one thing, Penny thinks of you as her brother. . . .”
“She thinks of me as the guy who pinned the tail on her,” Matt said. “If it weren’t for me, no one would have known she’s a junkie.”
“I don’t like that term, either, Matt, but that’s Amy’s point. If you appear out there, in a nonjudgmental role, as her friend, welcoming her back to her life . . .”
“I can’t believe you’re going along with this,” Matt said. “For one thing, Penny does not think of me as her brother. I’m just a guy she’s known for a long time who betrayed her, turned her in. If I had been locked up out there for six months in that funny farm, I would really hate me.”
“The reason Amy, and the people at The Lindens, feel that Penny is ready to resume her life is because, in her counseling, they have caused her to see things as they really are. To see you, specifically, as someone who was trying to help, not hurt her.”
I just don’t believe this bullshit, and I especially don’t believe my dad going along with it.
“Dad, this is so much bullshit.”
“Amy said that would probably be your reaction,” Brewster Payne said. “I can see she was right.”
“Anyway, it’s a moot point. I couldn’t go out there if I wanted to,” Matt said. “Uncle Denny, tell him that I just can’t call up my sergeant and tell him that I won’t be in for a couple of days. . . .”
“I’m disappointed in you, Matty,” Chief Coughlin said. “I thought by now you would have put two and two together.”
I’m a little disappointed in me myself, now that the mystery of my temporary assignment, report to Sergeant McElroy, has been cleared up.
“What did Detweiler do, call you?”
“He called the mayor,” Coughlin said. “And the mayor called Chief Lowenstein and me.”
“I don’t think it entered Dick Detweiler’s mind, it certainly never entered mine, that you would have any reservations at all about helping Penny in any way you could,” Brewster Payne said. Matt looked across the table at him. “But if you feel this strongly about it, I’ll call Amy and . . .”
Matt held up both hands. “I surrender.”
“I’m not sure that’s the attitude we’re all looking for.”
Matt met his father’s eyes.
“I’ll do whatever I can to help Penny,” he said.
There was another Significant Silence, and then Brewster C. Payne reached in his breast pocket and took out an envelope.
“These are the tickets. You’re on American Airlines Flight 485 tomorrow morning at eight-fifteen. A car will meet you at the airport in Las Vegas. You will spend the night there . . .”
“At The Lindens?”
“Presumably. And return the next morning.”
Shortly afterward, after having concluded their business with Detective Payne, Chief Coughlin and Brewster C. Payne went their respective ways.
Matt spent the balance of the evening in McGee’s Saloon, in the company of Detective Charley McFadden of Northwest Detectives.
Perhaps naturally, their conversation dealt with their professional duties. Detective McFadden, who had been seven places below Matt on the detective examination listing, told Matt what he was doing in Northwest Detectives.
Charley had been an undercover Narc right out of the Police Academy, before he’d gone to Special Operations where he and Matt had become friends. On his very first assignment as a rookie detective, he found that his lieutenant was a supervisor (then a sergeant) he’d worked under in Narcotics, and who treated him like a detective, not a rookie detective. His interesting case of the day had been the investigation of a shooting of a numbers runner by a client who felt that he had cheated.
Matt had not felt that Detective McFadden would be thrilled to hear of his specialization in investigating recovered stolen automobiles, and spared him a recounting. Neither had he been fascinated with Detective McFadden’s report on the plans for his upcoming wedding, and the ritual litany of his intended’s many virtues.
The result of this was that Matt had a lot to drink, and woke up with a hangover and just enough time to dress, throw some clothes in a bag, and catch a cab to the airport, but not to have any breakfast.
At the very last minute, specifically at 7:40 A.M., as he handed his small suitcase to the attendant at the American Airlines counter, Detective Payne realized that he had, as either a Pavlovian reflex, or because he was more than a little hung over, picked up his Chief’s Special revolver and its