Captain Charles B. Gaft commanded the Major Crimes Division.
'I'm afraid to ask what all this has to do with me, Commissioner. What do you want me to do, have Highway Patrol keep an eye on Bob Holland's showrooms? Or sit on Jack Malone?'
'Peter,' Cohan said, almost sadly, 'your mouth has a tendency to run away with itself. It's only because I've known you, literally, since you wore short pants and because I know what a good police officer you are that I don't take offense. But there are those-people of growing importance to you, now that you're moving up-who would think that was just a flippant remark and unbecoming to a division commander.'
Oh, shit!
'Commissioner, it was flippant, and I apologize. I have no excuse to offer except the champagne.'
'Now, I already said, I understand your sense of humor, Peter. But maybe you'd better watch that champagne. It sneaks up on you.'
'Yes, sir. But I do apologize.'
'It never happened. Getting back to Jack. He's under a strain. He's working too hard. But he's a fine police officer and worth saving, and that's why I'm asking you for your help.'
I'll be a sonofabitch. He rehearsed that little speech. That's what he planned to say to me to see if I would stand still for whatever he wants. It was supposed to be delivered before he went to see Czernick and Carlucci.
'Whatever I can do, Commissioner.'
I say nobly, aware that I have absolutely no option to do or say anything else.
'I knew I could count on you, Peter. What I'm going to do is send Jack over to you-'
Shit! But what else did I expect?
'-and have Tony Lucci transferred to Jack's job on the Auto Squad in Major Crimes.'
Lieutenant Anthony J. Lucci, who had been Mayor Carlucci's driver as a sergeant, had been sent to Special Operations on his promotion to lieutenant. It was a reward for a job well done, which by possibly innocent coincidence gave His Honor the Mayor a window on the inner workings of Special Operations, reports delivered daily.
Every black cloud has a silver lining. I get rid of Lucci. What's that going to cost me? Is he telling the truth about Malone not having a bottle problem, or am I going to have to nurse a drunk?
'Now, I have no intention of trying to tell you how to run your division, Peter, or what to do with Jack Malone when you get him-'
But?
'-but if you could find something constructive for him to do that would keep him from thinking he's been assigned to the rubber-gun squad, I would be personally grateful.'
'So far as I'm concerned, Commissioner, even after what you've told me, Jack Malone is a good cop, and I'll find something worthwhile for him to do.'
'What was Lucci doing?'
'He's my administrative officer. He also makes sure the mayor knows what's going on.'
Cohan looked sharply at Wohl, pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment, and then said, 'So I've heard. Jack won't feel any obligation to do that, Peter.'
'Thank you, sir.'
'Your father is in good spirits, isn't he?' Cohan said. 'I had a pleasant chat with him a couple of minutes ago.'
Our little chat is apparently over.
'I think he'd go back on the job tomorrow, if someone asked him.'
'The grass is not as green as it looked?'
'I think he's bored, sir.'
'He was active all his life,' Cohan said. 'That's understandable.'
Cohan pushed himself out of the seat and extended his hand.
'Thank you, Peter,' he said. 'I knew I could count on you.'
'Anytime, Commissioner.'
GENERAL: 0565 01/02/74 FROM COMMISSIONER PAGE 1of 1
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EFFECTIVE 1201 AM JANUARY 3, 1974
The day began for Police Officer Charles McFadden at five minutes before six A.M. when Mrs. Agnes McFadden, his mother, went into his bedroom, on the second floor of a row house on Fitzgerald Street, near Methodist Hospital in South Philadelphia, snapped on the lights, walked to his bed, and rather loudly announced, 'Almost six. Rise and shine, Charley.'
Officer McFadden, who the previous Tuesday had celebrated his twentythird birthday, was large-boned and broad-shouldered and weighed 214 pounds.
He rolled over on his back, shielded his eyes from the light, and replied, 'Jesus, already?'
'Watch your mouth, mister,' his mother said sharply, and then added, 'if you didn't keep that poor girl out until all hours, you just might not have such trouble getting up in the morning.'
With a visible effort Charley McFadden hauled himself into a sitting position and swung his feet out of bed and onto the floor.
'Mom, Margaret didn't getoff work until half past ten.'
'Then you should have brought her straight home, instead of keeping her up all night,' Mrs. McFadden said, and then marched out of the room.
Margaret McCarthy, R.N., a slight, blue-eyed, redheaded young woman, was the niece of Bob and Patricia McCarthy, who lived across Fitzgerald Street and had been in the neighborhood, and good friends, just about as long as the McFaddens, and that meant even before Charley had been born.
Margaret and Charley had known each other as kids, before her parents had moved to Baltimore, and Agnes remembered seeing her after that, on holidays and whenever else her family had visited, but she and Charley had met again only a couple of months ago.
Margaret had gone through the Nurse Training Program and gotten her R.N. at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, and now she was enrolled at Temple University to get a college degree.
