The Mayor Dreams of Holmesburg - The Wheelman
By Duane Swierczynski
MCGLINCHEY’S WAS DRAPED IN HUGE PLUMES OF gray-tinged smoke, which was to be expected. It was 10 P.M. on a Friday.
“What’s this?”
“Take a look.” Mothers slid a sheet across the black Formica table.
Wanted by the FBI
Identification Order No. 744 565 D
Patrick Selway Lennon
With aliases: P.S. Lennon, Pat Lenin, Pete Thompson, Lawson Sel-way, Charles Banks, Ray Williams, “Len.”
Description
Born August 22, 1972, in Listowel, Ireland. Five feet eight inches tall, 170 pounds, with dark brown hair and blue eyes. Occupations: cook, laborer, clerk, writer. Scars and marks: one and half-inch horizontal scar on back of left hand, three-inch scar on throat, brown birthmark on right hip. Due to a throat wound suffered during a previous bank robbery attempt, Lennon is unable to speak.
Caution
Lennon is probably armed and should be considered extremely dangerous.
It was an FBI Wanted poster, freshly printed from the Internet, and Saugherty noticed that the date on it was tomorrow. The lieutenant was giving him advance copy. Saugherty read it. “This is the guy from the bank heist this morning?”
“One of them, yeah.” Mothers had a swallow of porter beer.
“I thought they were all black guys.”
“No, just one of them—Harrison Crosby. His partner was one of those Eminem wannabes, name of Holden Richards. And the getaway driver was this mick—Lennon.”
“Well, I hope the FBI catches them soon,” Saugherty said. “Golly, do I miss police work. Frankly, I don’t know how you can stand it. You want another beer? I’m thinking about one of those Memphis Dogs, too.”
“Yeah, I’ll have another. Stay away from those dogs, though. I’ve been coming here since those little colon bombs were only a quarter a piece, and I still regret every single one I ever ate. There’s something else about this guy Lennon.”
“What’s that?”
“You know that girl who got smacked by the getaway car?”
“Yeah. She okay?”
“She’ll recover.”
“And the baby?”
“Not a scratch. But the girl is somebody important.”
“To who?”
“To the mayor.”
“Who is she?”
“A political operative. Lives in Holmesburg, over on Leon Street.”
“I’m guessing he values her oral presentations.”
“To the tune of $20,000. Just for bringing this asshole down. Word went out this evening at the roundhouse. I thought you might be interested, seeing how you were looking to put a deck on the back of your house.”
“Nah, I’m past the deck thing. Now I’m thinking, feng shui. My whole house is out of spiritual alignment.”
“Costs a lot of money to realign your spirit.”
“Wait. It’s not called spirit; some other word. Chi. That’s it. My chi.”
“Chi whiz,” Mothers said. “So, Paul—can I tell the mayor you’ll be investigating this case on a freelance basis?”
“You can tell the mayor that I’m a big fan of Holmesburg, and that I’m always looking out for its residents.”
“The mayor will be pleased.”
“Patrick Lennon will not,” Saugherty said.
A swallow later: “The mayor doesn’t want him alive, does he?”