“Did you say something about somebody getting shot here last night?” A woman’s voice from behind him.

Stone turned to find a tall woman in designer casual, pale red hair, freckled skin, handsome nose, big green eyes. “I did,” Stone said. “In the wee small hours of the morning, right out there.” He nodded in the direction of East Fifty-fifth.

“You a cop?” she asked. “You’re not dressed like one.”

“Used to be, in my extreme youth. Now I practice the law, instead of enforcing it.”

“I’m Hank Cromwell,” she said, offering a hand.

Stone shook it. “Hank?”

“My mother named me Henrietta. It didn’t take.”

“I’m Stone Barrington.”

“Sounds like a lawyer’s name.”

“You have something against lawyers?”

“Not a thing. Maybe that’s because I’ve never had to hire one.”

“You’ve led a blameless life, then?”

“I wouldn’t go as far as that. Let’s just say I never got caught.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m an illustrator—books, magazines, advertising—wherever the work is.”

Stone handed her a cocktail napkin and his pen. “Illustrate something.”

She took the pen, made a few quick strokes, and handed back the napkin.

He found a recognizable sketch of himself, sparely drawn. “Okay, you’re an illustrator.”

“You thought I was lying?”

“I wanted to see if you’re any good. You are.” He looked up to see Dino and Viv getting out of Dino’s departmental black SUV on Third. “I’m meeting a couple for dinner. Would you like to join us?”

She shrugged. “Why not? I’m hungry.”

The couple came through the doors, and Stone introduced them to Hank, then they went to the back room and found their table.

“I’ll bet you two just met,” Dino said.

“Why do you say that?” Hank asked.

“Because no woman who already knows Stone would have dinner with him.”

“Calumny,” Stone said.

“I’m on Stone’s side,” Viv said to her. “Dino just likes to needle him.”

“I thought,” Hank replied.

“I went to see Sean Donnelly this afternoon,” Dino said.

“I hope he was in terrible pain and getting worse,” Stone replied.

“You were right about the roses, they were driving him nuts.”

“Did he tell you anything?”

“He doesn’t know anything,” Dino said.

“Somebody thinks he does.”

Hank broke in. “Is this the guy who got shot last night?”

“Right,” Dino said. “How’d you know?”

“I heard Stone talking to the bartender about it.”

“Charlie called nine-one-one, but he wasn’t too upset about it,” Stone said.

“Sean has that effect on people. By the way, he hates your guts, calls you StonefuckingBarrington.”

Stone laughed. “I choose my enemies well.”

“What about you, pal?” Dino asked.

“Me? What about me?”

“You had any . . . repercussions?”

“A couple of Secret Service agents showed up with a hundred-dollar bill that Joan deposited in my account.”

“Payment for legal advice?”

“You could say that. They felt that the bill was too old to be in my possession. It was printed sometime after 1966.”

“One of those with the red seal on them?”

“That’s it.”

“Should I mention that to Sean Donnelly?”

“You do, and I’ll shoot you in a painful place.”

Dino laughed.

“You guys lead interesting lives,” Hank said. “What do you do, Viv?”

“I used to be a cop, too, but these days I’m a security executive.”

“What’s that?”

“I work for a large security company called Strategic Services.”

“And you do what?”

“We secure things and people. How about you?”

“Illustrator.”

“She’s not kidding,” Stone said, producing the cocktail napkin with his portrait.

“Not bad,” Viv said.

“You missed the shifty eyes,” Dino pointed out.

Hank laughed. “Next time, I’ll make them shiftier.”

They ordered dinner and a bottle of wine. Four steaks and a lot of fries later, Stone invited them all back to his place for a nightcap. They rode in Dino’s car.

“Listen,” Dino said, as they got out at Stone’s house, “you should watch your ass for a while. Sean knows you’re mixed up with Fratelli, and if he knows, other people know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stone said.

“I know you’re not used to it these days, but you should start carrying.”

“I guess so,” Stone said.

18

Stone let them into the house, entered the alarm code, and took their coats.

“Very nice,” Hank said, looking around the well-lit living room. “You must spend a fortune on lightbulbs.”

“The new lightbulbs cost a fortune,” Stone said, “but they’re supposed to outlive me.” He herded them toward the study, where the lights were already on, too. “Actually, the lights come on when the alarm code is entered. If it’s entered incorrectly, they flash on and off, the cops are called, and the surveillance cameras come on. What can I get you?”

“A cognac, if you have it.”

“I have it. Do you have a preference?”

“The costliest,” Hank replied.

Stone laughed and poured them all a vintage cognac.

“You seem a little on the paranoid side, Stone,” Hank said, settling into the leather sofa. “Security system, flashing lights, surveillance cameras.”

“He’s not paranoid enough,” Dino said, “and if I were you I wouldn’t get too near him, until a certain matter is resolved, or you could become collaterally damaged.”

Stone pressed a button and a panel slid silently up, revealing a safe. He opened it, retrieved a small handgun and a holster, and clipped it to his belt, then he joined Hank on the sofa.

“There,” he said. “Feel better?”

“Only slightly,” she said. “There’s always the chance that you’ll shoot me.”

“If it helps,” Viv said, “all of us here are armed, with the possible exception of yourself.”

Hank reached into her thick hair and produced an old-fashioned hatpin, about six inches long. “Only this,” she said, “for incipient rapists.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stone said.

“Why, were you planning to rape me?”

“Not while that pig-sticker is in your hand.”

She returned the pin to her hair. “There,” she said, “out of the way.”

Everybody laughed. Then the doorbell rang, and the laughter stopped.

“Who the hell is that, this time of night?” Dino asked.

Stone pressed a button on the phone on his desk and a small screen lit up, revealing a well-lit person wearing a blue shirt and a blue baseball cap, standing with his back to the door. “Yes?” he asked into the phone.

The man didn’t turn around but waved something that looked like a FedEx envelope. “Mr. Barrington? Delivery.”

“Just put it through the slot in the door,” Stone replied.

“Sorry, I need a signature.”

“Be right with you.” Stone stood up.

“Watch yourself, pal,” Dino said, standing himself. He unholstered a handgun.

“Be right back,” Stone said, unholstering his own weapon.

Viv walked to the door and stood where she could see them.

Stone went to the door, put the chain on, and opened it a crack, standing well away from it. “Okay,” he said, “hand it through.”

An envelope came through the door and, simultaneously, there came two rapid booms from the other side of the door, and it moved inward, yanking the chain tight. Then there was the sound of running footsteps, the slamming of a car door, and the noise of rubber burning.

Stone unhooked the chain, but Dino grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back. “This is a police matter,” he said, stepping onto the front stoop, his gun held before him.

Stone pulled the door open and looked over his shoulder. Taillights turned right on Second Avenue. “You see anything?”

“Just the taillights,” Dino replied. He pointed at the front door, where pockmarks had been left and paint burned away.