A Piece of the Action

lost his temper. The nets are closing, Kate, and he knows it. Maybe the pressure was too much and he reverted to what he spent so many years training to do. It doesn’t matter. The officer was badly beaten. He’s in the hospital and he’ll stay there for a week.”

Pat Cohan watched his daughter cry for a moment, then reached out and took her in his arms. Her sobs, he noted, blended nicely with his wife’s mumbling. They gave some variety to the general drone.

“My darlin’ Kathleen,” he whispered, “my darlin’, darlin’ Kathleen. Life doesn’t always work out the way you expect it to. Sometimes there’s an awful lot of pain. What you’ve got to be is strong, girl. Strong enough to face the losses. Now, there’s something I think you should do. I think you should call Stanley.”

“I can’t, Daddy. I can’t do that.”

“He’s going to need a lawyer, Kate. The sooner, the better. Somebody has to warn him and I think it should be you.”

“Please, Daddy. You do it. I can’t.”

“He needs to know that you know.”

Kate shook her head. “You’re talking like it’s all over, but I still love him. It doesn’t just disappear.”

“All the more reason. If there’s any hope for the future, you’ve got to be honest with him.”

Pat Cohan could read his daughter’s indecision, see her mind jumping back and forth. Yes or no? Yes or no? Like pulling the petals off a daisy. In the end, he knew, she’d decide to obey her father. Yes, she’d decide to obey, and that decision, once made, would cut Stanley Moodrow out of her life forever. It was her father she’d be choosing, whether she knew it or not. Her father over her lover. Not that he, Pat Cohan, enjoyed seeing his darlin’ Kathleen in such obvious pain. He was doing it because it was necessary. Because if he let Stanley Moodrow, a rookie, triumph over Inspector Pat Cohan, he might as well hike on down to Jack Burns’s place and pick out a coffin.

“All right, Daddy, I’ll do it. But I want you to listen to what he says. If he has a defense, I want you to hear it.”

“Fine, Kate. I’ll pick up in my office.”

He was tempted to run for the phone, like a kid for a cookie, but he held himself in check. What he had to do was savor the moment. That was his first obligation. Stroll through the parlor, light a fat Cuban cigar, blow a thick white smoke-ring at the ceiling. Sure, he was getting old. Sure, he was rushing headlong toward retirement and a rocking chair. But, still …

When he finally picked up the phone, it was already ringing.

“Hello.”

“Stanley, it’s Kate.”

“How ya doin’, Kate?” Moodrow’s voice, much to Pat Cohan’s disgust, was soft and gentle. “I’ve been thinking about you. Wondering when you’d call.”

“Don’t, Stanley. Please don’t make it any harder. I’m calling to say you’re about to be arrested for assaulting a police officer. I’m warning you, so that you can get a lawyer.”

“ ‘Get a lawyer?’ ” Moodrow began to laugh. “That’s gotta be your father talking. Gotta be.”

“You think it’s funny. I’ve seen the warrant.”

“That sounds like your father, too. Tell me something, Kate, did he bring it home or did he have it delivered? Maybe he suggested that you call me?”

“You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?” Kate was close to an explosion. It was obvious to both listeners.

“Look, Kate, I’ve got a terrific headache. I looked in my medicine chest and all I can find are Carter’s Little Liver Pills. What I was trying to do, before you called, was figure out how they got there. It’s a mystery, see. Like how I can be arrested for getting smacked on the head with a baseball bat. What I’m laughing at is the way things work out.”

“Are you saying you’re innocent?”

“What I’m saying is that your father’s guilty. He’s guilty and he’s gonna pay.”

“Stanley, the arrest warrant’s for you, not Daddy.”

“What happened to ‘innocent until proven guilty’?” He waited for Kate to respond, but she kept silent. “The thing is that you’ve already made a choice. Whether you know it or not.”

“But I still love you. I do.”

“Love isn’t enough. It just isn’t.”

“So, that’s it? There’s nothing more to be said?”

“That’s it for now. Later on, maybe …”

“Goodbye, Stanley. And good luck. You’re going to need it.”

Pat Cohan, puffing at his cigar, imagined his daughter sitting by the phone in the kitchen. He could almost see her shoulders heaving as she sobbed into her cupped hands. He should, he knew, go out to comfort her. He should take her in his arms, hold her gently until her tears dried, tell her that he’d do everything possible for poor, misguided Stanley Moodrow. But there was one more thing to be accomplished before he saw to his daughter’s needs. He picked up the receiver and quickly dialed Stanley Moodrow’s number.

“Yeah?”

“Stanley, boyo, how’s it going? How’s your headache?”

“Gettin’ better, Pat. I found some Bufferin over the sink. How’s things by you?”

“Couldn’t be finer.”

“Glad to hear it. By the way, did Samuelson tell you that I have a signed copy of the complaint? He tell you there’s a baseball bat with my blood on it? He tell you the suspect wasn’t wearing gloves, so if the bat’s wiped clean of prints, someone’s got a lot of explaining to do? He …”

“Don’t waste your breath, Stanley. I’m not a fool. I know the arrest won’t stick. But it will take your gun and badge away. It will tie you up for the next couple of months. It will give me time to think of something else. How does corruption sound?”

“It sounds like you’ve gone off the deep end. It sounds like you’re ready for a straitjacket. It sounds like you’re willing to sacrifice your daughter to get to me.”

“Ah, Kate. Well, boyo, I’ve made a few mistakes in my life and matching you up with Kate was the worst of ’em. Not that mistakes can’t be corrected.

Not that I won’t have grandchildren to comfort me in my old age.”

“Tell me something, Pat. What’re you gonna do when she figures it out?”

“That’s never going to happen, boyo. You and Kate are finished.”

“Don’t count your chickens, Pat. It only leads to disappointment. By the way, you got your people waiting outside to arrest me?”

“Actually, I do. And as soon as I make a phone call, they’ll be on their way up. See you in jail, boyo.”

Moodrow, working quickly, gathered up the statements given by Al and Betty O’Neill, the complaint form signed by Rosten and Samuelson, and his personal notebooks. What he had to do was get them safe. If the arresting officers decided to search his apartment (which they would) and found the papers (which they also would), he’d have about the same chance of survival as a mouse in a lion’s cage.

He left his apartment, walked down two flights and knocked on Greta Bloom’s door.

“Stanley, come in, please.”

“I haven’t got time, Greta. What I’ve got is a problem and being as you’re the one who got it started, I figure you won’t mind helping me out.”

Greta stepped back and folded her arms across her chest. Her head barely came up to Moodrow’s lower ribs. “Maybe you could stop with the remarks and tell me what you want?”

“I’m about to be arrested. What I need you to do is hold onto these papers and find me a lawyer in case I have to make bail.”

The look in Greta Bloom’s face went too far back for Stanley Moodrow to read. It went all the way back to a small village in northeastern Poland.

“The bastards,” she whispered.

“Say that again.”