I didn’t have any breakfast, that’s what it is.
And then he realized that his having skipped breakfast because he didn’t want to be late his first morning on his new command had nothing to do with it.
He thought of a sandwich shop not far from the Roundhouse where he could get an egg sandwich or something and a half pint of milk. But when he walked out of the rear door of the Roundhouse, he saw a Highway Patrol car coming out of the Central Lockup ramp.
He trotted over to it, tapped on the closed window, and told the surprised driver to take him to Highway.
As Peter got out of the Highway car, out of the corner of his eye he saw another unmarked car, Sabara’s, pull into the parking lot. The driver was Matt Payne. He looked around the parking lot and saw that his car, now wearing another shortwave antenna, was in the parking spot marked INSPECTOR.
He waited until Payne found a spot to park Sabara’s car and then walked to the building.
“Payne!”
Payne looked around and saw him, and walked over.
“Yes, sir?”
“You got radios in the cars?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That was quick,” Wohl thought aloud.
“Well, there really wasn’t much to it,” Payne said. “Just screw the mounting to the transmission tunnel, install the antenna, and make a couple of connections.”
“Come on in the office,” Wohl said. “I want to talk to you.”
“Yes, sir,” Payne said.
Wohl had a quick mental picture of himself having a short chat in his office, to feel the boy out, to get a better picture of him to see what he could do with him.
As soon as he got in the building, he saw that would be impossible. All the folding chairs were occupied. Some of the occupants were in uniform, and he didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to decide that the ones in plainclothes were policemen, too.
Sabara had gotten right to work, he decided. These people appeared to be looking for a job.
Sergeant Frizell immediately confirmed this: “Captain Sabara is interviewing applicants in there, sir,” he said.
“Wait here a minute, Payne,” Wohl said.
“Inspector,” Payne said, as Wohl put his hand on the office doorknob, and Wohl looked at him. “Captain Sabara’s keys, sir,” Payne said, handing them to him.
“Thank you,” Wohl said. He took the keys and went inside.
Sabara was behind the desk, with a personnel folder spread out before him. A uniformed cop sat nervously on the edge of a straight-backed chair facing the desk. Sabara started to get up, and Wohl waved him back.
There was something about the uniformed cop Wohl instinctively disliked. He had a weak face, Wohl decided. He wondered how he knew. Or if he knew.
“This is Inspector Wohl,” Sabara sa
id, and the cop jumped to his feet and put out his hand.
“How do you do, sir?” the cop said.
Confident that the cop couldn’t see him, Sabara made a wry face, and then shook his head, confirming Wohl’s own snap judgment that this cop was something less than they desired.
Why am I surprised? When there is a call for volunteers, ninety percent of the applicants are sure to be people unhappy with their present assignment, and, as a general rule of thumb people are unhappy with their jobs because they are either lazy or can’t cut the mustard.
“Here’s your keys, Mike,” Wohl said.