"I thought that Special Operations Division idea was dead," Deputy Commissioner for Operations Francis J. Cohan said. It was the first time he'd spoken. "I didn't like it, said so, and now I'm going to get it anyway?"
"Denny's going to get it," Commissioner Czernick said, nodding his head toward Chief Inspector Coughlin.
"My God!" Cohan said. "If Highway isn't Operations, what is?"
"Everything you have now, except Highway," Commissioner Czernick said. "Highway is now underSpecial Operations."
"Highway and what else?" Cohan asked.
"Highway and ACT," Czernick said.
"The ACT grant came through?" Deputy Commissioner Wilson asked, both surprised and annoyed.
ACT was the acronym for Anti-Crime Teams, a federally funded program administered by the Justice Department. It was a test, more or less, to see what effect saturating a high-crime area with extra police, the latest technology, and special assistance from the district attorney in the form of having assistant district attorneys with nothing to do but push ACT-arrested criminals through the criminal justice system would have, short and long term, on crime statistics.
"When did all this happen?" Cohan asked.
"The mayor told me he had a call from the senator Friday afternoon about the ACT grant," Czernick said. "I suppose it'll be in the papers today, or maybe on the TV tonight. The mayor says we'll start getting money, some of it right away."
"I meant about this Special Operations," Cohan said.
"Wait a minute," Czernick said. "I'm glad this came up." He shifted in his chair to look at Deputy Commissioner for Administration Wilson. "Harry, I don't want to be told that, in setting up Special Operations, something can't be done because there's no money. You authorize whatever is necessary, using contingency funds, until the federal money comes in. Then reimburse the contingency fund. Understand?"
"Yes, sir." Deputy Commissioner Wilson said.
Czernick turned back to Deputy Commissioner Cohan.
"To answer your question, it happened yesterday. I don't know how long he's been thinking about it, but it happened about half-past ten yesterday morning. When he came home from mass, he called me up and said if I didn't have anything important going on, I should come by and he'd give me a cup of coffee."
"Was that before or after he read theLedger?" Lowenstein asked.
"He asked me if I'd seen it the moment I walked in the door," Czernick said.
"And when is all thisgoing to happen?" Cohan asked.
"It's happening right now, Frank," Czernick said. "It's effective today."
"Am I going to get to pick a commander for this Special Operations Division?" Coughlin asked.
"Anybody you want, Denny," Commissioner Czernick said, "just so long as his name is Peter Wohl."
"Jesus," Coughlin exploded, "why doesn't he just move in here if he's going to make every goddamned decision?" He paused, then added, "Not that I have anything against Peter Wohl. But… Jesus!"
"He doesn't have to move in here, Denny," Commissioner Czernick said. "Not as long as he has my phone number."
"Did Mayor Carlucci give you his reasons for all this?" Deputy Commissioner Wilson asked. "Or for any of it?"
"No, but what he did do when he explained everything- there's a little more I haven't gotten to yet-was to ask me if I had any objections, if there was something wrong with it that he'd missed."
"And you couldn't think of anything?" Cohan asked, softly.
"He wants a Special Operations Division," Czernick said. "He knows you don't want it. So he gave it to Denny Coughlin. He wants Peter Wohl to run it. What was I supposed to say, 'Peter isn't qualified'? He thinks Mike Sabara is bad for Highway's image. What was I supposed to say, for Christ's sake, that 'beauty is only skin deep'?"
Cohan shrugged. "You said there's more," he said.
"Just as soon as Peter Wohl has a little time to get his feet wet," Czernick said, "Denny will ask him to recommend, from among Highway Patrol sergeants, someone to take over as the mayor's driver. Sergeant Lucci, who is driving the mayor now, made it onto the lieutenants' list. As soon as Peter can find a replacement for him,Lieutenant Lucci will return to ordinary supervisory duties commensurate with his rank, in Highway."
"You don't happen to think," Chief Lowenstein said, dryly sarcastic, "that Lieutenant Lucci might have in mind getting some of this ACT money for Highway, do you? Or that he might just happen to bump into the dago every once in a while, say once a week, and just happen to mention in idle conversation that Highway didn't get as much of it as he thinks they should? Nothing like that could be happening, could it, Tad?"
"I don't know," Czernick said, coldly. "But if he did, that would be Peter Wohl's problem, wouldn't you say? Wohl's and Denny's?"
"What's he really got in mind, long term, for this Special Operations?" Chief Coughlin asked.
"Long term, I haven't any idea," said Czernick. "Short term, yeah, I know what he's got in mind."
There was a pause, and when it didn't end, Denny Coughlin said, "You going to tell us?"
"What he said, Denny, was that he thought it would be nice if he could hold a press conference in a couple of weeks, where he could announce that an Anti-Crime Team of the new Special Operations Division, which was a little suggestion of his to the Police Department, had just announced the arrest of the sexual pervert who had been raping and terrorizing the decent women of Northwest Philadelphia."
"That scumbag is none of the Anti-Crime Team, or Special Operations, or Highway's business," Chief Inspector Lowenstein said, coldly angry. "Rape is the Detective Bureau's business. It always has been."
"It still is, Matt," Czernick said, evenly, "except for what's going on in Northwest Philadelphia. That's now in Peter Wohl's lap because Jerry Carlucci says it is."
"He was at it again last night," Deputy Commissioner Cohan said. "He broke into the apartment of a woman named Mary Elizabeth Flannery, on Henry Avenue in Roxborough, tied her to her bed, cut her clothes off with a hunting knife, took of his clothes, committed an incomplete act of oral sodomy on her, and when that didn't get his rocks off, he pissed all over her. Then he tied her hands behind her back, loaded her in a van, and dumped her naked on Forbidden Drive in Fairmount Park."
"What do you mean, dumped her naked in the park?" Lowenstein asked.
"Just that, Matt. He carried her over there in a van, then pushed her out. Hands tied behind her back. Not a stitch on her."
"You catch somebody like that," Lowenstein said, "what you should do is cut the bastard's balls off and leave him to bleed to death."
"Let's just hope that Peter Wohl can catch him," Czernick said.
At five minutes after ten, Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson, of Mawson, Payne, Stockton, McAdoo amp; Lester, legal counsel to thePhiladelphia Bulletin, presented himself at the door of the Theodore Roosevelt Suite.
"Mr. Bolinski," Colonel Mawson said, as he enthusiastically pumped the Bull's hand, "I'm one of your greatest fans."
"And I of yours, Colonel," the Bull said. Before the sentence was completely out of the Bull's mouth, Mickey O'Hara realized that the Bull no longer sounded like your typical Polack Catholic product of West Philly. "I can only hope that the presence of the dean of the Philadelphia Criminal Bar does not carry with it any suggestion that larceny is at hand."
Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson beamed.
"Bull," he said, "-may I call you Bull?"
"Certainly," the Bull said. "I do hope we're going to be friends."
"Bull, the truth of the matter is that I pulled a little rank. I'm a senior partner in the firm, and I took advantage of that so that I would have a chance to meet you."
"I'm flattered," the Bull said, "and honored to meet you, Colonel."