Why did you say that? Jesus, that was dumb! Three drinks and your mouth gallops away with you!

"You're the boss. You say sit on the house, we'll sit on the house."

"Tell me what you think is going to happen, Tony," Wohl said.

"I'll tell you what I don't don't think is going to happen," Harris said. think is going to happen," Harris said.

"Okay. Tell me what's not going to happen."

"I don't think we're going to catch anybody but this dirty cop. The Mob is going to come up with some pretty clever way to get their hands on that suitcase without us catching them at it."

"Okay. So what would you do if you were me?"

"Let's say we catch Lanza actually handling the suitcase to, say, Ricco Baltazari. We arrest them. They have the best lawyers around. They say we set them up. They ask all kinds of questions of how come we were watching Lanza in the first place. The guy has a spotless record, et cetera. And Lanza is not, I'll bet my a.s.s on it, going to pa.s.s the suitcase to anybody. If they send somebody for it, or they tell Lanza to carry it someplace and give it to somebody, we arrest him, it will be some jerk we can't tie to Baltazari or anybody else. And Lanza pleads the Fifth and won't help either. He takes the fall. He pleads guilty to stealing a suitcase. He doesn't know anything about drugs, he just stole a suitcase. First offense, what'll he get?"

"What I asked, Tony, is what you would do if you were in charge?"

"You really want to know, or are we just sitting here killing time bulls.h.i.tting?"

"I really want to know."

"I go up to the door, I say 'Sorry to bother you this time of night, Mrs. Lanza, but Vito brought my suitcase here, and I'm here to collect it.' She gives me the suitcase, while you and O'Dowd watch, and O'Dowd takes pictures, and then we bust her for possession of cocaine, or whatever s.h.i.t is in the suitcase. And then we go get Vito out of his girlfriend's bed and tell him he better go down to Central lockup and see what he can do for his mother, who's charged with possession with the intent to distribute. And the Mob is out however much s.h.i.t they was trying to ship in."

There was a long silence.

"Not you, Tony," Wohl said, finally. "Martinez. In uniform."

"Martinez, the little Spic? What's he got to do with this?"

"Detective Martinez, Detective Harris, has been working undercover at the airport, trying to catch whoever has been smuggling drugs." Martinez, Detective Harris, has been working undercover at the airport, trying to catch whoever has been smuggling drugs."

"No s.h.i.t?"

"If Mrs. Lanza asked him questions about the airport, he would know the answers," Wohl said.

"Yeah," Harris said thoughtfully.

"That saloon is closed," Wohl said, after looking out the rear window. "Where can I find a telephone around here?"

"There's a pay station on Broad Street. If somebody hasn't ripped it off the wall."

"h.e.l.lo?"

"You awake, Matt?"

"Yes, sir. What's up?"

"You know Martinez's home phone and where he lives?"

"Yes, sir."

"Call him up. Tell him to put his uniform on, then pick him up, and meet me at Moyamensing and South Broad."

"Right now?"

"Right now."

The door to the apartment of Mrs. Antoinette Marie Wolinski Schermer opened just a crack. It was evident that she had the chain in place.

"What is it?" Mrs. Schermer asked, her tone mingled annoyance and concern.

"It's the police, Mrs. Schermer," Captain Swede Olsen said. "We're here to talk to Corporal Lanza."

When there was no immediate response, Captain Olsen added, "We know he's here, Tony. Open the door."

The door closed. It remained closed for about a minute, but it seemed much longer than that. And then it opened.

Vito, wearing a sleeveless undershirt and trousers, his hair mussed, stood inside the door.

"Corporal Lanza," Olsen said, "I'm Captain Olsen of Internal Affairs. These are Detectives Martinez and Payne. I think you can guess why we're here."

Vito looked at Martinez and Payne. His surprise registered in his eyes, but then they grew cold and wary.

"What's going on?"

"We want you to get dressed and come with us, Corporal," Olsen said conversationally.

"What for?"

"You know what for, Lanza," Olsen said.

"You got a warrant?"

"No. We don't have a warrant. We don't need a warrant."

"What's the charge?"

"That's going to depend in large part on you, Lanza. For the moment, you can consider yourself under arrest for theft of luggage from Eastern Airlines."

Lanza's face whitened.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lanza said.

"Detective Martinez," Olsen said, "will you go with Corporal Lanza while he puts his clothes on? Take his pistol."

"Yes, sir."

"This is some kind of mistake," Vito Lanza said.

"Get your clothes on, Lanza," Olsen said.

"You're a detective?" Lanza asked Martinez.

"Yeah, I'm a detective."

"Get your clothes on," Captain Olsen repeated. "It's over, Lanza."

Lanza turned and went into the apartment. Martinez followed him.

"Mrs. Schermer," Captain Olsen said. "Detectives are going to want to talk to you later today. They will call you either here, or at work, and set up a time."

"I don't know what this is all about," Tony said.

"You can talk about that with the detectives," Captain Olsen said.

The three stood at the door for the two or three minutes it took Vito to put his shoes and socks and a shirt on.

Finally he came back to the door, followed by Jesus Martinez, who carried Vito's off-duty snub-nosed revolver and its holster in his hand.

"Give the pistol to Detective Payne," Captain Olsen ordered. "And put handcuffs on Corporal Lanza."

They walked down the corridor to the elevator, where Vito saw that the door was being held open by a Highway Patrolman. There was another Highway Patrolman in the lobby, and when they got to the street, there were two Highway RPCs, the lights on their bubble gum machines flashing. There were two unmarked cars on the street, their behind-the-grills blue lights flashing, and three or four people in plainclothes Vito had been a cop long enough to know were fellow police officers.

Vito Lanza, for a moment, thought he was going to throw up, then he felt hands on his arms, and a Highway Patrolman put his hand on the top of Vito's head, and pushed down, so that Vito wouldn't bang his head on the door as he got into the back seat of one of the Highway RPCs.

"Watch your f.u.c.king head, sc.u.mbag," the Highway officer said.

Ricco Baltazari's voice, when he answered the telephone, was sleepy and annoyed.

"Yeah?" he snarled.

"Ricco?" Tony asked.

He recognized the voice. His tone changed to concern and anger.

"What are you doing, calling here?"

"Who is it?" Mrs. Baltazari asked, rolling over on her back.

"Ricco, the cops were just here. They arrested Vito."

"What?"

"A guy who said he was a captain, and two detectives, and they told him to get dressed, and they took his gun away and put handcuffs on him, and when I looked out the window, there was cop cars all over the street."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!"

"What is is it, honey?" Mrs. Baltazari asked. "Who is that?" it, honey?" Mrs. Baltazari asked. "Who is that?"

"Go back to sleep, for Christ's sake," Ricco said. "Okay. I'll take care of it. You just keep your mouth shut, Tony, you understand? "

"Ricco, I'm scared!"

"Just keep your G.o.dd.a.m.ned mouth shut!" Ricco said, and hung up.

He got out of bed, and found a cigarette, but no matches.

He walked to the bedroom door.

"Where are you going going?" Mrs. Baltazari demanded.

"Just, G.o.ddammit, go back to sleep."

Mr. Baltazari then went downstairs and into the kitchen and found a match for his cigarette, and lit it, and then banged his fist on the sink and said, "s.h.i.t!"

He then picked up the handset of the wall telephone and started to dial a number, but then hung up angrily.

If the cops have the cop, they maybe have this line tapped. I can't call from here. I'm going to have to go to a pay phone.

But s.h.i.t, if the cops have the cop, they're as likely to have Gian-Carlo 's phone tapped as they are to have this one tapped.

I'm going to have to go to Gian-Carlo's house and wake him up and tell him the cops have the cop. And that means they have the shipment for the people in Baltimore!

Jesus Christ! He's not going to like this worth a f.u.c.k! And Mr. Savarese!

It's not not my f.u.c.king fault! I don't know what happened, but my f.u.c.king fault! I don't know what happened, but it's not my f.u.c.king fault it's not my f.u.c.king fault!

But they're not going to believe that!

Oh, Jesus Christ!

Salvatore J. Riccuito, Esq., a slightly built, olive-skinned thirty-two -year-old, was a recent addition to the district attorney's staff. Prior to his admission to the bar, he had spent eleven years as a police officer, mostly in the 6th District, pa.s.sing up opportunities to take examinations for promotion in order to find time to graduate from LaSalle College and then the Temple University School of Law, both at night.

Understandably, because he knew how cops thought and behaved, if he was available, he was a.s.signed cases involving the prosecution of police officers. When this case had come up, via a 3:15 A.M. telephone call from Thomas J. "Tommy" Callis, the district attorney himself, Sal had pleaded unavailability. Callis has been unsympathetic.

"We'll rearrange your schedule. Get down to Narcotics and see Inspector Peter Wohl."

Sal knew there was no point in arguing. Wohl had been the investigator in the case that resulted in Judge Findermann taking a long-term lease in the Pennsylvania Penal System. Callis had prosecuted himself. The publicity would probably help him get re-elected.

In a way, Sal thought as he drove to the Narcotics Unit, it was flattering. Wohl almost certainly had not asked for "an a.s.sistant DA." He had either asked for "a good a.s.sistant DA" or possibly even for him by name.

"Let me tell you how things are, Vito," Sal, who had grown up six blocks from Vito, but didn't know him personally, said.

Vito was sitting handcuffed to a steel captain's chair in one of the interview rooms in the headquarters of the Narcotics unit. He was slightly mussed, as it had been necessary to physically restrain him on his arrival at Narcotics, when he had seen his mother similarly handcuffed to a steel captain's chair.

"Tell me how things are," Vito said with a bl.u.s.ter that was almost pathetically transparent.

"You're dead. That's how things are. They saw you steal the suitcase. They saw you sneak it out to the parking lot. They have photographs photographs."