The Assassin

STANDING ZONE.

"If a white hat tries to run you off," Matt said. "Tell him you're waiting for Chief Coughlin."

"Chief Coughlin?" O'Mara asked.

"Everybody's afraid of Chief Coughlin," Matt said as he opened the door and got out.

He had almost reached the doors to the main waiting room when a voice called out, "Detective Payne?"

He turned and saw a Highway Patrol sergeant walking up to him. He was a good-looking young Irishman, and Matt now recalled seeing him with Pekach, but he couldn't come up with a name.

"Jerry O'Dowd," the sergeant said, putting out his hand. "I work for Captain Pekach."

"How are you, Jerry? What's up?"

"I got the captain's car. I was told to see if you showed up, and if not, to stand by the information booth and look for a bald fat man in a rumpled suit, named Supervisory Special Agent H. Charles Larkin, and then drive him to the Schoolhouse. You're here. What do you think I should do?"

"I think maybe you should stick around in case the battery in Wohl's car goes dead or something."

"Sure."

"Why don't you call in and say I'm here?"

"Captain Pekach said this guy's a Secret Service big shot?"

"That's all I know about him too."

"I'm across the street, you want me to pull up behind your car?"

"No. This guy's in the Secret Service, not a movie star."

Matt was standing beside the information booth in the center of the main waiting room at 9:05, his eyes fixed on the wide stairway that led down to the tracks below.

At 9:06, a crowd of people began to come up the stairway. After a moment, he had trouble seeing through them, and started to walk to the head of the stairs, but changed his mind. He had been told to be at the information booth.

At 9:08, a voice behind him said, "Excuse me, sir, but is that a Brooks Brothers suit?"

Matt turned and saw a man whose hair was thin, but who could not be called bald, who was heavyset, but could not be called fat, and whose suit appeared comfortable, but was not rumpled. He was surrounded by half a dozen neatly dressed men, one of whom was Special Agent Matthews of the FBI, and all of whom seemed baffled by the behavior of the man they had come to 30^th Street Station to meet.

"Actually, it's from Tripler. Have I the privilege of addressing Mr. H. Charles Larkin?"

"Yes, you do," Larkin said, smiling conspiratorially at him.

"Welcome to Philadelphia, Mr. Larkin."

"Thank you very much. It's nice to be here."

Larkin turned to the men with him.

"I am going with this gentleman. I don't know where, but if you can't trust the Philadelphia Police Department, who can you trust?"

"Excuse me, sir?" one of the men standing behind him asked.

"Detective Payne, do you happen to know any of these gentlemen?"

"I have the privilege of Special Agent Matthews's acquaintance, sir. Good morning, Special Agent Matthews."

Jack Matthews looked embarrassed. Or annoyed. Or both. He nodded curtly at Matt but didn't say anything.

"How strange," Larkin said. "I was led to believe that the FBI and the Philadelphia Police Department were not on speaking terms."

"We talk to some of them, sir," Matt said.

"Well, shall we be on our way, Detective Payne?"

"The car is right outside, sir," Matt said, and pointed.

"I'll be in touch," Larkin said, and marched off toward the doors to the street. Matt walked quickly to catch up with him. Behind him, he heard one of the men left behind say, "JesusChrist!"

O'Mara saw them coming and opened the rear door of the car. Larkin smiled at him, and then pulled open the front door and got in the front seat. Matt had no choice but to get in the back.

O'Mara walked quickly around the front of the car and got behind the wheel and drove off.

"Mr. Larkin, this is Officer O'Mara. Tom, this is Supervisory Special Agent Larkin of the Secret Service."

"Good morning," Larkin said, and then turned on the seat to face Matt. "I understand you're pretty close to Denny Coughlin."

The announcement surprised Matt.

"Yes, sir, I am."

"First chance you get, give him a call. I think he'll tell you I'm not the arrogant prick your boss apparently thinks I am. Not that Wohl has a reputation for being a shrinking violet himself."

"May I ask how you know Chief Coughlin, sir?"

"Ten, twelve, Christ, it must be fifteen years ago, there was a guy making funny money on Frankford Avenue. Wedding announcements in the daytime, funny money at night. First-class engraver. We had a hell of a time catching him. Denny was then working Major Crimes. Good arrest. We got indictments for twelve people, and ten convictions. He' s a hell of a good cop."

"Yes, sir, he is."

"So am I," Larkin said. "Am I going to have to have Denny Coughlin tell Wohl that, or do you think we can make friends by ourselves?"

"Sir, I think that you and Inspector Wohl will have no trouble becoming friends. Sir, can I ask how you knew I know Chief Coughlin?"

"Our office here keeps files. One of them is on you. You're a very interesting young man, Payne."

Matt would have loved to have an amplification of that, but he suspected that none would be offered, and none was.

"Does Chief Coughlin know you're in town, sir?"

"No. I thought I would put that off until I met your Inspector Wohl," Larkin said, and then turned to O'Mara: "Are you speeding, son?"

O'Mara dropped his eyes quickly to the speedometer, before replying righteously, "No, sir."

"There's a Highway car following us," Larkin said. "If you're not speeding, what do you think he wants?"

Mat laughed. "He's there in case we get a flat or something," he said.

Larkin looked at him and smiled. "That's what the file said," he said. "Wohl is very careful, very thorough. And very bright."

"You have pretty good files, Mr. Larkin," Matt said.

"Yeah, we do," Larkin said.