"My gun," Matt said, raising the jacket to show a Smith amp; Wesson Military amp; Police Model.38 Special revolver in a shoulder holster. " What every well-dressed young man is wearing these days."
Brewster Payne chuckled.
"You're not wearing your new blue suit, I notice," he said.
"He said, curiosity oozing from every pore," Matt said, gently mockingly.
"Well, we haven't had the pleasure of your company recently," his father said, unabashed.
"I communed with John Barleycorn last night," Matt said, "at Rose Tree. I decided it was wiser by far to spend the night here than try to make it to the apartment. Particularly since the bug is one-eyed."
"Anything special, or just kicking up your heels?" Brewster Payne asked.
"I don't know, Dad," Matt said, as he took two ceramic mugs from a cabinet and set them on the counter beside the coffee machine. "All I know is that I had more to drink than I should have had."
"You want something to eat?" Brewster Payne asked, and when he saw the look on Matt's face, added, "If you've been at the grape, you should put something in your stomach. Did you have dinner?"
"I don't think so," Matt replied. "The last thing I remember clearly is peanuts at the bar."
His father went to the refrigerator, a multidoored stainless steel device filling one end of the room. He opened one door after another until he found what he was looking for.
"How about a Taylor ham sandwich? Maybe with an egg?"
"I'll make it," Matt said. "Noegg."
Brewster Payne chuckled again, and said, "You were telling me what you were celebrating…"
"No, I wasn't," Matt said. "You're a pretty good interrogator. You ever consider practicing law? Or maybe becoming a cop?"
"Touche," Brewster Payne said.
"I was on the pistol range yesterday," Matt said, "when Chief Matdorf, who runs the Police Academy, came out and told me to clean out my locker and report tomorrow morning, this morning, that is, at eight o'clock, to the commanding officer of Highway Patrol." He paused and then added, "In plainclothes."
"What's that all about?" Brewster Payne said.
"John Barleycorn didn't say," Matt said. "Although I had a long, long chat with him."
"You think Dennis Coughlin is involved?"
"Uncle Denny's involved in everything," Matt said as he put butter in a frying pan. "You want one of these?"
"Please," Brewster Payne said. "Were you having any trouble in the Academy?"
"No, not so far as I know."
"Highway Patrol is supposed to be the elite unit within the Department," Brewster Payne said. "You think you're getting special treatment, is that it?"
"Special, yeah, but I don't know what kind of special," Matt said. " To get into Highway, you usually need three years in the Department, and then there's a long waiting list. It's all volunteer, and I didn't volunteer. And then, why in plainclothes?"
"Possibly it has something to do with ACT," Brewster Payne said.
"With what?"
"ACT," Brewster Payne said. "It means Anti-Crime Team, or something like that. It was in the paper yesterday. A new unit. You didn't see it?"
"No, I didn't," Matt said. "Is the paper still around here?"
"It's probably in the garbage," Brewster Payne said.
Matt left the stove and went outside. His father shook his head and took over frying the Taylor ham.
"It's a little soggy," Matt called a moment later, "but I can read it."
He reappeared in the kitchen with a grease-stained sheet of newspaper. When he laid it on the table, his father picked it up and read the story again.
"May I redispose of this?" he asked, when he had finished, holding the newspaper distastefully between his fingers.
"Sorry," Matt said. "That offers a lot of food for thought," he added. "This ACT, whatever it is, makes more sense than putting me in Highway. But it still smacks of special treatment."
"I think you're going to have to get used to that."
"What do you mean?"
"How many of your peers in the Academy had gone to college?" Brewster Payne asked.
"Not very many," Matt said.
"And even fewer had gone on to graduate?"
"So?"
"Would it be reasonable to assume that you were the only member of your class with a degree? Acum laude degree?"
"You think that's it, that I have a degree?"
"That's part of it, I would guess," Brewster Payne said. "And then there's Dennis Coughlin."
"I think that has more to do with this than my degree," Matt said.
"Dennis Coughlin was your father's best friend," Brewster C. Payne said. "And he never had a son; I'm sure he looks at you in that connection, the son he never had."
"I never thought about that," Matt said. "I wonder why he never got married?"
"I thought you knew," Brewster Payne said, after a moment. "He was in love with your mother."
"And she picked you over him?" Matt said, genuinely surprised. "I never heard that before."
"He never told her; I don't think she ever suspected. Not then, anyway. But I knew. I knew the first time I ever met him."
"Jesus!" Matt said.
"Would you like to hear my theory-theories-about this mysterious assignment of yours?"
"Sure."
"I think Dennis Coughlin is about as happy about you being a policeman as I am; that is to say he doesn't like it one little bit. He's concerned for your welfare. He doesn't want to have to get on the telephone and tell your mother that you've been hurt, or worse. Theory One is that you are really going to go to Highway. Dennis hopes that you will hate it; realize the error of your decision, and resign. Theory Two; which will stand by itself, or may be a continuation of Theory One, is that if you persist in being a policeman, the best place for you to learn the profession is from its most skilled practitioners, the Highway Patrol generally, and under Inspector Wohl. I found it interesting that Wohl was given command of this new Special Operations Division. Even I know that he's one of the brightest people in the Police Department, a real comer."
"I met him the night of Uncle Dutch's wake," Matt said. "In a bar. When I told him that I was thinking of joining the Department, he told me I would think better of it in the morning; that it was the booze talking."
"Theory Three," Brewster Payne said, "or perhaps Two (a), is that Dennis has sent you to Wohl, with at least an indication on his part that he would be pleased if Wohl could ease you out of the Police Department with your ego intact."
Matt considered that a moment, then exhaled audibly. "Well, I won't know will I, until I get there?"
"No, I suppose not."
Matt wolfed down his Taylor ham on toast, then started to put on his shoulder holster.
"They issue you that holster?" Brewster Payne asked.
"No, I bought it a week or so ago," Matt said. "When I wear a belt holster under a jacket, it stands out like a sore thumb."
"What about getting a smaller gun?"
"You can't do that until you pass some sort of examination, qualify with it," Matt said. "I wasn't that far along in the Academy when I was-I suppose the word is 'graduated.' "
"There's something menacing about it," Brewster Payne said.
"It's also heavy," Matt said. "I'm told that eventually you get used to it, and feel naked if you don't have it." He shrugged into the seersucker jacket. "Now," he said, smiling. "No longer menacing."
"Unseen, but still menacing," his father responded, then changed the subject. "You said you were having headlight trouble with the bug?"
The bug, a Volkswagen, then a year old, had been Matt Payne's sixteenth-birthday present, an award for making the Headmaster's List at Episcopal Academy.
"I don't know what the hell is the matter with it; there's a short somewhere. More likely a break. Whenever I start out to fix it, it works fine. It only gives me trouble at night."
"There is, I seem to recall, another car in the garage," Brewster Payne said. "On which, presumably, both headlights function as they should."