"I can rig that thing so we don't have to listen to that crap-sorry, Mrs. Payne," he said.
"That might be a good idea," she said. "But I'm leaving anyway, if that's what's bothering you."
"I'd like to get my hands on that guy," McFadden said.
"So would I," she said. "But don't you see, Charley, that's what they're trying to do, make us angry?"
"They're succeeding," Charley said.
She put her hat and coat on, and then went and stood before Matt, who was sprawled in an overstuffed leather armchair, his bad leg resting on a pillow sitting on the matching ottoman.
"After I leave, maybe you can get Charley to hang your art work," she said.
"What?" Matt asked, and then understood. "Oh, that. How did it get here?"
"Your dad and I brought it from the hospital," she said.
"Thank you."
"Now, there's plenty of food there for breakfast and sandwiches, and I'll bring more when I come tomorrow. But for dinner, your father called the Rittenhouse Club, and they'll bring you anything you want to eat."
"I don't like Rittenhouse Club food in the Rittenhouse Club," Matt said. "Why should I have them haul it over here?"
He saw the hurt look in her eyes and added, "I'm in a lousy mood, sorry, Mother."
"Are you in pain?"
He shook his head no.
"They do a very nice mixed grill, and you like their London broil, I know you do, and besides, beggars can't be choosers." She leaned over and kissed him.
"Ignore him," Patricia Payne said to Charley and Jesus. "Make him feed you."
"Yes, ma'am," Charley said. "I will."
When he came back up the stairs after locking the door after her, McFadden asked, "What art work is she talking about?"
"There's a great big picture of a naked woman in his bedroom," Jesus said.
"No shit?"
"It was a gift from Mrs. Washington," Matt said. "Mrs. Washington and I think of it as a splendid example of Victorian art."
"I gotta see this," Charley said, and went into the bedroom.
He returned carrying the oil painting.
"Over the fireplace, right?"
"Why not?" Charley said.
McFadden went to the fireplace, leaned the picture against it, and then took something from the mantelpiece. He walked to Matt with a snub-nosed revolver in the palm of each hand.
"Maybe you'd better keep these-one of them, anyway- with you. What are you doing with two?"
"One of them belongs to Wohl. He loaned it to me in the hospital. The shooting team took mine away from me. I just got it back."
McFadden sniffed the barrel of one of the revolvers and then the other.
"This must be yours," he said. "I'll clean it for you, if you have the stuff. Otherwise, you'll fuck up the barrel."
"There's cleaning stuff in one of the drawers in the kitchen," Matt said.
"You got any bullets? There's none in this."
"Cartridges,Charley.Bullets are the little lead things that come out the end. There's a box with the cleaning stuff."
"Fuck you, clean your own pistol," Charley said, laid both pistols beside the answering machine, and returned to the oil painting. He picked it up and held it in place over the fireplace, turning his head for approval.
"Great," Matt said.
"What are you going to do when your mother comes back?"
"Mother will modestly avert her eyes," Matt said.
"You got a brick nail?"
"What's a brick nail?"
"A nail you can drive in bricks. You can't do that with regular nails, asshole, they bend."
"No."
There was a knock at the door at the foot of the stairs.
Jesus erupted from his chair and went to the closet and took the shotgun from it.
"It's probably Wohl or Washington," Matt said.
"Who's there?" Jesus called.
"Telephone company."
Jesus went down the stairs. In a moment, he returned, followed by two telephone company technicians, one of whom was visibly curious and made more than a little uncomfortable by Jesus's shotgun.
"Where do you want your phone?" one of them asked.
"One here and one in the bedroom, please," Matt said.
"Is something going on around here?" the other one asked, curiosity having overwhelmed him.
"Like what?" Charley asked.
"Hey, you're the cop who shot the Liberation Army guy, aren't you?" the first one asked.
"Just put the goddamn phone in," Jesus snapped.
"What the hell is wrong with you? I just asked, is all."
It took forty-five minutes to install the two telephones. The installers refused a drink, but accepted Matt's offer of coffee.
"It's cold as a bitch out there," one said.
When they were gone, Martinez said, "That's not going to work."
"What's not going to work?"
"Having people knock on the door, and we ask who is it, and then go down and open the door."
"Why not?" Charley asked.
"What we need is an intercom," Jesus said. "They ring the bell, we ask the intercom who's there. I saw one in the store where I bought the tapes."
"Who would put it in?" Charley asked.
"I would."
"Do you really think it's necessary?" Matt said. "More to the point, do you think that anybody's really going to try to come up here?"
"They threw the firebomb at Monahan," Charley said.
"Jesus," Matt said.
"Save your money, if you want to," Jesus said. "They cost twenty-four ninety-five."
"You can install it?" Matt asked.
"You got a screwdriver, a drill, and a staple machine, I can install it."
"I think I've got a screwdriver, but I don't have a drill or a staple machine."
"You don't have a drill?" McFadden asked, surprised.
"No."
"How about a hammer? You're going to need a hammer for the brick nails."
"No hammer, either."
"Hay-zus can get a hammer and the brick nails and the drill and the staple machine when he gets the intercom," Charley said.
"Don't forget the screwdriver," Matt said, and shifted on the couch and took out his wallet.
"What the fuck, Payne, if they don't kill you, it'll come in handy later," Jesus said as he took three twenties. "If you've got some broad up here, and some other broad comes to see you, you could tell her you're busy on the intercom."
"I could also just not answer her knock," Matt said.
"You want the intercom or not? You're not doing me any favors."
"I want the intercom, Hay-zus, thank you."
Martinez returned in a little over half an hour, his arms full of kraft paper bags.
"Goddamn sidewalks are all ice," he said. "I almost busted my ass, twice."
"How would you like to be walking a foot beat in this weather?" McFadden asked.
"How about standing at Broad and Vine in a white cap, directing traffic?" Martinez said as he put the packages on the coffee table.
In one of the bags was a PhiladelphiaDaily News. He tossed it on Matt's lap.
"In case you don't know where you are," he said. "This is an ' undisclosed location.' "
"What?"
"You're on the front page," Jesus said.
Matt unfolded the newspaper. There was a photograph of him being carried to Coughlin's car at Frankford Hospital. Beneath it was the caption:
COP UNDER DEATH THREAT-As heavily armed police stand by, Officer Matthew M. Payne, whose life has been threatened by the Islamic Liberation Army is carried from Frankford Hospital to a police car that took him to an undisclosed location. Payne was wounded in the gun battle in which he shot to death ILA member Abu Ben Mohammed. (See ILA, Page 5)
Charley leaned over Matt's shoulder and read the caption.