He swiveled to his left in the chair and reached as far sideways as the handcuffs would allow, then got his desk drawer open. He rummaged among the drawer’s contents with his nose and chin, checking every cranny, but he found no key.

He started with the left-hand top drawer and repeated the process. It had to be here somewhere. Half an hour later, he still had two drawers to go, and he was exhausted. Then he heard the door open: they were coming back. He laid his head on the cool desktop and waited for Parese and his Glock.

54

“What the fuck?” a man’s voice said. He walked across the room, took hold of Stone’s shoulder, and sat him up in his chair.

Stone looked up at the man with bleary eyes. “Dino?”

“You’re some kind of host, you know that? We let ourselves in, as usual, and went to the study—no lights on. We went upstairs hollering for you, and then we come down here and find that you’re playing some sort of sex game. Where’s Hank? Gone out for lubricant?”

“Dino, please uncuff me.”

“Won’t that spoil things for Hank?”

“Dino, please.”

Dino rummaged in his pocket for his keys, came up with a ring, selected the smallest key, and unlocked the cuffs. “There you go. You want me to leave your feet taped?”

Stone shook his head wearily, rested his elbows on the desk, and put his face in his hands. Dino took a box cutter from a coffee mug on Stone’s desk, emblazoned with the legend NEW YORK CITY MORGUE, and cut through the duct tape binding Stone’s feet.

Viv came through the door. “What’s going on?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Dino said. “Stone and Hank have been playing games. He was wearing the cuffs.” He held them up.

“Oh, stop it, Dino. Stone, what’s happened?”

“I hardly know where to begin,” Stone said. He reached across the desk, grabbed a Chinese takeout carton and a pair of chopsticks, and shoveled some fried rice into his mouth. “Starved,” he mumbled. “Nothing since breakfast.”

Dino went to Stone’s office bar, filled three glasses with ice, poured them all a drink, and brought them back to the desk. He took away the fried-rice carton and handed Stone a Knob Creek. “Wash it down with this, and tell us what the fuck happened.” He and Viv took chairs and sipped their drinks, waiting for Stone to swallow.

“Okay,” Stone said finally, after taking a big breath and a big swallow of bourbon. “Hank and her boyfriend, Marty Parese, just stole five million dollars from me.”

“What five million dollars is that?” Dino inquired.

“The five million I was going to use to ransom Hank from Bats Buono—or to pretend to ransom, until I got a shot at him.”

“You said Marty Parese—we’re looking for him already. He blew when the chop shop got raided.”

“Hank and I had dinner last night, came home, went to bed, as usual. This morning Eggers called and asked me to fax him a document. I got dressed and came down here and somebody—make that Parese—hit me with something and knocked me out cold. When I woke up, Parese and Hank were using a counting and sorting machine to put the five million in order. My bank had scrambled it, and they wouldn’t take it back until it was sorted.”

“When did they leave?”

“Just after seven. You were due here at seven, weren’t you? Where the hell were you? You might have grabbed them.”

“The vagaries of being a public servant,” Dino said. “I worked a little late.”

“They sorted and banded the money—it was in two large leaf bags—and packed it into five or six suitcases on wheels. They took the machine with them, too. Parese wanted to kill me, but Hank stopped him.”

“I guess she’s just a sentimental softy,” Dino said. “Except for the part about stealing your money. Any idea where they went with it?”

“I figure they can’t take a plane, the bags might get X-rayed. They were in a van.”

“Make, model, and color?”

“I never saw it. They said it was a van.”

“Any idea where they’re driving to?”

“Parese said he had a week’s groceries in the van, so someplace with a kitchen.”

“Can you narrow that down for me?”

“Parese said they’d be out of the state by eight-thirty.”

“So, they weren’t going to New Jersey. That pretty much leaves Connecticut, if we’re talking bordering states. You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“The lake cabin? That’s the only thought I’ve had.”

“A good choice, probably. They reckon that the Connecticut State Police, having gone over the place thoroughly, won’t be going back there. Oh, I forgot to tell you, they found Bats Buono’s head in the Mercedes when they floated it.”

“Did the head have a nine-millimeter slug in it?”

“Good guess, Stone.”

“When you catch up with them, run Parese’s Glock through ballistics.”

“I’ll see that that happens. You want some more Chinese now?”

“I want a steak,” Stone said. “Let’s go to the kitchen.”

Stone found steaks in the fridge and, after seasoning the meat, threw them onto the Viking grill, while Viv boiled some potatoes and made a salad. Dino was on the phone with Dan Sparks, in Hartford.

“Oh, Dino,” Stone said, “I forgot to mention that one of them is probably going to kill the other, as soon as they’re at a safe place.”

Dino covered the phone. “You got a bet on who does the killing?”

“My money’s on Hank,” Stone said. “But you never know.”

“Right,” Dino said, “you never know.” Then he went back to his conversation with Sparks.

“Dino,” Stone said, and Dino covered the phone again. “Now what?”

“I got the impression they were planning some sort of money laundering, swapping the small bills for larger ones. Ask Dan if there’s anybody anywhere near the cabin that would deal in large sums of cash.”

Dino asked Dan Sparks and got an answer, then he hung up. “Dan says there are a couple of Indian-owned casinos within an hour or two’s drive of the cabin. The Indians don’t necessarily run them, they hire experienced managers, people with casino experience.”

55

Hank and Parese were driving north on the Sawmill River Parkway in the van.

“Slow down, Marty,” she said. “There’s a fifty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit up here, and we don’t want to get pulled over tonight of all nights.”

Parese slowed a little. “Awright.”

“See that switch on the steering wheel? That’s the speed control. Set it at fifty-five and leave it there.”

“Awright, awright.” He looked at the steering wheel and nearly missed a curve.

“Watch the road, I’ll do the speed control.” She leaned over and turned it on, then slowed the van to fifty-five and pressed the SET button. “There, take your foot off the accelerator.”

“You’re right,” he said. “You’re always right, babe.”

“I’m not smarter than you,” she said, softening her voice, “I’m just better at details.”

“I’m not going to argue that point,” he said.

“So, Marty, tell me how we’re going to do this.”

“Why don’t you just leave it to me, baby?”

“Details, Marty, I need to know the details.”

“All right: did Bats ever mention a guy named Tommy Dion to you?”

“Sounds vaguely familiar.”

“Tommy is an old-school Vegas guy. He grew up working the casinos out there, ended up managing a couple of them. When the Indians started opening casinos upstate, he signed on as a consultant to a couple of them, and they were so impressed they made him a manager. Tommy and my old man were tight all their lives, and I’ve done a deal with him.”

“What’s the deal?”

“He brings us four and a half million dollars in hundreds, and we give him five million in tens and twenties.”