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“It’s not surprising. Every politician’s priority from their first day in office is to get reelected.”

“And this press conference is part of that.” Coughlin paused, cleared his throat, and added, “As is having the Wyatt Earp of the Main Line resign.”

Payne’s eyes grew wide.

“What?” he said.

“I told you that you wouldn’t like it. It’s a lousy, rotten deal, Matty. No question.”

Coughlin studied him, expecting Matt to explode any minute.

But he didn’t. He simply shook his head in disgust.

“So, is Hizzoner going to announce I’m quitting?”

“Not today.”

“And . . . if I don’t obediently pack my bags and go away, Uncle Denny,” he said, his tone even, “what then?”

“Think that through. It can get ugly, Matty. For starters, the citizen complaints against you have been steadily accumulating. They will be used against you.”

“Those are bogus complaints. Most were made by ghetto ninjas.” He paused, then added, “No income, no jobs.”

“Still, if you were not to resign and those complaints were used against you—especially in this current hostile climate—that’s all that’s needed for a case to be made for suspension w

ithout pay for thirty days with intent to dismiss.”

“That’s, essentially, a firing, and a shitty way of firing.”

“It’s part of the process—”

“Which the FOP will fight tooth and nail, first in arbitration.”

Payne did not have to state the obvious, that no matter what the Fraternal Order of Police accomplished, there would follow a lawsuit. One the city would have to settle for a high price.

“Some of the ugliness I mentioned,” Coughlin said, “comes when there’s generally the accusation made that the bad behavior happened because of failure of proper supervision.”

“Oversight by my superior.”

“It’s one reason I said to think this through,” Coughlin said, nodding. “You really don’t want Jason dragged unjustly through the mud. Among other things, that would very likely see his captain’s bars even further delayed . . .”

“This is bullshit!”

“. . . And even if you win arbitration—and, frankly, I think that you would, and, further, that you should win—then it would just be hell coming to work. Carlucci is a master, and the commissioner his puppet, and they’d see that your assignments ensured that you would be miserable.”

Payne thought, Jesus Christ. Here I thought it would be some petty prick like Wafflin’ Walker who would come after me with knives sharpened.

But it went all the way to the top.

Good ol’ Hizzoner himself!

“Uncle Denny, I always felt there was a trust here. That sounds damn naïve now . . .”

“No, Matty, it’s not. There is a trust. But when politics is involved, and especially money and power, all bets are off.”

Payne grunted again, loud this time.

“What?” Coughlin said.