restaurant, and Homicide Lieutenant Jason Washington were seen showing how things really are in the Philadelphia police department by feeding Stan Colt beer and cheese steak sandwiches at D’Allesandro’s.
But maybe that’s the way things really are in the police department.
And maybe it’s time for a change in the police department, starting at the top with the commissioner, who permits this sort of thing to happen.
Or maybe in City Hall itself. After all, one of the primary responsibilities of Mayor Alvin W. Martin is the supervision of the police department.
And ten seconds after that, the radio went off.
'C-2, go,” Halloran said to his microphone.
'C-2, meet the commissioner at the Roundhouse.”
“Radio, we are en route. Estimate ten minutes.”
“I guess somebody else has been reading the morning’s papers,” Deputy Commissioner Coughlin said.
SIXTEEN
The editorial in the Philadelphia Ledger was brought to Mayor Alvin W. Martin’s attention by Mr. Philip Donaldson, who decided the editorial was worth finally playing one of his aces in the hole, this one the mayor’s unlisted and carefully guarded home telephone number.
After this call, Phil was sure, the number would go unanswered until another unlisted number could be obtained and the original one taken out of service.
“Yeah?” the mayor said, somewhat less than charmingly, into his kitchen telephone.
“Am I mistaken, or did the Honorable Alvin W. Martin, our mayor, answer his phone himself?”
The voice was familiar, but the mayor could not quite place it.
“This is Alvin Martin,” he said, now far more pleasantly, “who not only answers his own phone, but whom you caught in the midst of making his own breakfast.”
“The little woman didn’t make it for you, Mr. Mayor?”
“No, she didn’t. Who is this?”
“Phil Donaldson, Mr. Mayor, of Phil’s Philly. And you’re on the air!”
How the hell did you get this number?
Just in time, the mayor stopped himself from asking that thought aloud. Instead, mustering what charm he could under the circumstances, he said,
“Well, good morning, Phil.”
“And good morning to you, Mr. Mayor.”
“What can I do for you, Phil, so early in the morning?”
“Just a question or two, Mr. Mayor, and then you can go back to making your own breakfast. Do you always make your own breakfast?”
What business is that of yours?
“Is that one of your two questions?”
“Maybe it will be three questions. But what about breakfast? ”
“I try, like every other husband, I suppose, to pitch in whenever my wife is tied up.”
“Tied up?”
You flip sonofabitch!
“A figure of speech, Phil.”
“Of course.”
“The questions, Phil?”
If I ever find out who gave this bastard my number…
“Have you seen this morning’s Ledger, Mr. Mayor?”
“I was just about to.”
“After you finished your breakfast, you mean?”
“I thought I’d have a glance at it while I was eating my breakfast.”
“That’s probably a good idea, Mr. Mayor. The Ledger has some pretty startling, even unkind, things to say in an editorial about the police department generally, and you specifically.”
Oh, shit!
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, they do, I’m sorry to tell you. And I-and all the good folks out there listening in Phil’s Philly-would like to get your reaction to them.”
What the hell’s in this goddamn editorial?
“An editorial, you say, Phil?”
“That’s right, Mr. Mayor. They just about called for you to resign, after you fire Police Commissioner Mariani.”
Goddamn it! What the hell is the Ledger onto now?
'Did they say why, Phil? Or are they just still sore that I won the election?”
“No, it’s a little more serious than that, I’m afraid, Mr. Mayor. Now, I don’t want to put you on a spot, Mr. Mayor…”
The hell you don’t! That’s your stock-in-trade, you slimeball!
“… and if you haven’t read the Ledger… So you read the Bulletin first, did you?”
You prick!
“Actually, Phil, I read both every day before I go to Center City, in no particular order, but I just haven’t had a chance to look at either so far today.”
“Well, what I’d like to do, Mr. Mayor, if you’re willing…”
“Anything within reason, Phil.”
“How about I call you at the office at eleven?” Mr. Donaldson asked, reasonably. “By then you’ll have had plenty of time to read the editorial…”
This is the last fucking time you’re ever going to get me on the phone. How stupid do you think I am?
“I may not be in the office at eleven, Phil.”
“Well, then, where will you be at eleven? Someplace without a telephone? I thought they were all over these days, like inside plumbing.”
“I really don’t know right now, Phil, where I’ll be at eleven. You have to understand…”
“You wouldn’t be trying to give me-and all the good folks out there listening in Phil’s Philly-the runaround, would you, Mr. Mayor?”
“Now, Phil, why would you say something like that?”
“Because that’s what it sounds like, Mr. Mayor.”
You sonofabitch, you got me!
“You call my office at eleven, Phil, and I’ll be happy to take your call.”
“Cross your heart and hope to die?”
“I give you my word, Phil.”
“I asked you to cross your heart and hope to die,” Phil said, paused, and added, “Just a little joke. I’ll take you at your word, Mr. Mayor, of course. And we’ll look forward to talking to you at eleven.”
“I look forward to it myself, Phil. It’s always a pleasure.”
“Have a nice breakfast, Mr. Mayor,” Mr. Donaldson said.
He broke the connection and leaned into his microphone.
“Well, you heard it folks, the mayor gave his word that he’d take my call-which means he’ll take our call-at eleven. That should be an interesting conversation. Make sure you tell all your friends to be tuned in. And now a word from the friendly folks at Dick Golden Ford on the Baltimore Pike. Be right back afterward.”
He turned off his microphone.
