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ndiary.”
Finley and Ed Stein had just left the mayor’s office next door, Finley having taken care to shut the door between the offices before walking over to Stein and beginning to make his points.
Stein stood behind his large antique desk, tossing his legal pad on it and then pulling up the screen of his notebook computer and typing in his password.
“This day is off the charts,” Finley went on. “Now we have another shooting at the casino? It’s one thing to have to deal with those numbers. But Cross can very easily push this thing over the edge by equating cop shootings with actual criminal acts. It’s all about perception.”
“I understand. And agree.”
Stein’s eyes fell back to the computer screen. He typed some more, then said, “Here it is,” then picked up the receiver of the desk telephone and punched in a phone number.
He impatiently rocked his head back and forth while listening to the rings, then stopped and in an officious tone said into the phone, “Yes, this is Edward Stein at City Hall. I’m the assistant to Mayor Carlucci. It is urgent that I speak with Reverend Cross.”
He listened for a moment as he met Finley’s eyes.
“That’s correct,” Stein went on. “Mayor Carlucci has asked me to reach out to Reverend Cross and— What’s that?”
Finley mouthed, What?
“He’s unavailable?” Stein said.
Finley mouthed, Bullshit!
Stein said, “Can you . . . I’m sorry. I did not get your name”—he listened for a very long moment—“okay, Deacon DiAndre Pringle of the Word of Brotherly Love Ministry, as I said, my name is Edward Stein and I’m calling on behalf of Mayor of Philadelphia Jerome Carlucci. Can you get me to Reverend Cross’s assistant? . . . Oh, you are his assistant. I see. Deacon Pringle, would it be possible to get the reverend’s mobile number? . . . I’m sorry. Did I hear you say he doesn’t have one?”
Finley made a sour face and shook his head.
Judging by Stein’s expression, he was having difficulty not losing his patience.
“Yes,” he then said slowly, almost condescendingly, into the receiver, “I am aware of the rally planned at your ‘house of worship.’ That is one of the reasons Reverend Cross and I must speak as soon as possible.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Within the next hour . . . yes, you do that, please. This is urgent.”
Stein held his arm out stiffly and started to slam the receiver into its base. Finley put his hand down to intercept it.
Stein then gently replaced the receiver and looked at Finley.
“Now what?” Finley said.
Stein reached across the desk and picked up a remote control. He aimed it at the television on the wall, thumbed the power and mute buttons, and a moment later Philly News Now came onscreen. It showed a dozen police vehicles parked with emergency lights flashing at the entrance to the Lucky Stars Casino. After a moment, the text in the ticker box across the bottom of the screen read . . . A NORTHERN LIBERTIES WOMAN, 26, SHOT WHILE CELEBRATING HER GRANDMOTHER’S BIRTHDAY, REMAINS IN CRITICAL CONDITION FOLLOWING A CASINO JEWELRY STORE ROBBERY THAT LEFT THE STORE MANAGER, 45, DEAD FROM GUNSHOTS . . .
“Oh my God!” Finley said, glancing at Stein, then looking back at the television. “I can just see the headlines! ‘Granddaughter Blown Away While Grandma Blows Out Birthday Candles.’”
The ticker then read . . . REV. CROSS, CHAIRMAN OF THE CITIZENS POLICE OVERSIGHT COMMITTEE, SAID THAT COUNCILMAN BADDE AND OTHER LEADERS WILL JOIN HIM TO ADDRESS ALL OF TODAY’S MURDERS AT 5 P.M. DURING A RALLY AT WORD OF BROTHERLY LOVE COMMUNITY CENTER IN STRAWBERRY MANSION . . .
“Surely Badde did not agree to that,” Finley said.
“Whether he did or not, it puts him in an awkward position. If he does appear, it could look like he’s calling cops killers. If he doesn’t, he’s turning his back on his base and the crime they’re suffering.”
Stein’s eyebrows then shot up, and he quickly turned to his notebook computer, his fingers flying across its keyboard.
“That’s it!” he blurted a minute later, glancing up from the computer screen to Finley. “Why am I not surprised?”
“What’s it? What’re you looking at?”
“The City Hall website page on CPOC members. Badde ‘proudly appointed’ the bastard to CPOC. I figured there had to be a connection.”
“And . . . ?”
“And what thy crooked pol hath given the reverend, thy crooked pol can taketh away. Or at least convince him to stop calling cops killers.”
