the thought of what was liable to happen to a white girl, stoned or drunk, going in that house was too much.”
“Oh, God!”
“So one of them got out of the car and ran down the block, and the next time she came around, he flagged her down. She almost ran over him. But he stopped her, and saw she was drunk. . . .”
“Drunk?” Matt asked.
Please, God! Drunk, not drugged.
“Drunk,” Charley said. “So he put cuffs on her and got in her car. She told them she’s your girlfriend. So they tried to call you, and when they couldn’t find you, brought her here. They know we’re pals.”
“They know who she is?”
“No. Just that she’s your girl. She didn’t have an ID. For that matter, not even a purse. Just a couple of hundred-dollar bills in her underwear.”
“What’s she charged with?”
“Right now, nothing. I called in some favors.”
“Jesus, Charley!”
“Yeah, well, you’d do the same for me,” McFadden said.
Absolutely. The very next time that your girlfriend, Miss Mary-Margaret McCarthy, R.N., who is probably the only virgin over thirteen that I know, gets herself hauled in by an undercover Narcotics officer, I’ll pull in whatever favors I can to get her off.
Christ, I feel like crying.
“I don’t suppose you have any handcuffs, do you?”
Jesus Christ, handcuffs? What for?
Matt shook his head, no.
McFadden reached behind him, where he wore his handcuffs draped over his belt. He handed them to Matt.
“You got a key?”
Matt nodded.
The cuffs are so it will appear to the uniforms in the lobby that I’m taking her out of here under arrest.
“She’s . . . uh. She was pretty drunk, Matt. And mad about being in here.”
“You’re saying, I’m going to need the cuffs?”
McFadden nodded.
“She’s passed out. But if she wakes up in the car, I think you’d be better off if she was cuffed.”
“God!”
“Dailey!” McFadden called.
The turnkey, a tired-looking uniform who looked to be about fifty, came up to them.
“Pete Dailey, Matt Payne,” McFadden made the introductions. The two men shook hands, but neither said a word.
“Open it up, please, Pete,” McFadden said.
The turnkey unlocked the cell, slid the barred door open, and then walked away.
Penny Detweiler did not stir.
Charley went into the cell. Matt followed him. Charley looked at Matt, then put out his hand for the handcuffs. When Matt gave them to him, he pulled Penny’s wrists behind her, and put the cuffs on her wrists.
The smell in the cell was foul. Matt wondered if he was going to further embarrass himself by being sick. And then he realized that the smell was coming from Penny.
She had lost control of her bowels, and probably her bladder as well.
The proper word for that, Detective Payne thought, is “incontinent. ”
And then he was swept by nausea, and barely made it to the lid-less toilet in the corner of the cell in time.
After a moment, as he became aware that he was soaked in a clammy sweat, he heard Charley ask, “You okay, buddy?”
“Yeah,” Matt said, and forced himself to his feet.
He went to the bunk, and the two men pulled Penny erect. She was limp, and surprisingly heavy.
Jesus, she stinks!
They half carried, half dragged her from the detention cell area to the desk.
Officer Peter Dailey appeared with a newspaper.
“What are you driving?” he asked.
“A blue unmarked Ford,” Matt said.
Officer Dailey preceded them out of the building and to the car, where he opened the rear door and spread the newspaper over the seat.
“I’ll take her shoulders,” Charley McFadden said. “You take her feet.”
McFadden backed into the rear seat, dragging Penny after him, and then exited the car by the other door.
He came around the back as Matt was closing the opposite door.
“You going to be able to handle her?” Charley asked.
“Yeah,” Matt said.
What the hell am I going to do with her? I can’t take her home in this condition. And I can’t take her to the apartment. What would I do with her when I have to go to work?
“I can get off to go with you.”
“Charley, what you can do is call my sister. She’s not in the book. The number is 928-5923. Call her and tell her I’m on my way.”
“Nine Two Eight, Five Nine Two Three,” Charley repeated, setting the number in his memory. “Do I tell her why?”
“Tell her I need some help,” Matt said. “Tell her to come down into the lobby and wait for me.”
“I can go with you, buddy.”
“I can handle it,” Matt said. “Thank you, Charley.”