He walked in, and was immediately sorry he had, for Captain Quaire was not alone in the room. Inspector J. Howard Porter, commanding officer of the Tactical Division, was with him.
Inspector Porter had, when word of the federal money and the upgrading of Special Operations had spread through the Department, naturally considered himself a, perhaps the, prime candidate for the command of Special Operations. He not only had the appropriate rank, but his Tactical Division included Highway Patrol.
He had not been given the Special Operations Division, and Highway Patrol had been taken away from Tactical and given to Special Operations. Peter Wohl did not think he could include Inspector Porter in his legion of admirers.
"Good morning, Inspector," Wohl said politely.
"Wohl."
"Hello, Henry."
"Inspector."
"Do you know Paul O'Mara?"
"I know your dad," Quaire said, offering O'Mara his hand.
Inspector Porter nodded at Officer O'Mara but said nothing, and did not offer to shake hands.
What is that, Wohl thought, guilt by association? Or is shaking hands with a lowly police officer beneath your dignity?
He glanced at Quaire, and their eyes met for a moment.
I don't think Quaire likes Porter any more than I do,
"I saw your predecessor last night," Captain Quaire said, as much to Wohl as to O'Mara. "You heard about what happened at the Acme on Baltimore Avenue?"
"I didn't hear Payne shot them," Wohl said without thinking about it.
Quaire laughed. "Not this time, Peter. He was just a spectator."
"I'm glad to hear that."
"That's why we're here," Quaire said. "The commissioner wants to be absolutely sure the shooting was justified."
"Was there a question?"
"Hell no. Both of the doers fired first."
The commissioner's secretary appeared in the conference room door.
"The commissioner will see you now, Inspector," she said, and then realized there were two men answering to that title in the room, and added, "…Wohl."
"Thank you," Peter Wohl said.
If I needed one more nail in my coffin, that was it. Porter knows I just walked in here. And I get to enter the throne room first.
SEVEN
"Good morning, Peter," Commissioner Czernick said, smiling broadly. He was a large, stocky, well-tailored man with a full head of silver hair. "Sit down."
"Good morning, sir."
"Would you like some coffee?"
"Please."
"Black, right?"
"Yes, sir."
I don't think I am about to have my head handed to me on a platter. But on the other hand, I don't think he called me in here to express his appreciation for my all-around splendid performance of duty. And nothing has gone wrong in Special Operations, or I would have heard about it.
"How's your dad?"
"Fine, thank you. I had dinner with him on Monday."
"Give him my regards, the next time you see him."
"I'll do that, thank you."
"You see the Overnights, Peter?"
The Overnights were a summary of major crimes, and/or significant events affecting the Police Department that were compiled from reports from the districts, the Detective Divisions, and major Bureaus, and then distributed to senior commanders.
"No, sir. I came here first thing."
Obviously, I've missed something, and I am about to hear what it is, and why it is my fault.
"Stakeout took down two critters at an Acme on the Baltimore Pike," Czernick said. "It's almost a sure thing these were the characters we've been looking for. If it was a good shooting, we're home free."
"I did hear about that, sir. And from what I heard, I think it was a good shooting."
"Every once in a while, Peter, we do do something right, don't we?"
I'll be damned. I didn't do anything wrong.
"Yes, sir, we do."
"The Vice President's coming to town."
"I saw it in the newspaper."
"He's coming by airplane. He's going to do something at Independence Hall. Then he wants to make a triumphal march up Market Street to 30^th Street Station, and get on a train."
"'March,' sir?"
"Figure of speech. What do they call it, 'motorcade'?"
"Yes, sir."
"I talked to the Secret Service guy. He really wants a Highway escort. On wheels, I mean. I think he thinks, or at least the Vice President does, that that makes them look good on the TV."
"Well, there's nothing I know of, sir, that would keep us from giving Dignitary Protection all the wheels they want."
Highway Patrol, as its name suggested, had been formed before World War II, as "The Bandit Chasers." That had evolved into the " Motor Bandit Patrol" and finally into the Highway Patrol. It had originally been equipped with motorcycles ("wheels") only, and its members authorized a special uniform suitable for motorcyclists, breeches, leather boots, leather jackets, and billed caps with an unstiffened crown.
It had evolved over the years into an elite unit that, although it patrolled the Schuylkill Expressway and the interstate highways, spent most of its effort patrolling high-crime areas in two-man RPCs. Other RPCs in the Department were manned by only one police officer, and patrolled only in the district to which they were assigned.
The evolution had begun when command of Highway had been given to Captain Jerry Carlucci, and had continued under his benevolent, and growing, influence as he rose through the ranks to commissioner, and continued now that he was mayor.
Applying for, being selected for, and then serving a tour in Highway was considered an almost essential career step for officers who had ambition for higher rank. Peter Wohl had been a Highway sergeant before his promotion to lieutenant and assignment to the Organized Crime Intelligence Unit.
Highway still had its wheels, and every man in Highway was a graduate of the Motorcycle Training Program (known as "Wheel School"), and continued to wear, although months often passed between times that a Highway Patrolman actually straddled a motorcycle, the special Highway uniform.
Dignitary Protection was ordinarily an inactive function; a sergeant or a lieutenant in the Intelligence Division of the Detective Bureau performed the function and answered that phone number in addition to his other duties.
When a dignitary showed up who needed protection, a more senior officer, sometimes, depending on the dignitary, even a chief inspector, took over and coordinated and commanded whatever police units and personnel were considered necessary.
"What I've been thinking, Peter," Commissioner Czernick said, "is that Dignitary Protection should really be under you. I mean, really, it's a special function, a special operation, am I right? And you have Special Operations."
Carlucci strikes again, Peter Wohl thought. Czernick might even have come by himself to the conclusion that Dignitary Protection should come under Special Operations, but he would have kept that conclusion to himself. He would not have done anything about it himself, or even suggested it to the mayor, because the mayor might not like the idea, or come to the conclusion that Czernick was getting a little too big for his britches.
"Yes, I'm sure you're right," Wohl said. "Dignitary Protection is a special function, a special operation."
"And there's something else," Czernick went on. "I don't think it would be a bad idea at all to show the feds where all that ACT money is going."
"Yes, sir."
"What I thought I'd do, Peter…Do you know Sergeant Henkels?"
"No, sir. I don't think so."
"He's the man in Chief Lowenstein's office who handles Dignitary Protection. I thought I'd ask Lowenstein to get the paperwork going and transfer him and his paperwork out to the Schoolhouse."
When the Special Operations Division had been formed from the Special Operations Unit, there had been no thought given to providing a place for it to exist. Since there was no other place to go, Peter Wohl had set up his first office in what had been the Highway Patrol captain's office in a building Highway shared with the 7^th District at Bustleton Avenue and Bowler Street in Northeast Philadelphia.