"You first or me first?" Thorsen asked.
"You," Delaney said.
"We've got problems downtown," the Admiral announced.
"So what else is new? You've always got problems downtown."
"I know, but this Hotel Ripper thing is something else. It's as bad as Son of Sam. Maybe worse. The Governor's office called today. The Department is taking a lot of flak. From the politicians and the business community."
"You know how I feel about the Department."
"I know how you say you feel, Edward. But don't tell me a man who gave as many years as you did would stand idly by and not do what he could to help the Department."
"Fiddle music," Delaney said. '"Hearts and Flowers.'"
Thorsen laughed. "Iron Balls," he said. "No wonder they called you that. But forget about the Department's problems for a moment. Let's talk about your problems."
Delaney looked up in surprise. "I've got no problems."
"You say. I know better. I've seen a lot of old bulls retire and I've watched what happens to them after they get out of harness A few of them can handle it, but not many."
"I can handle it."
"You'd be surprised how many drop dead a year or two after putting in their papers. Heart attack or stroke, cancer or bleeding ulcers. I don't know the medical or psychological reasons for it, but studies show it's a phenomenon that exists. When the pressure is suddenly removed, and stress vanishes, and there are no problems to solve, and drive and ambition disappear, the body just collapses."
"Hasn't happened to me," Delaney said stoutly. "I'm in good health."
"Or other things happen," the Admiral went on relentlessly.; "They can't handle the freedom. No office to go to. No beat to pound. No shop talk. Their lives revolved around the Department and now suddenly they're out. It's like they were excommunicated."
"Bullshit."
"Some of them find a neighborhood bar that becomes their office or squad room or precinct. They keep half-bagged all day and bore their new friends silly with lies about what great cops they were."
"Not me."
"Or maybe they decide to read books, visit museums, go to shows-all the things they never had time for before. Fishing and hunting. Gardening. Hockey games. And so forth. But it's just postponing the inevitable. How many books can you read? How many good plays or movies are there? How many hockey games? The day arrives when they wake up with the realization that they've got nothing to do, nowhere to go. They may as well stay in bed. Some of them do."
"I don't."
"Or become drunks or hypochondriacs. Or start following their wives around, walking up their heels. Or start resenting their wives because the poor women don't spend every waking minute with them."
Delaney said nothing.
Thorsen looked at him narrowly. "Don't tell me you haven't felt any of those things, Edward. You've never lied to me in your life; don't start now. Why do you think you were so willing to help Boone? So eager to get his reports on the Hotel Ripper case? To make out those dossiers I saw on your desk? Oh yes, I peeked, and I make no apology for it. Maybe you're not yet in the acute stage, but admit it's starting."
"What's starting?"
"The feeling that you're not wanted, not needed. No reason to your life. No aims, no desires. Worst of all is the boredom. It saps the spirit, turns the brain to mush. You're a wise man, Edward; I'd never deny it. But you're not smart enough to handle an empty life."
Delaney rose slowly to his feet, with an effort. He poured more whiskey. Glenlivet for Thorsen, rye for himself. He sat down heavily again in the swivel chair behind the desk. He regarded the Deputy Commissioner reflectively.
"You're a pisser, you are," he said. "You want something from me. You know you've got to convince me. So you try the loyalty-to-the-Department ploy. When that doesn't work, you switch without the loss of a single breath to the self-interest approach. Now I've got to do as you want if I hope to avoid dropping dead, becoming a lush, annoying my wife, or having my brain turn to mush."
"Right!" the Admiral cried, slapping his knee. "You're exactly right. It's in your own self-interest, man. That's the strongest motive of them all."
"You admit you're manipulating me-or trying to?"
"Of course. But it's in your own best interest; can't you see that?"
Delaney sighed. "Thank God you never went into politics. You'd end up owning the world. What is it, precisely, you want of me, Ivar?"
The sprucely dressed deputy set his drink aside. He leaned forward earnestly, hands clasped.
"Slavin has got to go," he said. "The man's a disaster. Releasing that black nylon wig story to the media was a blunder. We're beefing up the Hotel Ripper squad. Another hundred detectives and plainclothesmen for a start, and more available as needed. We'll put Slavin in charge of administration and scheduling of the task force. He's good at that."
"And who's going to be in command?"
Thorsen sat back, crossed his knees. He adjusted the sharp crease in his trouser leg. He picked up his drink, took a sip. He stared at Delaney over the rim of the glass.
"That's what I was doing all morning," he said. "A meeting downtown. It started at about three a.m., and went through to eleven. I've never drunk so much black coffee in my life. Everyone agreed Slavin had to go. Then we started debating who the CO should be. It had to be someone high up in the Department, to send a signal to the politicians and businessmen and public that we're giving this case top priority."
"Cosmetics," Delaney said disgustedly. "The image."
"Correct," Thorsen said levelly. "When you don't know where you're going, you rush around busily. It gives the impression of action. What more could we have done? Any suggestions?"
"No."
"So we needed a top man in command. It couldn't be the Chief of Detectives. He's got a full plate even without the Hotel Ripper. He can't drop everything and concentrate on one case. Besides, we figured we needed higher brass. Someone close to the PC. No one was willing to volunteer."
"Can't say I blame them," the Chief admitted. "Too much risk for the ambitious types. Failure could break them. End their careers."
"Right. Well, we finally got one guy who was willing to stick out his neck."
"Who's the idiot?"
The Admiral looked at him steadily. "Me," he said. "I'm the idiot."
"Ivar!" Delaney cried. "For God's sake, why? You haven't worked an active case in twenty years."
"Don't you think I know that? I recognized the dangers of taking it on. If I flop, I might as well resign. Nothing left for me in the Department. I'd always be the guy who bungled the Hotel Ripper case. On the other hand, if I could possibly pull it off, I'd be the fair-haired boy, remembered when the Police Commissioner's chair became vacant."
"And that's what you want?"
"Yes."
"Well…" Delaney said loyally, "the city could do a lot worse."
"Thank you, Edward. But it wasn't just wishful thinking on my Part. When I agreed to take it on, I had an ace in the hole."
"Oh? What was that?"
"Who was that. You."
Delaney banged his hand down on the desktop in disgust.
"Jesus Christ, Ivar, you gambled on getting me to go along?"
Thorsen nodded. "That's what I gambled on. That's why I'm here pulling out all the stops to persuade you to help me, help the Department, help yourself."
Delaney was silent, staring at the composed man in the armchair, the small foot in the polished moccasin bobbing idly up and down. Thorsen endured his scrutiny with serenity, slowly sipping his drink.
"There's one stop you didn't pull, Ivar."
"What's that?"
"Our friendship."