This, too, was a legacy from the reign of Jerry Carlucci as police commissioner. At the very first Commissioner's Reception to which then Sergeant Wohl had gone (under the mantle of then active Chief Inspector Wohl), the food had been heavily Italian in flavor When the mayor's many friends in the Italian community had heard that Jerry was having a party for the other cops on the Day After New Year's Day, it seemed only right that they sort of help him out.
You can say a lot of things, many of them unpleasant, about Jerry Carlucci, but nobody ever heard of him taking a dime. And on what he's making as commissioner, he can't afford to feed all them cops. Angelo, call Salvatore, and maybe Joe Fierellio, too, and tell them I'm gonna make up some pasta and a ham, and maybe some pastry, and send it out to Jerry Carlucci's house, for the Day After New Year's Day cop party he's giving, and ask them maybe they want to get in on it.
By the time Commissioner Carlucci's Second Annual Day After New Year' s Day Reception was held, the Commissioner's many friends in the other ethnic communities of the City of Brotherly Love had learned what the Italians had done. The repast of the Second Reception had been multinational in scope. By the time of Commissioner Carlucci's last Day After New Year's Day Reception (three years before; two days after which he had to resign to run for mayor), beingpermitted to make a little contribution to the Commissioner's Day After New Year's Day Reception carried a certain cachet among the city's restaurateurs, fish mongers, pastry bakers, florists, and wholesale butchers.
"When did you start drinking that?"
"Right after the waiter filled the glass."
"I mean, start drinking champagne?"
"As soon as I heard it was free, Mother."
"Don't be a smarty-pants, Peter. It gives me a headache, is what I mean."
"Then if I were you, I wouldn't drink it."
A tall, muscular, intelligent-faced young man, who looked to be in his late twenties, walked up to them.
"Good afternoon, Inspector," he said, and nodded at Olga Wohl. "Ma' am."
"Hello, Charley," Wohl said. "Do you know my mother?"
"No, I don't. I know Chief Wohl, ma'am."
"Mother, this is Sergeant Draper. He's Commissioner Cohan's driver."
"Nice to meet you," she said. "Are you having a nice time?"
"Yes, ma'am. Inspector, when you have a minute, the commissioner would like to have a word with you."
"Which commissioner, Charley?" Wohl asked. "Your commissioner, or that one?"
He raised his glass in the direction of half a dozen men gathered in a knot. One of them was the Hon. Jerry Carlucci. The others were Chief Inspector Augustus Wohl, Retired, Chief Inspector Matt Lowenstein, Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin, Captain Jack McGovern, and Police Commissioner Taddeus Czernick.
"Mine, sir," Sergeant Draper said, a little chagrined. "Commissioner Cohan is over thataway." He pointed with an inclination of his head.
"Tell him I'll be right with him."
"Yes, sir."
"Where, by the way," Olga Wohl asked as soon as Draper was out of earshot, "is your driver?"
"I don't have a driver, Mother. I am a lowly staff inspector."
"You know what I mean. The Payne
boy. Your father likes him."
"Oh, you mean, my administrative assistant?"
"You know very well what I meant. Shouldn't he be here?"
"I believe Officer Payne is having dinner with his parents."
"He should be here. He could meet people."
"He already knows people."
"I mean theright people."
"He already knows the right people. He told me that he and his father were going to play golf with H. Richard Detweiler and Chadwick T. Nesbitt this morning."
"Really?"
Chadwick T. Nesbitt III and H. Richard Detweiler were chairman of the board and president, respectively, of Nesfoods, International, which had begun more than a century before as Nesbitt Potted Meats and was now Philadelphia's largest single employer.
"Now ifI were interested in social climbing, I probably could have talked myself into an invitation."
"You don't play golf."
"I could learn."
"He's a policeman now, Peter. It doesn't matter who his family is."
"Mother, I have no intention of telling them, but I'll bet you a dollar to a doughnut that if Jerry Carlucci or the commissioner knew where Matt is, they would be delighted."
Mrs. Wohl sniffed; Peter wasn't sure what it meant.
"I'd better go see what Cohan wants," Wohl said. "Can I trust you to go easy on the booze?"
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Peter Wohl!"
"I'll be right back," Wohl said. "I hope."
Deputy Commissioner-Administration Francis J. Cohan was a fairskinned, finely featured, trim man of fifty or so. He was dressed in a suit almost identical to Peter Wohl's, but instead of the blue buttondown collar shirt and striped necktie, he wore a stiffly starched white shirt and a tie bearing miniature representations of the insignia of the International Association of Chiefs of Police.
"Happy New Year, Commissioner," Wohl said. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Happy New Year, Peter," Cohan said, smiling and offering his hand. " Yes, I did. Why don't we get ourselves a fresh drink and find a quiet corner someplace? What is that, champagne?"