Then he turned and walked into the building.
Malone thought it was a great story. But it was more than that. Wohl knew how to deal with people. After the wheelie demonstration, and after the word had spread that Wohl had been the youngest sergeant ever in Highway, there had been no more bitching that he didn't understand how things were in Highway.
And, Malone thought, it had been a nice touch for Wohl to come out of his office himself to apologize for being tied up. Most division commanders wouldn't have done that; they would have told their driver to have the newcomer wait.
And what Payne had said, 'you'll be right at home around here,' was interesting too.
Maybe this Special Operations assignment will turn out all right after all.
FOUR
At five minutes past one that afternoon, Abu Ben Mohammed pushed open one of the double doors giving access to the business premises of Goldblatt amp; Sons Credit Furniture amp; Appliances, Inc., which occupied all of a three-story building on the north side of South Street, between South 8^th and South 9^th Streets in South Philadelphia.
Abu Ben Mohammed, according to police records, had been born, as Charles David Stevens, at the Temple University Hospital, in North Philadelphia, twenty-four years, six months, and eleven days earlier. On the occasion of his most recent arrest, he had been described as a Negro Male, five feet nine inches tall, weighing approximately 165 pounds, and with no particular deformities or scars.
Goldblatt amp; Sons had a doorman, Albert J. Monahan, who was fifty-six. Red Monahan had been with Goldblatt amp; Sons for thirty-eight years. He went way back to when it had been Samuel Goldblatt Fine Furniture, when Mr. Joshua Goldblatt (now treasurer) and Mr. Harold Goldblatt (now secretary) had been in short pants, and Mr. Samuel Goldblatt, Jr., (now president) then known as 'Little Sammy,' had been just another muscular eighteen- year-old working one of the trucks delivering merchandise alongside Red.
Before he'd had his heart attack, three years before, Red Monahan had worked his way up to warehouse supervisor. In addition to the portions of the third floor and of the basement of the building on South Street used to warehouse, there was a five-story warehouse building on Washington Avenue two blocks away.
Red had been responsible for checking merchandise as it came in, filling orders from the store to be loaded on trucks, and in moving merchandise back and forth between the store and the warehouse.
Old Mr.Goldblatt had still been alive when Red had his heart attack, although he was getting pretty fragile. But he insisted on being taken to the hospital to see Red, and Young Mr. Sam had, nervously, loaded him into his Buick and taken him.
Old Mr.Goldblatt had told Red that he was too mean an Irishman to die, or even to stay sick for very long, and anyway not to worry. The store had good hospital insurance and what that didn't pay, the store would. And he could consider himself retired, at full pay, from that moment. Anyone with thirty-five years with the store was entitled to take it easy when the time came.
Red told Old Mr.Goldblatt that he didn't want to retire; everybody he knew who retired was dead in a year or eighteen months. And what the hell would he do, anyway, sit around the house all day?
Old Mr.Goldblatt told Red that there would be a job for him at the store as long as he wanted one, and then when he was back in the Buick he told Young Mr. Sam that he was to figure out something for Red to do that wouldn't be a strain on him, but that would also keep him busy.
'No make work. Red's got pride.'
'Jesus Christ, Pop!'
'Just do it, Sammy. Let me know what you come up with.'
What Young Mr. Sam came up with was what he called 'floor walker.' When he was a kid, there had been floor walkers in Strawbridge amp; Clothier, John Wanamaker's, and other top-class department stores. What they did was literally walk the floor, keeping an eye on customers, stock, and employees.
Goldblatt amp; Sons had never had such people, but once he thought of it, it struck Young Mr. Sam as a pretty good idea. For one thing, Red was a genial Irishman, charming, silver-haired. People liked him. For another, nobody knew more about the stock than Red did. If when people came through the door, Red could be there to greet them with a smile and find out whether they were interested in a bedroom suite, or a refrigerator, or a rug, or whatever, then he could point them in the right direction. 'Appliances are on the second floor, right up the stairs.' 'Carpets are on the third floor, you'll find the elevator right over there.'
The first problem was to think of a new term to describe what he would be doing. Young Mr. Sam didn't think Red would like to be a floor walker. He finally came up with 'merchandise counselor.' Red's face stiffened when he heard that, but he heard Young Mr. Sam out, listening to Sam explain what would be expected of him.
'You mean like a doorman, Sam, right? To make sure the customers don' t get away?'
'Yeah.'
'That sounds like a pretty good idea,' Red had said.
Having Red Monahan working as the doorman turned out to be a very good idea, better than Young Mr. Sam would have believed when he first thought of it.
Red started out by telling people, 'Bedroom suites are in the front of the third floor. Take the elevator and when you get up there ask for Mrs.Lipshutz.' Or 'Wall-to-wall carpeting is in the back of the store. Ask for Mr.Callahan.'
The next step was to have the salespeople waiting downstairs near the door. Red would march the customer over to Mrs.Lipshutz or whoever and introduce her with a naughty little wink: 'Mrs.Lipshutz is our bedroom expert.'
And when somebody came in sore because the Credit Department hadn't credited their account, or because the leg had come off a kitchen chair, or something, Red would be the soul of sympathy and calm them down.
And he kept the undesirables out. There were a lot of drunks around South Street, particularly on Friday nights, when the store was open until nine P.M. and he discouraged them from coming in the store. And he kept the religious loonies from bothering the customers too. The ones who just wanted to pass out their literature were bad enough, but the ones who just about demanded money to plant trees in Israel, or save souls for Jesus in the Congo, or to buy tickets for the Annual Picnic of the 3^rd Abyssinian Baptist Church, things like that, had been, pre-Red the Doorman, a real pain in the ass.
Now Red either discouraged them before they got through the doors, or got rid of the really determined ones with a couple of bucks from a roll of singles he got, as needed, from petty cash.
Abu Ben Mohammed, when Red Monahan greeted him at the door, told him he wanted to see about some wall-to-wall carpet.
'You saw the ad in the paper, I guess?' Red asked.
'Huh?'
'We're having a special sale,' Red explained. 'Twenty-five percent off everything we have in stock, plus free pad and installation.'
'No kidding?'
'Absolutely,' Red said. 'You picked the right day to get yourself some carpet.'
He guided Abu Ben Mohammed over to where Phil Katz, who was Old Mr. Sam's nephew, was sitting with the other salespeople on the tufted blue velvet couch and matching armchairs that a sign advertised as ' Today's Special! Three-Piece Suite! $99 Down! No Payment Until March!'
'Mr. Katz,' Red began, which caused Phil Katz to break off his conversation with Mr. Callahan in midsentence and get to his feet with a smile in place.
'Mr. Katz,' Red went on, 'this is Mr.-I didn't catch your name?'
'I didn't tell you,' Abu Ben Mohammed replied.
'This gentleman,' Red Monahan went on, 'is interested in some wallto-wall carpeting.'
'Well, this is your day,' Mr. Katz said, 'we're running a special sale. Why don't we ride up to the carpet department and let me show you what we have?'
Mr. Katz thought he might have a live one. He had, of course, noticed that Abu Ben Mohammed was wearing
