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Payne, now that he knew the translation, grinned at the term.
“I’ve got the co-hone-ees to call him that to his face,” Payne said. “It doesn’t offend him. He once told me that he believed Buddha to be a very wise man. Then he added, ‘And, Good Lord, there’s no denying I’m black.’ ”
Byrth chuckled. “He strikes me as a good man.”
Payne, his tone serious, said, “Yeah, a very good man. He’s one of my favorite people. And one of the best homicide detectives anywhere. I’m glad he’s joining us.”
They got out of the car. As they started for the door to the bar, Payne motioned at the stubby Statue of Liberty.
“Meet Miss Liberty,” he said formally. “And welcome to Liberties, sometimes referred to as the preferred watering hole of Philly’s Homicide Unit.”
Inside Liberties, Matt found the place was maybe a third full. Along the left wall were wooden tables with booths. They all were taken by patrons. A large wooden bar ran a good part of the opposite wall, from the front window almost back to the wooden stairs leading upstairs. It was mostly empty. In the middle were more tables and chairs. There, Matt saw Amy sitting at a table, her head down. She apparently was reading the screen of her cellular telephone.
“There she is,” Payne said to Byrth.
Byrth followed him across the room. He saw that Amy Payne looked to be about thirty years old, petite and intense, her brown hair snipped short. She wasn’t necessarily pretty, but was an attractive, natural-looking young woman.
As they approached Amy’s table, she looked up from her cell phone. Byrth was removing The Hat from his head, and she was unable to hide her surprise.
“Hi, Amy,” Matt said. “I want you to meet a friend of Liz Justice’s.”
Amy Payne well knew the family and police connections with the Justice family. She recovered from her initial shock and smiled warmly.
“Jim Byrth, this is my sister, Amy Payne. Amy, Jim.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Byrth said, offering his hand.
Amy took it.
“Jim is a sergeant with the Texas Rangers.”
“Really? I’m not sure what that is, but it sounds impressive.”
“It is,” Matt said, then added, “The Black Buddha is going to join us.”
“The more the merrier,” Amy said without much conviction.
Jesus Christ. Is she in one of her
moods?
It’s been too long a day for that.
Matt looked at her. “Everything okay?”
“Should I be asking the same of you, Wyatt Earp?”
“You two want to be alone?” Byrth asked.
Matt made a face. “No, Jim. You’re fine.”
“Sorry about that, Jim,” Amy said. “Didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”
“No apology. I’m a big boy. I just thought you might want some privacy for when you punched Matt.”
She looked at him and smiled. It was a genuine one.
“C’mon, Amy,” Matt said. “That was a good shooting. For Christ’s sake, that sonofabitch pumped thirteen rounds into Skipper. It was an assassination. And there’s video that proves I got shot at.”
