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“‘Five-Eff’?” Washington interrupted, raising his eyebrows. “Where have I heard that?”

Payne grinned and nodded, then explained, “I’ve never been a big fan of Fuller. I admire his ability to seemingly mint money, but not his method of doing it. He and I have had our differences for years. So while some call him Four-Eff, shorthand for Francis Franklin Fuller the Fifth, I added one more—”

“Ah,” Washington again interrupted, “I believe I know what your fifth F might be. And I remember why it’s vaguely familiar.”

Payne smiled.

“Then I take it that you’ve heard of Fucking Francis Franklin Fuller the Fifth?” he said rhetorically.

That triggered a deep chuckle from Washington.

“Yes,” he said, “and I actually heard it from our beloved mayor.”

“And Hizzoner heard it from me,” Payne added.

“Did he really?” Coughlin said, his tone suggesting disapproval.

“It was a slip of the tongue for the mayor,” Washington said. “At least at first. After he realized he’d said, ‘Five-Eff,’ he added, ‘That Matt Payne is a bad influence. He’s used that enough that now I’ve picked it up. But I cannot blame him. Mostly because I agree with him. Five-Eff is . . .’ And then he enthusiastically repeated the entire name.”

“And one of the reasons that I gave ol’ Francis that indelicate sobriquet,” Payne went on pointedly, “is because his companies—and thus Five-Eff himself—shamelessly suck at the taxpayer teats. What did he get for building that shiny new high-rise over on Arch Street? The city and state kicked in some fifty million bucks for the development, on top of another fifty mil in tax abatements. Not bad for a guy whose personal fortune is some two thousand million dollars.”

“The argument,” Coughlin put in, “is that the building and the companies established therein are going to bring more jobs to our fair city.”

“Yeah. But to only Center City,” Payne said. “Meantime, today, with Philly having more people in deep poverty than any other major U.S. city, the only skills the thugs have learned revolve around selling dope—and worse.”

“You allow Fuller no points for the funding of Lex Talionis?” Washington said.

“The last thing that Five-Eff is, Jason, is altruistic. That bad-guy bounty of twenty grand that he pays is a personal passion for him. What happened to his family was absolutely terrible. But, as we all well know, that is what’s happening every day to those trapped in Philly’s decaying neighborhoods.”

Washington was nodding.

He said: “And his wife and daughter, caught in the crossfire, became collateral damage of what essentially was just one day’s battle for turf. The next day comes another, and the next day . . . It is indeed tragic.”

“Which is why,” Payne went on, his tone bitter, “someone needs to get around the incompetents and thieves on the city council—the ones who would have us all be mushrooms, kept in the dark and fed a steady diet of manure. We need to connect directly with those who desperately need help. It’s been more than a hundred years since that journalist—Lincoln Whatshisname . . . Lincoln Steffens—wrote about graft in America’s big cities and said it was the worst here.”

“‘Philadelphia: Corrupt and Contented,’ he called it,” Washington said.

“Exactly, Jason. And nothing’s changed with that. A century later, look where we’ve come.”

Washington nodded again and thought, No surprise he’s taking this on personally. Matthew has always thought ahead of the conventional wisdom. The word wisdom being used loosely.

“Impressive,” Washington said.

“Don’t encourage him, Jason,” Denny Coughlin said. “Matty’s ego is enormous enough as it is.”

Payne looked at Coughlin. He saw that he was smiling.

Payne returned it, then said, “Thanks, Jason. But not really. More like just common sense. We’re looking at it as another part of the business of fighting crime—that is, hopefully stopping future criminal acts. We know that our typical murderer and victim is a black male, eighteen to thirty-four years of age, with at least one prior arrest. If, instead of putting the guys on probation and then just throwing them back into their old hoods—where possibly, if not probably, they fall back into their old ways—if we can help them find suitable housing and learn a marketable skill, they may not commit a second—or tenth—crime. And/or get killed.”

“Seems like a long shot,” Coughlin said, “but a worthy one.”

“Something has to change,” Payne said. “Granted, the odds of failure are high for the hardest cases, but some, especially the younger ones, you can reach. And then there’s Pretty Boy—”

“Pretty Boy?” Coughlin said.

“Detective Will Parkman—he got that handle from his fellow marines, who apparently have a warped sense of humor, as even he admits ‘pretty’ is the last word that comes to mind when you see him. I give Parkman a world of credit. He quietly sponsors an academic scholarship in criminal justice at La Salle, and has arranged for others to sponsor ones there, and he mentors as many students as he can.”

He looked between Coughlin and Washington.