Kuntz chuckled, and then asked, "Does he have a drinking problem?"
Lowenstein ignored the question.
"When they tried to wake him up," he went on, "he got belligerent, so they took his gun away from him and locked him up in a district holding cell. When Manny came in, he turned him loose and then came to see me."
"You said 'ethical problem'?"
"If he worked for me, I'd know how to deal with him. I'd tell him if I heard he had so much as sniffed a cork for six months, he would be on the recovered stolen car detail forever. "
"I don't know what that means."
"Two kinds of stolen cars are recovered. The ones some kids took for a joy ride and ditched, or ones that somebody has stripped and abandoned. In either case, it has to be investigated. Lots of forms that no one will ever see again have to be filled out. It's the worst job a detective can get. For a Homicide detective, it would be the worst thing that could possibly happen to him."
"But?"
"He doesn't work for me. So what do I do, go tell Peter Wohl? Since he doesn't work for me, it's none of my business, right? And I don't know how Peter would handle it. He's under a hell of a lot of pressure, and he would not be pleased to hear that one of the two men he's forced to rely on has a bad bottle problem."
"Is that what it is? The man is an alcoholic?"
"Maybe not yet, but almost. What happened is that his wife caught him in the wrong bed. The judge awarded the wife everything but his spare pair of socks. He's living in a cheap room out by the University, eating baked beans out of the can. And the ex-wife is using his money to support a boyfriend."
"How sad," Kuntz said.
The doorbell played "Be It Ever So Humble."
"That's O'Hara," Lowenstein said, looking at his watch. "He has only one virtue, punctuality. The subject we were on is now closed, okay?"
Kuntz nodded.
Lowenstein left the kitchen and returned in a moment leading Mickey O'Hara, who had a bottle in a brown bag in his hand, and a young woman.
"If I knew the rabbi was going to be here, I'd have brought two of these," Mickey said, handing the bag to Lowenstein. He pulled a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label Scotch from it.
"Hello, Mickey, how are you?" Kuntz said.
"I won't say you shouldn't have done this, because you should have," Lowenstein said.
"Don't let it go to your head, theBulletin's paying for it."
The young woman with Mickey O'Hara, Kuntz thought (almost simultaneously realizing that it was not a kind thought), was not what he would have expected. She was-he searched for the word and came up with-wholesome. More than that. She was tastefully, conservatively dressed, with just the right amount of makeup. She had a full head of well-coiffured dark brown hair.
And she was, Kuntz saw, more than a little surprised, even shocked, at the exchange between Lowenstein and O'Hara.
"I'm Stephen Kuntz," he said.
"Eleanor Neal," she said. "How do you do?"
"If you understand that these two are old friends," Kuntz said, "it explains a good deal."
She smiled. "And is there a reason Mickey called you a rabbi?"
"I happen to be a rabbi," Kuntz said.
"Oh?" she said.
"I'm Matt Lowenstein. Don't mind Mick and me. Welcome to Chez Lowenstein."
"Thank you for having me," Eleanor said.
"I just got to ask this," Lowenstein said.
"No, you don't," Mickey said.
"Mick!" Eleanor protested.
"What he's going to ask is 'what is a nice girl like you doing going out with me?' "
"Well, I don't think he would have asked that, but if he did, I would have said that finally you're introducing me to your friends."
"What I was going to ask," Lowenstein said, more than a little lamely, "was how is it he's never brought you here before?"
"Why haven't you, Mick?" Eleanor asked.
"Well, you're here now, and that's all that counts," Kuntz said.
"And if you'll make us a drink, I'll give you something else," O'Hara said.
"Excuse me," Lowenstein said, sounding genuinely contrite. "What can I fix you, Miss Neal?"
"Eleanor, please," she said. "Would you happen to have any white wine?"
"Absolutely," Lowenstein said, and took a bottle from the refrigerator.
"No, I don't mind helping myself to the Scotch, thank you very much," O'Hara said.
"There's an open bottle," Lowenstein said.
"Yeah, but you've refilled it with cheap hootch so often the neck is chipped," O'Hara said, and pulled the cork from the bottle he had brought.
Kuntz laughed.
"Hey, you're supposed to be on my side," Lowenstein protested.
"I am a simple man of God trying my very best to bring peace between the warring factions," Kuntz said piously.
"I think you have your work cut out for you," Eleanor said.
Lowenstein handed her a glass of wine, and then turned to O'Hara.
"Okay. What else have you got me that somebody else paid for?"
O'Hara took an envelope from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to him. Lowenstein, suspiciously, took it from the envelope and unfolded it. Then his expression changed.
"What the hell is this?"
"It was delivered to theBulletin, left with the girl downstairs in an envelope marked 'urgent.'"
"Where's the envelope?" Lowenstein snapped.
"With the original. Youdid notice that was a copy?"
"Where's the original?"
"I had a messenger take it, and the envelope, to Homicide." Lowenstein handed the sheet of paper to Kuntz.
ISLAMIC LIBERATION ARMY
There Is No God But God,
And Allah Is His Name
PRESS RELEASE:
Be advised that the events at Goldblatt's Furniture Store today were conducted by troops of the Islamic Liberation Army.
It was the first battle of many to follow against the infidel sons of Zion, who for too long have victimized the African Brothers (Islamic and other) and other minorities of Philadelphia. Death to the Zionist oppressors of our people!
Freedom Now!
Muhammed el Sikkim
Chief of Staff
Islamic Liberation Army
"What in the world is this?" Kuntz asked when he had read it.
"There was a robbery, and a murder, at Goldblatt's furniture store on South Street this afternoon," Lowenstein said.
"But what'sthis?"
"The Islamic Liberation Army just confessed to the job," O'Hara said dryly.
"What's the Islamic Liberation Army?" Kuntz asked.
"Offhand," Lowenstein said, "I would guess it's half a dozenschwartzer stickup artists who saw Malcolm X on TV, smoked some funny cigarettes, and then went to Sears, Roebuck and bought themselves bathrobes."
Kuntz saw the look of confusion on Eleanor's face.
"May I show her this?" he asked.
"Sure," O'Hara said. "It's not like it's a secret or anything."
"Did the other papers get this, Mickey, do you think, or just Philly' s ace crime writer?" Lowenstein asked.
"I didn't ask, but I'll bet they did."
"What's a-what did you say before, 'Schwartz'?" Eleanor asked.
"Schwartzes,"Lowenstein explained. "It's Yiddish. Means 'blacks.' "
"I don't understand," Kuntz confessed.
"Offhand, Rabbi," O'Hara said, "it's obviously one of two things: a group of master criminals cleverly trying to get Sherlock Holmes here and his gumshoes off their trail, or the opening salvo of the Great Race War."