imagine. The press, for one. The restrictions on even policemen carrying firearms on airplanes, for another.”
“Cut to the chase, Brewster. Your pal Denny Coughlin would like to use Nesfoods’s Citation to bring this character back here, right? And suggested you call me?”
“No, he did not. I really don’t think using your airplane has ever entered his mind.”
“This is your idea?”
“Which I had moments ago, just before I called.”
“After drink number what?”
“Four, possibly five.”
“You’re my legal counsel- counsel me. Why should I?”
“Well, for one thing, all expenses would be fully deductible.”
“As you have so often pointed out to me, you have to spend money before you can claim it was spent for business purposes and is thus deductible from income. You know how much it costs to operate that airplane.”
“It would have undeniable good public relations aspects, Tom.”
“And your pal Denny had nothing to do with this idea of yours, right?”
“I told you he didn’t, Tom,” Payne said. There was a chill in his tone.
“So you did. And I’m still listening.”
“My thought
is that there would be benefits to both parties if you were to telephone Alvin Martin and say it has come to your attention-you may use my name, if you like-that the police are having a problem transporting this fellow back here, and that Nesfoods International, as concerned, good, corporate citizens of our fair community…”
“And you just happen to have the mayor’s unlisted number, right?”
“No, but I have one he gave me in case I ever wanted to get in touch with him, day or night.”
“Let’s have it.”
Homer C. Daniels looked up as the door to his cell slid open. A moment later, the enormous black sergeant and the nearly-as — big white cop who followed him around appeared at the entrance, carrying the prisoner restraint system.
“You want to stand up, please?” Kenny ordered.
“Is all of this necessary?” Daniels asked. “I’m cooperating. I’m not going to try to get away.”
“It’s procedure,” Sergeant Kenny said, gesturing with his finger for him to turn around.
If I had my way, you white trash pervert, you’d spend the rest of your life in this thing.
“If you have to go to the john, do it now,” Kenny ordered. “You won’t have another chance for a while.”
