Final justice - W.E.B. Griffin [196]
"The problem is one of transportation, Tom. Bringing him back on the airlines poses a number of problems, as you can well imagine. The press, for one. The restrictions on even policemen carrying firearms on airplanes, for another."
"Cut to the chase, Brewster. Your pal Denny Coughlin would like to use Nesfoods's Citation to bring this character back here, right? And suggested you call me?"
"No, he did not. I really don't think using your airplane has ever entered his mind."
"This is your idea?"
"Which I had moments ago, just before I called."
"After drink number what?"
"Four, possibly five."
"You're my legal counsel-- counsel me. Why should I?"
"Well, for one thing, all expenses would be fully deductible."
"As you have so often pointed out to me, you have to spend money before you can claim it was spent for business purposes and is thus deductible from income. You know how much it costs to operate that airplane."
"It would have undeniable good public relations aspects, Tom."
"And your pal Denny had nothing to do with this idea of yours, right?"
"I told you he didn't, Tom," Payne said. There was a chill in his tone.
"So you did. And I'm still listening."
"My thought is that there would be benefits to both parties if you were to telephone Alvin Martin and say it has come to your attention--you may use my name, if you like--that the police are having a problem transporting this fellow back here, and that Nesfoods International, as concerned, good, corporate citizens of our fair community . . ."
"And you just happen to have the mayor's unlisted number, right?"
"No, but I have one he gave me in case I ever wanted to get in touch with him, day or night."
"Let's have it."
[FIVE]
Homer C. Daniels looked up as the door to his cell slid open. A moment later, the enormous black sergeant and the nearly-as -big white cop who followed him around appeared at the entrance, carrying the prisoner restraint system.
"You want to stand up, please?" Kenny ordered.
"Is all of this necessary?" Daniels asked. "I'm cooperating. I'm not going to try to get away."
"It's procedure," Sergeant Kenny said, gesturing with his finger for him to turn around.
If I had my way, you white trash pervert, you'd spend the rest of your life in this thing.
"If you have to go to the john, do it now," Kenny ordered. "You won't have another chance for a while."
"Where am I going?"
"You agreed to waive extradition to Philadelphia, right?"
Daniels nodded.
"That's where you're going."
Daniels relieved his bladder.
Sergeant Kenny and Officer Andrew Terry put the belts on Daniels. Then each put a hand on his arms and led him, shuffling, out of the detention area, down a corridor, and through another door.
They were now outside.
There was a line of police patrol cars, two with Daphne police department insignia on their doors, two with STATE TROOPER lettered largely on their trunks, and two black sedans--a Ford and a Mercury--with several antennae on their trunks and roofs but without police insignia. There were also, incongruously, both a red Ford Mustang convertible and a Lincoln Town Car in the line of cars.
A flash went off and Daniels saw that a redheaded man in a loud sports coat had taken his picture with a digital camera.
The rear door of the Daphne police department car nearest to the door was open, and Sergeant Kenny led him to it, taking care that he didn't bump his head, and then got in beside him, pulled the seat belt over Daniels's lap and then closed the door. The big white cop got behind the wheel.
When he looked out the window, Daniels saw the young homicide sergeant from Philadelphia, the homicide detective who'd shown up a couple of days before, the assistant district attorney, and four other men in civilian clothing who could have been detectives or lawyers.
As he watched, they distributed themselves among the other cars.
There was another flash, and Daniels saw that the redheaded man had taken his picture again.
Sergeant Kenny spoke to the microphone pinned to his shirt.
"We're ready here."
"Where are