“Done,” she said.

Stone picked up a stack of mail and leafed through it. An envelope with a Palm Beach, Florida, postmark caught his eye, and he opened it: a twenties-style cartoon of a man under a beach umbrella, a cocktail in one hand and a cigar in the other. Scrawled at the bottom: Good advice, thanks! J.F.

Well, Stone thought, John Fratelli can afford Palm Beach.

16

Dino Bacchetti attended a meeting at an uptown precinct, and among the subjects discussed was the shooting of Sean Donnelly.

“What’s happening with that?” Dino asked the group.

A detective spoke up. “We’re doing the obvious—checking his old cases for somebody newly out of the joint who has a grudge, but nothing yet. Donnelly’s being a bastard, won’t give us anything.”

“Why do you think he’s holding out on us?” Dino asked.

“I think he’s scared the perp will have another shot at him if he talks,” the detective replied.

The meeting broke up, and Dino got into his car and headed back downtown. Then they were passing New York Hospital, and he said to his driver, “Pull into the hospital. I want to visit somebody.”

Sean Donnelly was sitting up in bed, his left arm in a sling, disconsolately watching Fox News. He turned and saw Dino standing in the doorway, then turned back to the TV without speaking. A large vase of red roses rested on the windowsill.

“So, Sean,” Dino said, pulling up a chair to Donnelly’s bedside. “Tell me who shot you last night.”

“No idea,” Donnelly replied. “The blonde’s not bad, is she? I wouldn’t kick her out of the sack.”

“How come you’re stiffing the detectives on your case, Sean?”

“Spectacular tits, huh? Where do they find these women? You don’t see them on MSNBC—they’ve all gotta be so fucking smart over there. Either that or they’re dykes, like whatshername.”

“Sean, look at me,” Dino said.

Donnelly glanced at him, then turned back to the TV. “I’d rather look at the blonde’s tits, if it’s all the same to you, Dino.”

“I guess you retired before the department stopped us from talking like that,” Dino said. “I don’t give a shit about the blonde, I want to know who put a bullet in you.”

“Yeah? Why do you care?”

“Because I don’t want the local hit men running around taking potshots at retired police officers. The best way to stop ’em is to catch ’em. Why do I have to explain that to you?”

“What do you want, Dino? I already finished my Jell-O, so you can’t have that.”

“I told you what I want, give it to me.”

Donnelly sighed. “I was looking into an old case of mine, and I guess I got too close to somebody. Funny thing, the only guy I’ve talked to about it is your old buddy StonefuckingBarrington. Then somebody takes a shot at me. Go figure, huh?”

“Stone had nothing to do with this,” Dino said, “so don’t try and fob it off on him. Whose toes did you step on?”

“Eddie Buono’s, I guess.”

“Buono’s dead.”

“His pal Johnny Fratelli ain’t, and he just got out.”

“I hear somebody took a shot at Fratelli, too,” Dino said. “Would that be you?”

“Me? Why would I want Fratelli dead? He never did nothing to me.”

“Maybe he wants the same thing you do, and he got there first.”

“I want to solve a cold case—you think Fratelli wants that?”

“Why do you, all of a sudden, want to solve your cold case? You didn’t do anything about it for the fifteen years you’ve been retired.”

“Personal satisfaction,” Donnelly said.

“You think the money’s still out there, don’t you?”

Donnelly turned a little red in the face. “I fucking know the money’s still out there! We got Buono’s crew and most of their money, but Eddie never spent a dime of his cut, and he got half! He got busted and sentenced, less than a year after the airport job, for offing Paddy Riley, who ratted him out on an earlier gig. He weaseled out of that one, but not the Riley beef. He went up for Riley.”

“And you think Johnny Fratelli knows where the money is?”

“Look, Dino, Eddie Buono was scared shitless about getting raped in the joint. He was a pretty boy, and he just knew somebody was going to climb on him, so he hired Fratelli, who’s a big, tough guy, to keep the fags off his back. And he did, too—I talked to one of the guards on their cell block. They were cellmates for twenty-two years! Everybody was too afraid of Fratelli to make a pass at Eddie.”

“So, for that, Buono passed on the money to Fratelli?”

“He knew he was dying, what’s he gonna do, give it to the Salvation Army, in the hope of cracking the pearly gates? Them wops stuck together, or at least they did in the old days.”

Dino ignored the Italian slur. “So, where’s Fratelli? We’ll have a word with him.”

“He was in town, now I hear he’s out of town, nobody knows where. Except, maybe, StonefuckingBarrington. Fratelli was seen in his neighborhood. I guess he needed legal advice, and StonefuckingBarrington had a street rep as a standup guy, who wouldn’t rat him out.”

“And that’s why you went to see Stone? To get him to do something you knew he wasn’t going to do?”

“I thought maybe he’d do it for a cut.”

“Stone’s up to his ass in money. He had a rich wife who lost an argument with a shotgun from an old lover.”

“So he told me,” Donnelly said. “Who knew?”

“I thought everybody did,” Dino said. “I guess you lead a sheltered life.”

“I guess.”

“Sean, who shot you?”

“Somebody who wants the same thing I do.”

“And who might that be?”

“I hadn’t gotten that far in my investigation before I got plugged.”

“No idea at all?”

“None. Hey . . .” He pointed at the windowsill. “Find out who sent me them flowers—maybe that’s the guy.”

Dino suppressed a laugh. “What, there was no card?”

“Dino, if I could get outta this bed, I’d kick your ass. Maybe when I do, I will, just for the fun of it.”

Dino stood up to go. “Not on your best day, Sean.”

“Go see some of your guinea pals—that’s who did this. They’ll tell you all about it, I’ll bet. Maybe give you a cut.”

Dino walked over, took the remote control from the bedside table, switched off the TV, and tossed the remote out the window. “You’ll enjoy the day more without tits, Sean.” He walked out of the room and slammed the door. Behind him he could hear Donnelly yelling for a nurse.

17

Stone got to P.J. Clarke’s early, so he bellied up to the bar to wait for the others. Charlie, the longest-serving of the bartenders, handed him a Knob Creek on the rocks without asking. “How you doing, Stone?”

“Not too bad,” Stone replied.

“How’s Dino? We don’t see him much since they moved him downtown.”

“He’s good, be here in a few minutes. You knew he got married?”

“I heard it, but I didn’t believe it.”

“Believe it.” Stone saw two guys in construction clothes and hard hats come through the door, take a look around at all the twenty-somethings in their designer clothes, and leave in disgust.

Charlie laughed. “Not our trade, I guess.”

“Charlie, I hear somebody took a shot at Sean Donnelly when he left here last night.”

“Yeah, when Sean’s here he doesn’t leave until we throw him out. I heard the shots and went out there and found him in the gutter, called nine-one-one. I thought he was going to croak.”

“I hear he didn’t.”

“Tell you the truth, t’wouldna been a loss, far as I’m concerned. I wish he’d drink somewheres else. He’s got a mouth on him, annoys the ladies.”

“You see anybody when you went outside?”

“I heard some rubber burn on Third Avenue, but Sean left by the side door, so I didn’t see anything.” Charlie took somebody else’s order and moved away.