“If Barone Financial is dirty, won’t that give you what you need to go after Abalone?”

“Maybe, depends how dirty, but you can be sure that if Ippolito and Sturmack are mob, they’re going to ave some distance between them and Barone. It’ll be hard to nail them for one dirty operation; they could lay it off on Barone himself. I’ll bet he doesn’t report to either of the two big guys; there’s got to be a layer in between.”

“What about the raid on Vinnie’s Deli?” Stone asked Grant.

“It’s set for twoP.M. tomorrow. We thought it best to go in when the tracks are open.”

“Good. Did you get a personal warrant on Vinnie?”

“Yeah; it’s too much to hope we’ll catch him on the premises.”

“If I were you, I’d have a tail on him before the raid. If he gets a call, he could run.”

“I agree.”

“Hang on,” Cable said, “what’s this about a raid on a bookie joint? How does that tie in?”

“Vincent Mancuso, the owner of the deli where the bookie joint is running, works for Ippolito,” Grant said.

“Directly?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, if you get a good bust on the bookmaking charge, maybe you can use it to turn Mancuso.”

“I doubt it,” Grant said. “He’ll plead it down and do some time, and Ippolito will take care of him.”

Stone spoke up. “How about if you add attempted murder to the mix? Mancuso and his pal tried to kill me.”

“I thought you wanted to stay dead.”

“Tell him you’ve got a witness to the attempt, and you traced the boat to him. That’s not an outright lie.”

“It might work; who knows? I’d like to have something really heavy to hit him with, though. Pity the murder didn’t take; then we could use the threat of the death penalty to get him talking.”

Stone laughed. “That’s more than I’m willing to give for the cause.” Then he thought of something. “Wait a minute; Mancuso doesn’t know the murder didn’t take; charge him with murder.”

“I can’t do that, Stone; I know you’re alive.”

“Okay, then don’t charge him, but tell him you’re going to in interrogation.”

“It’s worth a try, but he’s going to lawyer up the minute we get him to a station.”

“Then ride him around a little; talk to him in the car. Tell him that if he hands you Manny and Ippolito for the murder and tells you what he knows about Ippolito’s operations, he’ll walk on both charges.”

“Come on, Stone, that’s not going to work. We can’t charge Ippolito for a murder that didn’t work out, and I doubt if somebody like Mancuso knows anything of importance about Ippolito.”

Cable spoke up. “You’re better off getting what you can from Mancuso using the bookie charge as a weapon, without implicating Ippolito. That would only tip him off, he’d pull up the drawbridge, and I don’t want that. I want to get alot of stuff on him before we move.”

“I guess you’re right,” Stone said.

“Look, Stone,” Cable said, “I get the impression that you want all this to happennow, but it’s not going to. It takes time to get enough evidence to prosecute financial crimes.”

“I understand.”

“Of course, if you could come up with a witness who knows at least some of the inside workings of Abalone, that would move things right along.”

“Let me think about that,” Stone said.

“Oh,” Cable said, “there was mention of a kidnapping.”

“I’m not sure about that yet,” Stone replied. “I’ll have to get back to you.”

“Stone,” the FBI agent said, “try not to get anybody killed, okay? Kidnappings are dicey.”

“I’ll try,” Stone replied.

After dinner, Grant and Stone said good night to Hank Cable, then walked into the parking lot.

“I’ve got two things for you,” Grant said, taking a package from his car and handing it to Stone. “This is a little Walther 7.65 millimeter that conceals easily, along with a shoulder holster.”

“Thanks, Rick,” Stone said. “It’s perfect.”

Grant handed him an envelope. “This is a carry permit,” he said. “I walked it through myself. It’s the kind of thing retired cops get, and it doesn’t specify a particular weapon. I don’t want you to get caught carrying, even accidentally, without a license.”

“I really appreciate that, Rick.”

“I also don’t want you to shoot anybody with that pistol, although it’s as clean as a weapon can be. It would be a great embarrassment to me if you popped anybody.”

“Rick, I understand your position, really I do. I can’t promise you I won’t use the piece, but I do promise you that if I do, it will be a good shooting.”

Grant sighed. “I guess that’s the most I can hope for,” he said.

Stone drove slowly back to the Beverly Hills Hotel. He had registered there under his own name, and he hadn’t changed cars. He was hoping against hope that somebody would mess with him again, particularly since he was now armed.

Stone had a mid-morning breakfast on his terrace overlooking the hotel’s gardens, thinking about what Hank Cable had said at dinner the night before. He needed a witness to get enough on Ippolito to persuade his superiors to go after somebody so prominent. Stone could think of only two candidates. He telephoned the first.

“Hello?” Her voice was careful, neutral.

“Barbara, it’s St…Jack Smithwick.”

“What number are you calling, please?”

“Is he there?”

“I’m sorry, you’ve dialed the wrong number,” she said. Then, just before she hung up, she whispered “Call in an hour.”

At loose ends, Stone went down to the swim, read the papers at poolside, then asked for a phone and called again.

“Hello?”

“I believe the appropriate question is, ‘Is the coast clear?’”

She laughed. “Yes, it’s clear.”

“You free for lunch?”

“Sure, and I’ve got a car this time.”

“Meet me at the pool at the Beverly Hills Hotel, and bring a bikini-a very small one.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.” She hung up.

Stone swam a few laps, then hailed a poolboy and arranged for a cabana.

She saw him from a distance, then walked toward him, along the poolside, unbuttoning her cotton dress as she came.

For a moment he thought she was stripping in public, but when she stepped out of the dress she was wearing a very, very small bikini. She turned heads, and they didn’t stop looking when she sat down at the table next to him and gave him a big wet kiss.

“I was hoping you’d call,” she said. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“I’m glad I did. I ordered us both a bacon cheeseburger; I hope it’s as good as the last one.”

“I’m sure it will be,” she said.

They ordered piña coladas, and then lunch came. When they were finished, Stone got serious.

“Barbara, I want to ask you some questions, and I hope you’ll give me straight answers.”

“Okay.”

“First of all, was everything you told me about yourself the other night the truth?”

“Yes, but that’s more than I can say for you.”

“What?”

“Your name isn’t Jack Smithwick, is it?”

Stone reddened. “How did you know?”

“You think I’m so dumb that I can’t tell when a man gives me a false name? Anyway, nobody is named Smithwick.”

“I apologize,” he said.

“Let’s start over.” She held out her hand. “I’m Barbara Tierney.”

Stone took the hand. “My name is Stone Barrington.”

“Stone,” she said. “I like that.”

“It was my mother’s maiden name.”

“It’s nice. Now, why didn’t you tell me your real name from the beginning? I would have liked you a lot better.”

It escaped Stone how she could possibly have liked him better than the first time they met. “If you’ll forgive me, I’ll answer that later, but I will tell you the truth.”

“All right. What do you want to know from me?”

“What do you know about Martin Barone?”

She blinked. “How do you know his name?”

“I got lucky.”

“Stone, you said you’d tell me the truth.”

“I had him investigated, but I didn’t find out much; I need to know more.”