Payne met his eyes. “Got it.”
Washington’s big hand squeezed Payne’s shoulder.
“Be careful. And let me know if anything interesting comes up, Matthew.”
Payne glanced down at the protesters. “Like if I get whacked?”
Washington saw that he was smirking.
“I said interesting. Not expected.”
[THREE]
Office of the Chief Executive Adviser to the Mayor
City Hall, 1 Penn Square, Philadelphia
Saturday, December 15, 2:06 P.M.
“Ed, we have to shut this Cross down now,” James Finley said. “It’s not just that it’s the bad news of the murders. What he’s doing-and I hate to agree with Carlucci because, if he heard me, it would encourage him to go on TV, which itself would be a PR disaster-is possibly, if not probably, incendiary.”
Finley and Ed Stein had just left the mayor’s office next door, Finley having taken care to shut the door between the offices before walking over to Stein and beginning to make his points.
Stein stood behind his large antique desk, tossing his legal pad on it and then pulling up the screen of his notebook computer and typing in his password.
“This day is off the charts,” Finley went on. “Now we have another shooting at the casino? It’s one thing to have to deal with those numbers. But Cross can very easily push this thing over the edge by equating cop shootings with actual criminal acts. It’s all about perception.”
“I understand. And agree.”
Stein’s eyes fell back to the computer screen. He typed some more, then said, “Here it is,” then picked up the receiver of the desk telephone and punched in a phone number.
He impatiently rocked his head back and forth while listening to the rings, then stopped and in an officious tone said into the phone, “Yes, this is Edward Stein at City Hall. I’m the assistant to Mayor Carlucci. It is urgent that I speak with Reverend Cross.”
He listened for a moment as he met Finley’s eyes.
“That’s correct,” Stein went on. “Mayor Carlucci has asked me to reach out to Reverend Cross and- What’s that?”
Finley mouthed, What?
“He’s unavailable?” Stein said.
Finley mouthed, Bullshit!
Stein said, “Can you. . I’m sorry. I did not get your name”-he listened for a very long moment-“okay, Deacon DiAndre Pringle of the Word of Brotherly Love Ministry, as I said, my name is Edward Stein and I’m calling on behalf of Mayor of Philadelphia Jerome Carlucci. Can you get me to Reverend Cross’s assistant?. . Oh, you are his assistant. I see. Deacon Pringle, would it be possible to get the reverend’s mobile number?. . I’m sorry. Did I hear you say he doesn’t have one?”
Finley made a sour face and shook his head.
Judging by Stein’s expression, he was having difficulty not losing his patience.
“Yes,” he then said slowly, almost condescendingly, into the receiver, “I am aware of the rally planned at your ‘house of worship.’ That is one of the reasons Reverend Cross and I must speak as soon as possible.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Within the next hour. . yes, you do that, please. This is urgent.”
Stein held his arm out stiffly and started to slam the receiver into its base. Finley put his hand down to intercept it.
Stein then gently replaced the receiver and looked at Finley.
“Now what?” Finley said.
Stein reached across the desk and picked up a remote control. He aimed it at the television on the wall, thumbed the power and mute buttons, and a moment later Philly News Now came onscreen. It showed a dozen police vehicles parked with emergency lights flashing at the entrance to the Lucky Stars Casino. After a moment, the text in the ticker box across the bottom of the screen read. . A NORTHERN LIBERTIES WOMAN, 26, SHOT WHILE CELEBRATING HER GRANDMOTHER’S BIRTHDAY, REMAINS IN CRITICAL CONDITION FOLLOWING A CASINO JEWELRY STORE ROBBERY THAT LEFT THE STORE MANAGER, 45, DEAD FROM GUNSHOTS. .
“Oh my God!” Finley said, glancing at Stein, then looking back at the television. “I can just see the headlines! ‘Granddaughter Blown Away While Grandma Blows Out Birthday Candles.’”
The ticker then read. . REV. CROSS, CHAIRMAN OF THE CITIZENS POLICE OVERSIGHT COMMITTEE, SAID THAT COUNCILMAN BADDE AND OTHER LEADERS WILL JOIN HIM TO ADDRESS ALL OF TODAY’S MURDERS AT 5 P.M. DURING A RALLY AT WORD OF BROTHERLY LOVE COMMUNITY CENTER IN STRAWBERRY MANSION. .
“Surely Badde did not agree to that,” Finley said.
“Whether he did or not, it puts him in an awkward position. If he does appear, it could look like he’s calling cops killers. If he doesn’t, he’s turning his back on his base and the crime they’re suffering.”
Stein’s eyebrows then shot up, and he quickly turned to his notebook computer, his fingers flying across its keyboard.
“That’s it!” he blurted a minute later, glancing up from the computer screen to Finley. “Why am I not surprised?”
“What’s it? What’re you looking at?”
“The City Hall website page on CPOC members. Badde ‘proudly appointed’ the bastard to CPOC. I figured there had to be a connection.”
“And. .?”
“And what thy crooked pol hath given the reverend, thy crooked pol can taketh away. Or at least convince him to stop calling cops killers.”
Finley gestured Continue with his hand.
“The members of the city council’s Public Safety Committee,” Stein explained, “each get to appoint someone to a term on CPOC. The job pays eighty grand a year.”
“What! Eighty thousand dollars? For doing nothing? No wonder this city is about to be broke! What was it that the great Iron Lady said? ‘Patronage would seem all well and good-until you run out of someone else’s money.’ This is depressing. Beyond all else, you and I have to fight this culture of corruption, too? Try putting a happy face on that!”
Ed Stein grinned. He liked Finley, and especially admired his solid, fiscally responsible viewpoints. The fact that Finley voiced them was hardly surprising-Finley after all was a Master of Business Administration graduate of Penn’s prestigious Wharton School-but what usually caught people off-guard was the flamboyant manner with which he expressed them.
Stein said, “What Maggie Thatcher said was: ‘The problem with socialism is that eventually you run out of other people’s money’. .”
“Whatever. Close enough.”
“. . But, yeah, agreed. Your point’s painfully valid.”
He looked back at his laptop.
“Damn. Cross is in his last year on CPOC. Which explains why he’s now chairman. It always goes to the member who’s in their fifth year.”
“You know,” Finley said, “final year or not, it still would be very embarrassing to lose midterm such a prestigious position. It could adversely affect possible future income, including other patronage positions.”
“Yeah, that and the eighty grand right now. The trick is first getting Badde to agree to put pressure on Cross, then for Cross to back off. If Cross doesn’t, the challenge becomes getting Badde to force Cross’s resignation. I don’t think Badde actually has the power to relieve him.”
Stein picked up the receiver, flipped through a phone directory of City Hall offices, found the number, and then started to punch it in. Then he said, “Damn it! I forgot it’s Saturday!” He put the receiver down and looked at Finley. “Badde’s not going to be in his office.”
“I hear he’s hardly ever in City Hall,” Finley said as he dug his cell phone from the pocket of his bright green sweater, “no matter which day it is.”
Finley tapped on its screen, then put the phone to his ear.
“Constantine? James Finley. How are you?. . And a Merry Christmas to you! Listen, I need a fast favor. Can you please share with me our dear friend Rapp Badde’s cell number?” Finley paused, then laughed loudly, and after a moment went on, “Yes, that was both terribly unintentional and possibly prescient. And, for the record, you know I don’t embrace the ‘dear friend’ part, either. Anyway, I seem to have lost his cell phone number, if I ever had it.”