Sunday the Rabbi Stayed Home

Chapter Eight

Hello there. Hughie m’boy. Tis your old friend Kevin O’Connor.”

“Uh-huh.” Hugh Lanigan, chief of the Barnard’s Crossing police force, did not like to be called Hughie, and he did not particularly like Kevin O’Connor, chief of the neighboring Lynn force. He regarded him as a professional Irishman, even a stage Irishman, since he was American-born and the brogue obviously was put on. The most he would allow was that it might have political advantages in Lynn.

“You’ll be going to the Police Chiefs’ spring dance, won’t you, Hughie?”

“Haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“Well. I wish you’d let me put your name down now. I’m on the committee, and I’d like to make a good showing.”

“I’ll let you know, Kevin.”

“You don’t have to send in the form.” Lanigan was amused to note all traces of brogue had vanished. “Just give me a call, and I’ll be happy to put your name down, and you can send me the money anytime you think of it.”

“Okay, Kevin.”

But the other was not yet finished. “Oh, and by the by, would you happen to be knowing an individual name of Paff, a resident of your lovely town, a kind of a Jew type?”

“Meyer Paff?”

“That’s the one.”

“Yes, I know him.” said Lanigan cautiously. “What do you want to know about him?”

“Oh, just the usual. Is he a respectable citizen? Have you ever had any dealings with him—in the way of business, you might say.”

“He’s well thought of here in town. No police record of any kind, if that’s what you mean. What’s he done?” But already Lanigan had scribbled the name on a memorandum pad.

“Well now. I don’t know that he’s done anything. But he owns a bowling alley here.”

“He owns half a dozen in cities and towns along the North Shore.” said Lanigan.

“I know, but none in Barnard’s Crossing.” It sounded like an accusation.

“We don’t have one here, but the one in Salem is near enough. What’s wrong with the bowling alley in Lynn?”

“Well.” said O’Connor, “some of the kids who have been smoking pot and have given us a little trouble, that’s one of their regular hangouts.”

“And you think he might be pushing the stuff?” Lanigan scratched out the name on the pad. “I can’t picture him in the part. He’s one of the big shots in the local temple, for one thing.”

“Well now, Hughie, did you ever think that might be a kind of cover-up?”

“No, I haven’t, but I’ll think about it—when I’ve nothing better to do.”

“You’ll have your little joke, won’t you. And down there, aren’t you troubled with it?”

“With pot? We’ve had some.” said Lanigan cautiously. “As near as we can make out, it seems to be coming in from Boston.”

“Well, if anything comes to you, any bit of gossip about this Paff. I’d appreciate your letting me know.”

“Ye can bank on it. Kevin m’boy.” Lanigan banged the receiver down and glared at the instrument for a moment. Then he chuckled.