Final Justice Part 75

"That's true," he said.

"There is a thing known in management as delegation of authority and responsibility," Dr. Payne went on reasonably.

"I agree. I think what you're asking is why do I, as the Caesar of my little empire, have to personally rush off whenever one of my underlings has need of a friendly face and an encouraging word?"

"That's just about it, yeah," she said.

"Ordinarily, I would agree with you, having given the subject some thought after your last somewhat emotional outburst. "

She felt her temper rising again, and with a great effort kept her mouth shut, as Peter found clean linen and started to put it on. Only when she was sure that she had herself under control did she go on.

"Let me guess. This is an exception to the rule, right?"

"Right."

"f.u.c.k you, Peter. It will always be 'this is an exception to the rule.' "

"That was Matt on the phone," he said.

"Oh, G.o.d!" she said, her anger instantly replaced with an almost maternal concern. "Oh, G.o.d, not again!"

"It looks that way, I'm afraid," Wohl said.

"What happened?"

"Matt said-right after the Colt party-he was in the parking lot next to La Famiglia Restaurant?"

She nodded. She knew the restaurant well.

"And he walked up on an armed robbery. They shot at him, and he shot back, and put both of them down-one for good."

"Why the h.e.l.l couldn't he have just, for once, for once, looked the other way?"

"He's a cop, honey," Wohl said.

"Is he all right?"

"He sounded all right to me."

She jumped off the bed and looked around the room.

"Where the h.e.l.l is my d.a.m.ned bra?" she asked softly, more of herself than of him.

"It's probably in the living room," Wohl said.

She looked at him, then picked up her skirt and stepped into it.

"I gather you won't be here when I get back?" Wohl asked.

"I'm going with you," she said.

"I don't think you want to do that," he said.

"Don't think you know what I want to do, please," she said. "What it is, is that you don't want me to go with you."

"Okay," he said. "I don't. And I don't think Matt will want to see you right now, either."

She slipped her feet into her shoes, then went out of the room, returning in a moment in the act of putting her bra.s.siere on.

She backed up to him.

"Fasten it, will you, please?"

"Funny," he said after fussing with the catch for a moment. "I didn't have this much trouble opening it."

She didn't reply until she was sure he had fastened the catch, and then she turned and faced him.

"I can't believe that you're as unaffected by this as you're trying to make out," she said. "You know what this is going to do to him."

"I'm really unhappy about it, if that's what you mean," he replied. "But no, I don't know what this is going to do to him. I hope that it was a good shooting, and I'd like to think he's already worked his way through the questions something like this brings up."

"You mean, after the first couple of good shootings good shootings it gets easier?" she asked, more than a little sarcastically. it gets easier?" she asked, more than a little sarcastically.

He didn't reply for a moment.

"I hope, for Matt's sake, it does," he said, finally.

She looked at him for a long moment, then walked out of the room again and came back pulling a sweater over her head.

"Your call," she said. "We can take two cars, or I can go with you."

He looked at her in the mirror-he was tying his tie-but didn't say anything until he was finished.

Then he turned around and looked directly at her. "Thank you," he said.

"What for?"

"You know what for," he said.

He took a tweed sports coat from his closet, then followed her out of the bedroom, and through the living room to the door.

His apartment had once been the servants' quarters above what had once been the stables, and then the five-car garage of the turn-of-the-century mansion now divided into "luxury apartments."

They went down the outside stairs and to his unmarked Crown Victoria. He unlocked her door for her, and she reached up and kissed him.

"Sorry to have been such a b.i.t.c.h," Amy said.

"Hey, I understand."

He closed the door after her and went around the front and got in the car, and drove up to the drive, past the mansion to Norwood Street, and turned right.

"No flas.h.i.+ng blue lights and screaming siren?" Amy asked.

"We'll probably get to Internal Affairs before he does," Wohl said.

He reached under the dash and came up with a microphone.

"S-1," he said.

"Go ahead, S-1," Police Radio-this time a masculine voice-replied.

"On my way from my home to Internal Affairs," Wohl said.

"Got it."

He dropped the microphone on the seat.

"Can you get Denny Coughlin on that?" Amy asked.

He picked up the microphone.

"Radio, S-1. Have you got a location on Commissioner Coughlin?"

"S-1, he's at Methodist Hospital."

"What's going on there?"

"An officer was shot answering a robbery in progress on South Broad. And be advised, there's a new a.s.sist officer, shots fired on Front Street. Just a couple of minutes ago."

"Okay. Thank you."

He put the microphone down.

"If the root of your question was 'Does he know?', the answer is if he doesn't, he will in a matter of minutes."

"He does a much better job of telling Mother and Dad about things like this than I do."

"They're almost certainly asleep at this hour. You really want to wake them up?"

"No," she said after a moment. "But they'll be hurt and angry if someone doesn't tell them."

"You really want to wake them up?" he asked again, and went on. "All you're going to do is upset them. You-or Coughlin-can do it in the morning, when things have settled down."

"Good morning, Mom!" she said, sarcastically. "Guess what happened, again, last night?"

He chuckled.

"Was it a good shooting, Peter?" she asked, almost plaintively.

"From the way Matt talked, it was," he said. "We'll soon find out."

[FOUR].

Mickey O'Hara beat the first police unit-a marked Sixth District car-and the second-Lieutenant Gerry McGuire's unmarked Dignitary Protection Crown Victoria-to the parking lot by a good thirty seconds.

He was well into the parking lot, camera at the ready, before the uniformed officer, McGuire, and Nevins got of their cars, drew their weapons, and cautiously entered the lot.

O'Hara saw Matt Payne long before Matt Payne saw him-or, perhaps more accurately, acknowledged O'Hara's presence.

Matt was standing at the far end of the lot, pistol drawn, looking down at what after another second or two O'Hara saw was a man writhing on the ground.

"Matt! Matty! You all right?"

O'Hara decided that the crescendo of sirens was so loud Matt couldn't hear him.

But finally, just when O'Hara was close enough to be able to hear the anguished moans of the man on the ground, Matt turned and looked at him.

O'Hara instantly-and certainly not intentionally-turned from concerned friend to journalist.

Jesus, that's a good picture! A good-looking young cop in a tuxedo, tie pulled down, gun in hand, looking down at the bad guy! Justice f.u.c.king triumphant!

He put the digital camera to his eye and made the shot. And three others, to make sure he got it.

"What took you so long, Mickey?" Matt asked.

"What the h.e.l.l happened, Matt?"

"These two guys . . ." He raised the pistol and indicated the second body. Then he waited patiently while Mickey took images of the dead man before going on: "These two guys mugged a nice middle-cla.s.s black couple out for dinner. The guy gave him his wallet, and one of these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds knocked his teeth out with a gun anyway. I walked up on it, tried to grab them, and they let fly with a sawed-off shotgun and what looks like a .380 Browning-"

"Jesus, Payne," Lieutenant McGuire asked. "What went down here?"

"-and shot the s.h.i.+t out of my car and almost killed my girlfriend, and I put them down," Matt finished, almost conversationally.

O'Hara, Nevins, and McGuire looked at him curiously.

"Are you all right?" McGuire asked in concern.

"I'm fine. They missed," Matt replied. "The victims are over here."

Sergeant Nevins squatted beside the man on the ground, who glared hatefully at him.

"It looks like you're off the ballet team," he said. "But you'll live. Fire Rescue's on the way."

He stood up.

"They had guns?" he asked. "Where are they?"

Matt carefully took the Browning from his hip pocket and held it out. McGuire took it.