Part 70 (1/2)
”Sweetheart, there's no time.”
”By the time you've dressed, I'll have it ready.”
”You don't have to, baby.”
”Precious, I want to.”
He returned his attention to the telephone and dialed a number from memory.
”Special Operations, Lieutenant Malone.”
”Dave Pekach, Jack. Is anything going on around there?”
”No, sir. Quiet as a tomb.”
”I'm on my way in,” Pekach said.
”Is something going on?”
”Beats the s.h.i.+t out of me,” Pekach said ”Wohl just put the arm on me. I have no f.u.c.king idea what he wants.”
He hung up, then looked at Martha, who had a some what pained look on her face. ”Sorry, baby.”
”I understand,” she said. ”You're upset.”
”I'm really sorry. I really try to watch my language, but sometimes I just forget.”
”I understand,” she said. ”And I know you're trying.”
”Jesus Christ, I love you!”
” 'Jesus Christ' you love me?”
He threw his hands up helplessly.
”I love you, too, precious,” she said.
TWENTY-TWO.
Gertrude-Mrs. Thomas J.-Callis reached over the curled-up body of her husband and picked up the telephone, thinking as she did so, for perhaps the five hundredth time, that if he insisted on having the phone on his side of his bed so he wouldn't disturb her when the inevitable middle-of-the-night calls came, the least the son of a b.i.t.c.h could do was wake up when the d.a.m.ned thing did ring.
”Yes?”
”Gertrude? Dennis Coughlin. I'm sorry to bother you at this-”
”I'll see if I can wake him, Denny. He's sleeping like a log.”
The district attorney for Philadelphia was brought from his slumber by a somewhat terrifying feeling that he was being asphyxiated. He swatted at whatever was blocking his nostrils and mouth, and fought his way to a sitting position.
”What the h.e.l.l?”
”Denny Coughlin,” Gertrude said, handed him the telephone, and lay back down with her back to him.
”Yeah, Denny.”
”Sorry to wake you up, Tony.”
”No problem, what's up?” Callis said. He picked up the clock on the bedside table and looked at it. ”Christ, it's twenty-five after three!”
”I didn't think this should wait until morning,” Coughlin said.
”What wouldn't wait until morning?”
”We have just found some very dirty cops,” Coughlin said.
”That won't wait until morning? Nothing personal, Denny, but these are not the first dirty cops you've found this year.”
That's not true. There have been dirty cops, but Denny Coughlin didn't find them. Peter Wohl did. What's going on here?
”This is sort of complicated, Tony. What I would like to do-”
”How complicated, Denny?”
”This is a real can of worms,” Denny Coughlin said. ”And it won't wait. I'd rather explain it to you in person, if that would be possible. The FBI is involved, and-”
”The FBI is involved?”
”-and Walter Davis just spoke with the U.S. Attorney. He's going to meet with us right now. I just sent a car for him, and I'd like to send one for you.”
”Okay. If you think it's that important, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.”
”Thank you, Tony.”
”What cops, Denny? Can you tell me who?”
”I don't think you'd know the names. The Narcotics Unit Five Squad.”
”And what did some narc do to attract the interest of the FBI?”
”It's more than one narc, Tony. I'm afraid it's the whole Five Squad.”
”Now I'm getting interested.”
”I'll explain it all when I see you,” Coughlin said. ”By the time you walk out your front door, there will be a Highway Patrol car waiting for you.”