Major didn’t like it, sitting back for a moment and glaring, but then Devlin caught a movement in his brow—Major was realizing that Devlin was serious enough to forget their long friendship and turn himself into just another tough guy behind a shield. Devlin couldn’t remember a time he had played tough with a pal. The taste was very unpleasant. But this was not a time for him to dwell on unpleasantnesses. People were trying to frame him, maybe trying to kill him, and he dared not cut anybody any slack.

Major stepped through the door, drawing his head down into his collar as he forced himself into the rain. Devlin had a couple of minutes, enough for him to use the telephone. He still had to talk to Sal. And Harry Levine would be back from the meeting with the mayor and Torres.

Devlin had to move quickly to get to the telephone before a woman coming in from outside reached it first. He thought of producing the shield and telling her he was on police business, but he—and Major—didn’t need the attention. She muttered something and moved toward the counter. Sal’s line rang. Devlin wiped the window again for something to do. With Sal you had to wait. Sometimes Sal was up to his elbows in a car’s umbilicals and it took him eleven rings to wipe the grease from his hands. Even so, Sal’s telephone was the color of the bilge in a Nigerian tanker.

Devlin was thinking about Lederer again. Lederer hadn’t so much paid the Quinns the respect their position as saps deserved, or made the mistake of assuming that Devlin would not be around to be able to identify them, as simply had been lazy—lazy, nothing else, about wrapping up a loose end. As of last night, Brennan, his girlfriend, and their killer were dead; all, or more likely, almost all, of his employers’ objectives had been gained, the links from the crimes back to their perpetrators broken—No, not all: there was Antonucci. Antonucci in custody. Antonucci was standing up, a man among men. What marvelous stuff he must have been told to make him put the steel of heroes in his spine! Now Sal picked up.

“Frank Devlin, Sal.” The traffic lights on Queens Boulevard changed and cars began to stop. At least Major wasn’t going to be out in the rain any longer than necessary. “What happened last night?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Devlin. I ran too late up in the Bronx. Did you get my message? Do you still need me?”

“What do you mean, message? I didn’t get any message.”

“I called your place this morning.”

“The kid came around and got the key last night.”

“Your car key?”