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Joey Fitz shook his head. He stared off in thought.
“These rats in all these countries,” he said, “they’ve been stealing our jobs for years. I was able to go along with Austin on this condo project this one time because he promised the payments and that future projects would use our workers. And also because you vouched for him, Willie. I went way out on a limb for youse guys.”
“I know,” Lane said. “And I’m sure it’s gonna be okay. I know it will. You know I’ve always gotten the council to approve your projects.”
Fitzgerald looked at him, shook his head.
“Willie, we’ve gotta keep our boys in jobs so they can put food on the family table. You know that way back when my grandfather’s ironworkers union was putting up the Empire State Building, tallest building in the world, they were bolting them beams together that had been trucked in straight from our steel mills. That steel was coming from the furnaces so fast that it still gave off heat—”
“I’d heard that,” Lane said, nodding.
“And when we were building ships down here in our Navy Yard, same thing. It was all made here. That Defense Department said we couldn’t use no materials from outside the U.S. So the suppliers had to do the same. It was all U.S. of A. And now what? You got these Chinese—they’re making half the world’s steel these days, you know—selling here at thirty to fifty percent less than our mills can make it, and they’re putting our boys out of work.” He paused, then met Lane’s eyes. “So you just might tell Austin that he really doesn’t want to happen what could happen if he doesn’t live up to his end of our bargain. And I tell ya, Willie, it’ll be out of my hands. Some people do things I can’t control.”
Lane’s eyebrows went up.
Joey Fitz’s eyes dropped to his cocktail
glass, and he took a sip. He looked up, and finally said, “I heard from some of my people that there’s some kind of event Austin’s having this weekend.”
Lane nodded.
“It’s tomorrow night,” he said, “and it’s not his. It’s a fund-raiser for the Morgan woman’s charity.”
“Camilla’s Kids,” Joey Fitz said, and produced a small smile. “At the Bellevue.”
Lane was surprised that Fitzgerald knew the name, and the location, then realized that the union boss had known all along. Lane was disappointed in himself for being surprised. He knew, as everyone did, that Joey Fitz had a firm finger on the pulse of Philly.
“Nice charity, that one,” Joey Fitz went on. “Be a real damn shame if something happened there.”
[ TWO ]
Police Administration Building
Eighth and Race Streets
Philadelphia
Friday, January 6, 7:01 P.M.
As Sergeant Matt Payne entered the Roundhouse—this time, the solenoid on the secure door had actually worked after he kneed the door following its second buzzing—he noted that, judging by the waves of people already crowding the building, it was going to be a busy Friday night.
He thought, Wonder what the over-under is on shootings and killings tonight?
Whatever it is—probably two dead, ten shot—the bets will be even higher next week. Especially if Friday the thirteenth’s a full moon.
He took one look at the line waiting at the elevator bank and decided to risk taking the stairwell up to the Homicide Unit.
The first steps he made fine. But after reaching the top of that flight, a burning needle of pain flared from his wound.
Damn it!
He stopped and squeezed the handrail as he gently pressed on the bandage and took measured breaths. He didn’t bother checking the bandage; he had just changed it at his apartment. After a while, the pain subsided somewhat, and he felt he could continue upward.
When he finally got to the unit, the door was propped open. He looked across the room. He saw Lieutenant Jason Washington was in his glass-walled office, the door to it closed. Payne considered checking in with him, then saw that Washington was talking to someone who was obscured by a poster that had been leaned in the corner.
Payne looked toward his own desk. Tony Harris was sitting behind it, talking on his cellular telephone, while Dick McCrory used the desk phone. They both had notebook computers open on the desktop.
Harris waved, and Payne waved back as he crossed the room.
