Special Operations

SIXTEEN

At five minutes to eight, the nineteen police officers assigned to the day shift of the Fourteenth Police District gathered in the Roll Call Room of the district building at Germantown and Haines Streets, and went through the roll call ritual, under the eyes of Captain Charles D. Emerson, the Fourteenth District Commander, a heavyset, gray-haired man of fifty.

The officers formed in ranks, and went through the ritual, obviously based on similar rituals in the armed forces, of inspection in ranks. Trailed by the Sergeant, Captain Emerson marched through the three ranks of men, stopping in front of each to examine his appearance, the length of his hair, whether or not he was closely shaved, and the cleanliness of his weapon, which each officer held up in front of him, with the cylinder open. Several times, perhaps six, Captain Emerson had something to say to an officer: a suggestion that he needed a new shirt, or a shoe shine, or that he was getting a little too fat.

When the Inspection in Ranks was completed, the Sergeant stood before the men and read aloud from several items on a clipboard.

Some of the items he read were purely administrative, and local in nature, dealing with, for example, vacation schedules; and some had come over the police teletype from the Roundhouse with orders that they be read at roll calls. They dealt with such things as the death and funeral arrangements for two retired and one active police officers.

There were some items of a local nature, in particular the report of another burglary of the residence of a Miss Martha Peebles of 606 Glengarry Lane in Chestnut Hill, coupled with instructions that Radio Patrol cars and Emergency Patrol wagons on all shifts were to make a special effort to ride by the Peebles residence as often as possible.

"And we are still looking for Miss Elizabeth Woodham," the Sergeant concluded. "That's at the top of the list. You all have her description, and what description we have of the probable doer and his van. We have to get the lady back. Report anything you come across."

The day shift of the Fourteenth District was then called to attention, and dismissed, and left the Roll Call Room to get in their cars and go on duty.

Captain Charles D. Emerson walked over to Staff Inspector Peter Wohl, who had entered the room just as the roll call started.

"How are you, Peter?" he said, putting out his hand. "Or is this an occasion when I should call you Inspector?"

Staff Inspector Wohl had no authority whatever over the Fourteenth Police District, and both of them knew it. But hewas a Staff Inspector, and hewas the new commander of the new Special Operations Division, and no one, including Captain Emerson, had any idea what kind of clout went with the title.

"I hope I didn't get in the way, Charley," Wohl said, shaking Emerson's hand.

"Don't be silly. Distinguished visitors are always welcome at my roll calls."

Wohl chuckled. He knew the roll call ritual had been a bit more formal than usual, because of his presence.

"Bullshit, Charley," Wohl said, smiling at him.

"What can I do for you, Peter?" Emerson smiled back.

"You want the truth?"

"When all else fails, sometimes that helps."

"I'm covering my ass, Charley. This Peebles woman has friends in high places."

"So Commissioner Czernick has led me to believe," Emerson said, dryly. "He's been on the phone to me, too."

"So now both of us can tell him, if he asks, and I think he will, that you and I are coordinating our resources to bring Miss Peebles's burglar to the bar of justice."

Emerson chuckled.

"That's all, Peter?"

"I have the Woodham job. The Northwest rapist. Did you hear?"

"Czernick must like you."

"Czernick, hell. Carlucci."

"Ouch."

"I was hoping… maybe something turned up here?"

"I can't think of a thing, Peter. But come on in the office, and we' ll call in the watch commander and whoever and kick it around over a cup of coffee."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I've got another roll call to make. Special Operations' first roll call. But call me, or better Jason Washington or Tony Harris-use the Highway Commander's number to get them-if you think of anything, will you?"

"They're working for you?" Emerson asked, surprised.

"Somewhat reluctantly."

"You must have some clout to get them transferred to you."

"I think the word is 'rope,' Charley. As in 'he now has enough rope to hang himself.' "

Captain Emerson's eyebrows rose thoughtfully. He did not offer even apro forma disagreement.

"Say hello to your dad for me when you see him, will you, Peter?" he said.

Fifteen minutes later, Wohl walked into the Roll Call Room at Bustleton and Bowler. He had arrived just in time for the roll call. Captains Pekach and Sabara, and Detectives Washington and Harris, were already in the room, and ultimately, sixteen other police officers came into the room and formed into two ranks.

The sixteen newcomers were a Sergeant, a Corporal, a Detective, and thirteen Police Officers who had reported for duty to the Special Operations Division that morning, and been directed to the Roll Call Room by Sergeant Frizell when they walked in the door.

"Form in ranks," Captain Sabara called, unnecessarily, as the last of the newcomers was doing just that. Then he turned to Wohl, and asked, rather formally, "You want to take this, Inspector?"

"You go ahead, Mike," Wohl said.

Sabara nodded, and moved in front of the formation of policemen.

"Let me have your attention, please," Sabara said. "You all know me, and you probably know Inspector Wohl and Captain Pekach, too, but in case you don't, that's Captain Pekach, the High Commander, and that's the boss. Special Operations now has Highway, in case that wasn't clear to everybody.

"Welcome to Special Operations. I think you'll find it, presuming you can cut the mustard, a good assignment, an interesting job. And we're going to put you right to work.

"You all have read the papers," Sabara said, "and know that a woman named Elizabeth J. Woodham was abducted at knifepoint by a doer we think is the man who has been raping women all over Northwest Philadelphia. Let me tell you, we have damned little to go on.

"Getting Miss Woodham back alive from this critter is the first priority of business for Special Operations. For those of you who don' t know them, the two gentlemen standing beside the Inspector are Detectives Washington and Harris. They came to Special Operations from Homicide and the Inspector has put them in charge of the investigation. They report directly to his office, and if they ask you to do something in connection with this investigation, you can take it as if it came from either me or the Inspector himself.

"We have some cars, and we're getting more. They have the J-Band, of course, and they have-or will have, Sergeant Frizell will talk to you about that-the Highway Band and the Detective Band, and when the Roundhouse gets around to assigning one to us, will have a Special Operations Band. From now until we get this lady back, forget about eight-hour shifts."

He paused, looked thoughtful for a moment, then gestured toward Washington.

"Detective Washington will now tell you what we've got, and what we' re looking for."

Wohl saw, except on one or two faces, an expression of interest, perhaps even excitement.

There is, he thought, except in the most jaded, cynical cops, an element of little boy playing cops and robbers, a desire to get involved in something more truly coplike than handing out speeding tickets and settling domestic disputes, in being sent out to catch a bona fide bad guy, to rescue the damsel in distress from the dragon.

And Mike Sabara has just told them that's what we want them to do, and the proof stands there in the person of Jason Washington. There is still an element of romance in the title "Detective, " and an even greater element of romance in the persona of a homicide detective, and Washington is literally a legend among homicide detectives; sort of real-life Sherlock Holmes. They are in the presence of what they dreamed of being themselves, and maybe still do, and they know it.

Washington spoke for about five minutes, tracing the activities of the serial rapist from the first job, before anyone even thought of that term. He didn't waste any words, but neither, Wohl thought, did he leave anything even possibly important out.

"And since we have, essentially, nothing to go on," Washington concluded, "we have to do it the hard way, ringing doorbells, digging in garbage cans, asking the same questions over and over again. Tony Harris has the only idea that may turn something up that I can think of, so I'll turn this over to him."

Tony Harris, Wohl thought, does not present anything close to the confident, formidable presence Washington projects. He's a weasel compared to an elephant. No. That's too strong. A mangy lion, the kind you see in the cages of a cheap circus, compared to an elephant. Where the hell does he get his clothes? Steal them from a Salvation Army depository? Did the Judge really give his ex-wife everything? Or is Tony trying to support two women, and taking the cost out of his clothing budget?

But almost as soon as Tony started to speak, Wohl saw that the interest of the newcomers-who had almost audibly been wonderingWho the hell is this guy? began to perk up. Within a minute or two, they were listening to him with as rapt attention as they had given Washington. Who the hell is this guy? had been replaced withThis sonofabitch really knows what he's talking about!

Tony delivered a concise lecture on sexual deviation and perversity, went from there to the psychology of the flasher, the molester, the voyeur, the patron of prostitutes, and the rapist, and then presented a profile of the man they were looking for that differed from the one Wohl had got from Dr. Amelia Alice Payne only in that he didn't mention "the slippery slope" or "invincibility."

And then he told them what they were looking for, and how he wanted them to look for it: "What I've come up with is a list of minor sexual offenders, white males who have misdemeanor arrests for any of a long list of weird behavior, I'm still working on coming up with names.

…"

He stopped and looked at Wohl.

"Inspector, I used to work with Bart Cumings in South Detectives," he said, indicating the Sergeant among the newcomers. "Could I have him to work with me on the files?"

"You've got him," Wohl said, smiling at Sergeant Cumings. He saw Officer Matt Payne enter the Roll Call Room, look around, and then head for him.

I'll bet I know what Payne wants, Wohl thought. And I'll bet Sergeant Cumings will be out of that uniform by tomorrow morning. If he waits that long to get out of it.

In the Police Department rank structure, the step up from police officer was either to detective or corporal, who received the same pay. There was no such rank as "detective sergeant," so a detective who took and passed the sergeant's examination took the risk of being assigned anywhere in the department where a sergeant was needed, and that most often meant a uniformed assignment. After a detective had been on the job awhile, the prospect of going back in uniform, even as a sergeant, was not attractive. Very few uniformed sergeants got much overtime. Divisional detectives, counting their overtime, always took home more money than captains. Homicide detectives like Tony Harris and Jason Washington, for example, for whom twenty-four hour days were not at all unusual, took as much money home as a Chief Inspector.

Some detectives, thinking of retirement, which was based on rank, took the Sergeant's exam hoping that when they were promoted they would get lucky and remain assigned to the Detective Division. Wohl felt sure that Sergeant Cumings was one of those who had taken the gamble, and lost, and wound up as a uniformed sergeant someplace that was nowhere as interesting a job as being a detective had been. That explained his volunteering for Special Operations. If he had been a crony of Harris in South Detectives, that meant he had been a pretty good detective.

And if he could work here, in civilian clothes, he would be, Wohl knew, very pleased with the arrangement. He wondered if Cumings would ask permission to wear plainclothes, and decided he probably would not. He was an experienced cop who had learned that if you ask permission to do something, the answer was often no. But if you did the same thing, like working in an investigative job in plainclothes without asking, probably no one would question you.

Wohl decided that whether Cumings asked for permission to work in civilian clothes, or just did it, it would be all right,

"Anyway, what we need you guys to do," Tony Harris went on, "is check these people out. Very quietly. I don't want anybody going where these people work and asking their boss if they think the guy could be the rapist. You work on the presumption of innocence. What you will look for is whether or not he fits the rough description we have-hairy and well spoken. And we look for the van. We've already run these people through Harrisburg for a match with a van and come up with zilch. But maybe his neighbor's got a van, or his brother-in-law, or maybe he gets to bring one home from work. And that'sall you do! You hit on something, you report it to Washington or me, and now Sergeant Cumings. Unless there's no way you can avoid it, I don't want you talking to these people. You just thin out the list for us. Anybody got any questions about that?"

"You mean, we find this guy, we don't arrest him?" a voice called out.

"Not unless he's got the schoolteacher in the van with him," Harris said, "with her life clearly in danger. Otherwise, you report it, that's all. We're dealing with a real sicko here, and there's no telling what he'll do if he figures he's about to get grabbed."

"Like what, for example, he hasn't already done?" a sarcastic voice called.

Wohl looked quickly to spot the wiseass, but was not successful.

Harris's face showed contempt, not anger, but Wohl suspected there was both, and Harris immediately proved it.

"Okay," Harris said, "since you apparently can't figure it out yourself. We bag this guy, a hairy guy who speaks as if he went past the eighth grade, and who has a van. We even get one or more of the victims to identify him. But we don't have Miss Woodham, all right? So, if he doesn't figure this out himself, and he's smart, he gets a lawyer and the lawyer says,'Just keep denying it, Ace. Nobody saw you without your mask, and I'll confuse them when I get them on the stand

… make them pick you out of a line of naked hairy men wearing masks, or something!' That's how he would beat the first rapes, unless we can get what we professional detectives call 'evidence.' "

The identity of the wiseass was now clear. At least four of the newcomers had turned around to glower contemptuously at him.

"And we seem to have forgotten Miss Woodham, haven't we?" Harris went on. "Who is the reason we're all out looking for this scumbag in the first place. Now just for the sake of argument, let's say he's got her tied up someplace, like a warehouse or something. Some place we can't connect him to. So our cowboy says,"Where's the dame?" and our guy says"What dame?" and our cowboy says,"You know what dame, Miss Woodham, " and our sicko says,"Not only did I not piss all over the one lady, I never heard of anybody named Woodham. You got a witness?" So the latest victim, the one we're trying to find, cowboy, starves or suffocates or goes insane, wherever this scumbag has her tied up. Because once our sicko knows we're on to him, he's not going to go anywhere near the victim. Does that answer your question, smartass?"

Harris handled that perfectly, Wohl thought.

"You think she's still alive?" another newcomer asked, softly.

"We won't know that until we find her," Harris said. "That's all I've got, Captain."

Sabara turned to Wohl.

"Have you got anything, Inspector?"

"Going along with what Harris said, Captain," Wohl said. "About not making the man we're looking for any more disturbed than he is, what would you think about putting as many of these officers as it takes in plainclothes? And in unmarked cars?"

"I'll find out how many unmarked cars there are and set it up, sir," Sabara said.

"If necessary, Mike, take unmarked cars from Highway."

"Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?"

Wohl shook his head and turned to face Matt Payne, who was now standing beside him.

"Inspector, Chief Coughlin called," Matt said, surprising Peter Wohl not at all. "He wants you to call him right away."

"Okay," Wohl said, and walked out of the Roll Call Room toward his office.

As he passed Sergeant Frizell's desk, Wohl told him, "Call Chief Coughlin for me, please."

"Inspector, the Commissioner just called, too, wanting you to get right back to him."

"Get me Chief Coughlin first," Wohl ordered. He walked into his office, sat down, and watched the telephones until one of the buttons began to flash. He picked it up.

"Inspector Wohl," he said.

"Hold one for the Chief," Sergeant Tom Lenihan's voice replied.

"Have you seen the papers, Peter?" Coughlin began, without any preliminaries.

"Yes, sir."

"What's this about you refusing to talk to the press?"

"I wasn't here," Wohl said. "Somebody must have told him I was unavailable."

"That's not what it sounded like in theLedger," Coughlin said.

"It also said you and I are cronies," Wohl said.

"The Commissioner's upset," Coughlin said.

"He just called here," Wohl said. "As soon as you're through with me, I'm going to return his call."

"What about assigning officers to find witnesses to clear the Highway cop?"

"Guilty," Peter said. "Except that I didn't assign them. They volunteered. Off duty, in civilian clothes. If they turn up a witness, there will be an anonymous telephone call from a public-spirited citizen to AID. It was actually Dave Pekach's idea, I want you to understand that I'm doing the opposite of laying it off on Pekach. If I had thought of it first, I would have done it first. And I'll take full responsibility for doing it."

He heard Coughlin grunt, and there was a pause before Coughlin asked, "Was that smart, under the circumstances?"

"If I could have sent them to find the Woodham woman, I would have," Wohl said.

Matt Payne appeared at his office door. Wohl made a gesture for him to go away, together with a mental note to tell him to learn to knock before he came through a closed door.

"How's that going?" Chief Coughlin asked.

"The first fifteen, maybe sixteen, volunteers just showed up for duty. I turned them all over to Washington and Harris to ring doorbells. That's where I was when you called."

"Maybe, until you get the Woodham woman back, you better put the people who were looking for witnesses to the car wreck to work ringing doorbells, too."

"I will if you tell me to, Chief," Wohl said, "but I'd rather not."

"You want to explain that?"

"Well, for one thing, I think they did all they could, and drew a blank, about finding anyone who saw Mr. McAvoy run the red light."

"Damn," Coughlin said.

"And for another, I don't think having Highway cops going around ringing doorbells is such a good idea. The guy we're looking for is already over the edge. I don't want to spook him."

"You want to go over that again?" Coughlin asked.

Wohl covered the mouthpiece with his hand, and demanded, "What the hell do you want, Payne?"

"Sir, the Commissioner's on Two Six, holding for you," Matt replied.

"Okay," Wohl said, and Matt backed out of the office, closing the door after him.

"Chief, the Commissioner's on the other line. Can I get back to you?"

"Call me when you get something," Coughlin said, impatiently, and then added, "Peter, frankly, I would have a hell of a lot more confidence in the way you're doing things if you had at least been able to keep that Peebles woman from being burgled again."

"I was just talking to Charley Emerson about that-" Wohl said, and then stopped, because Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin had hung up.

He pushed the flashing button on the telephone.

"Good morning, Commissioner," he said. "Sorry to keep you waiting. I was talking to Chief Coughlin."

"Hold on for Commissioner Czernick, please, Inspector Wohl," a female voice Peter did not recognize replied.

"Czernick," the Commissioner snarled a moment later.

"I have Inspector Wohl for you, Commissioner," the woman said.

"It's about time," Czernick said. "Peter?"

"Yes, sir. Sorry to keep you waiting, sir. I was talking to Chief Coughlin."

"You've seen the papers? What's this about you refusing to talk to the press?"

"Sir," Wohl said, "it wasn't quite that way. I wasn't here, and-"

"Lemme have that," a voice said, faintly in the background, and then came over the line full volume. "This is Jerry Carlucci, Peter."

"Good morning, sir," Peter said.

"I know and you know that sonofabitch is after us, Peter," the mayor of the City of Brotherly Love said, "and we both know why, and we both know that no matter what we do, he'll still be trying to cut our throats. But we can't afford to give the sonofabitch any ammunition. You just can't tell the press to go fuck themselves. I thought you were smarter than that."

"Sir, that's not the way it happened," Peter said.

"So tell me," Mayor Carlucci said.

"Sir, I was not in the office. Iwas 'unavailable.' That's it."

"Shit," the mayor said. "What about using Highway to look for witnesses to clear our guy? Is that true?"

"Yes, sir, I did that. But in sports coats and ties. Off-duty volunteers."

"I think I know why you did it," Mayor Carlucci said, "but under the circumstances, was it smart?"

"Sir, I considered it to be the proper thing to do at the time. There was nothing that wasn't already being done to locate Miss Woodham, and I hoped to clear the officers involved of what I considered-considerto be an unjust accusation."

"You're saying you'd do the same thing again?" Carlucci asked, coldly.

"Yes, sir."

"They find any witnesses for our side?"

"No, sir."

"They still looking?"

"Sir, I have no intention, without orders to the contrary, to tell my men what they can't do when they're off duty and in civilian clothes."

"In other words, fuck Arthur Nelson and his goddamnedLedger! "

"No, sir. I frankly think that if we were going to find a witness, they'd have found one by now. But I think, for the morale of Highway, that it's important we keep looking. Or maybe I mean that I don't want Highway to think I threw Officer Hawkins to the wolves because of theLedger editorial."

"Hawkins was the guy driving?"

"Yes, sir. And he says Mr. McAvoy ran the stoplight, and I believe him."

"Goddamn it, I was right," Mayor Carlucci said.

"Sir?"

"When I sent you out there, gave you Special Operations," Mayor Carlucci said.

Peter Wohl could think of no appropriate response to make to that, and so made none.

"I was about to ask where you are with the Woodham job," Mayor Carlucci said.

"Sir, I have turned over all-"

"I said 'was about to ask,' " the mayor said. "Don't interrupt me, Peter."

"Sorry, sir."

"I've been there," the mayor said. "And I know the one thing a commanding officer on the spot does not need is people looking over his shoulder and telling him what they think he should have done. So I won't do that. I'll tell you what I am going to do, Peter. I'm going to issue a statement saying that I have complete faith in the way you' re handling things."

"Yes, sir," Peter said.

"But you better catch this sonofabitch, Peter. You know what I'm saying?"

"Yes, sir."

"This sonofabitch is making the Police Department look like the Keystone Cops. The Department can't afford that. I can't afford that. And you, in particular, can't afford that."

"I understand, sir," Peter said.

"I don't want to find myself in the position of having to tell Tad Czernick to relieve you, and making it look like Arthur Nelson and his goddamnedLedger were right all the time," Mayor Carlucci said.

"I hope that won't be necessary, sir."

"You need anything, Peter, anything at all?"

"No, sir, I don't think so."

"If you need something, you speak up. Tad Czernick will get it for you."

"Thank you, sir."

"Tell your dad, when you see him, I said hello," the mayor said. " Hang on, Tad wants to say something."

"Peter," Commissioner Czernick said. "I understand Miss Peebles was burgled again last night."

"Yes, sir," Peter said. "I'm working on it."

"Good," Commissioner Czernick said. "Keep me advised."

Then he hung up.

Wohl took the telephone from his ear, looked at the handset, wondered for perhaps the three hundredth time why he did that, and then put it in its cradle. He got up and walked to his office door and pulled it open.

Matt Payne had been put to work collating some kinds of forms.

"Payne?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You look like death warmed over," Wohl said. "Are you sick?"

Payne looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"Sir, I guess I had a little too much to drink last night."

That figures, Wohl thought, McFadden and Martinez took him to the FOP and initiated him.

"Where are they?"

"Sir?"

"Where's Sherlock Holmes and the faithful Dr. Watson?"

Matt finally understood that Wohl meant McFadden and Martinez.

"Sir, I don't know," he said.

"Find them," Wohl said. "Tell them as soon as they can fit me into their busy schedule, I want to see them. And find Captain Pekach, too, please, and ask him to come see me."

"Yes, sir."

David Pekach was still in the Seventh District Building. Two minutes later, he was standing in Wohl's doorway waiting for Wohl to raise his eyes from the papers on his desk. Finally, he did.

"Come in, please, David," he said. "You want some coffee?"

Pekach shook his head no, then asked with raised eyebrows if Wohl wanted him to close the door. Wohl nodded that he did.

"I just finished talking to Chief Coughlin and the Commissioner," Wohl said, deciding in that moment not to mention Mayor Jerry Carlucci.

"I thought maybe they would call," David Pekach said, dryly.

"In addition to everything else," Wohl said, "they both seem personally concerned and very upset with me about whatever the hell is going on with this Peebles woman. She was burgled again last night."

"I heard."

"I put your two hotshots, McFadden and Martinez, on the job. They're looking for-"

Pekach's nod of understanding told Wohl that Pekach knew about that, so he stopped. "The way they tackled the job, unless I am very wrong, was to take young Payne out there down to the FOP and get him fallingdown drunk."

"I don't know," Pekach said, loyally. "They were always pretty reliable."

"They didn't find the guy-the actor, the boyfriend of the Peebles woman's brother-that I know," Wohl said.

"You want me to talk to them?"

"No. I'll talk to them. I want you to go talk to Miss Peebles."

"What?"

"You go over there right now," Wohl said. "And you ooze sympathy, and do whatever you have to do to convince her that we are very embarrassed that this has happened to her again, and that we are going to take certain steps to make absolutely sure it doesn't happen again."

"What certain steps?"

"We are going to put-call it a stakeout team-on her property from sunset to sunrise."

"You lost me there," Pekach confessed. "Where are you going to get a stakeout team? I mean, my God, if it gets in the paper that you're using manpower to stake out a third-rate burglary site…"

"Martinez, McFadden, and Hungover Harry out there," Wohl said, "The wages of sin are death, David. I'm surprised you haven't learned that."

Pekach chuckled. "Okay," he said.

"And you will tell Miss Peebles that a Highway Patrol car will drive past her house not less than once every half hour during the same hours. Then you will tell your shift Lieutenant to set that up, and to tell the guys in the car that they not only are to drive by, but they are to drive into the driveway, making a lot of noise, and slamming the car doors when they get out of the car, so that Miss Peebles, when she looks in curiosity out her window, will see two uniformed officers waving their flashlights around in the bushes."

"That'd spook the guy who's doing this to her," Pekach argued.

"I hope so," Wohl said. "I don't want another burglary at that address on the Overnight Report on the Commissioner's desk tomorrow morning."

"Okay," Pekach said, doubtfully, "you're the boss."

"I'm not going to tell Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson this, David," Wohl said. "But I think they're right. I think the doer is the brother's boyfriend. When they're not sitting outside her house, I want them to keep looking for him. Got the picture?"

"Like I said, you're the boss. You're more devious than I would have thought…"

"I'll interpret that as a compliment," Wohl said. "And as devious as I am, I will frankly tell you that the success of this operation will hinge on how well you can charm the lady."

"Then why don't you go charm her?"

"Because I am the commanding officer, and that sort of thing is beneath my dignity," Wohl said, solemnly.

Pekach smiled.

"I'll charm the pants off the lady, boss," he said.

"Figuratively speaking, of course, Captain?"

"I don't know. What does she look like?"

"I don't know," Wohl said.

"Then I don't know about the pants," Pekach said. "I'll let you know how well I do."

"Just the highlights, please, Captain. None of the sordid details."