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“The sergeant’s examination list came out today,” Matt said. “With underwhelming modesty, I was number one, and get to pick my assignment.”
“Which is?”
“Homicide.”
“What is that, some sort of a death wish?”
“Huh?”
“Homicide sounds dangerous,” she said. “Killers, right?”
“I never thought about it,” Matt said. “But now that I do… Homicide’s not dangerous. Being on the street is dangerous. My father was a uniform sergeant in a district. That’s dangerous. Cops get hurt answering domestic-disturbance calls. Stopping speeders. Homicide’s nothing like that. You’ve been watching too many Stan Colt movies.”
“I don’t really understand.”
“Street cops face the bad guys every day. Last night, a uniform cop answered a robbery-in-progress call at the Roy Rogers restaurant on Broad Street. One of the two bad guys shoved a revolver under his bulletproof vest and killed him. The first homicide guy didn’t get to the scene for maybe fifteen minutes. By then, the bad guys were long gone.”
She looked at him but said nothing.
“The trick to this is to saute them slowly in butter with a little Cajun seasoning,” he said. “You add the booze just before serving, and flame it. And since the rice isn’t done, we can put this on hold and have another glass of wine while we wait for the rice and the bathers to finish with the bathee.”
“What about when they arrest… the bad guys? Isn’t that dangerous?”
“First you have to find out who the bad guys are. Then make sure you can-to the district attorney’s satisfaction- make the case against them. Then, if they’re not already in the Roundhouse surrounded by cops, if you have to go out to arrest them, you take enough uniforms with you to make sure nobody gets hurt.”
“That’s not much like one of Stan’s movies, is it?” she asked.
“Not much,” he agreed, as he filled her glass.
“Then why does Homicide have the prestige? You were as proud as a peacock to tell me you were going to Homicide.”
“Homicide detectives are the best detectives in the department, ” he said. “When you’re trying somebody for a capital offense, all the ‘t’s have to be crossed and the ‘i’s dotted. There’s no room for mistakes. People who kill people should pay for it.”
“And Homicide sergeants?”
“Modesty precludes my answering that question.”
“Modest you ain’t, Sergeant.”
“Sergeant I ain’t, either.
I’m just number one on The List. God only knows when I’ll actually get promoted and sent to Homicide.”
“And in the meantime, you’ll have to do something beneath your dignity, like protecting Stan from his adoring fans? Or vice versa.”
“Meaning?”
“Now that we’re going to be professionally associated, I think I should tell you that Stan likes young women. Very young women.”
“That ought to go over big with the monsignor and the cardinal. And I’m not-I am now really sorry to say-going to be involved in that. That’s Dignitary Protection, and sometimes, since the subject came up, that can be really dangerous. Dignitaries, celebrities, attract lunatics like a magnet.”
“You’re not going to be involved?”
“No. I was just there this morning to see-for my boss- what the triumphal visit will involve. I’m with Special Operations, and we usually provide the bodies needed.”
“I’m sorry, too,” she said.
“We will solve that problem when you come back,” he said. “I really want to see more of you.”
