I couldn’t see through the tinted windows, and it was too far to see the license plate, but obviously the Escalade was slowing for a reason. I was now sorry I hadn’t taken the carbine.

The Escalade stopped in the middle of the road, about thirty feet from me, and as I got closer, I could see the American flag decal on the side window, and I could also see that it was Anthony’s license plate.

But was Anthony in the car? And would he use his own car to whack John Sutter? He was stupid, but this was like Mafia Hit 101 – don’t use your own car or your own people, and don’t whack anyone in your own neighborhood.

I could speed past the Escalade, or make a U-turn, but for the above reasons, and because I was curious about who wanted to speak to me, I drew abreast of the Escalade and stopped.

The driver’s window went down, revealing Tony.

I lowered my window, and he said to me, “Hey, Mr. Sutta. I thought that was you. How ya doin’?”

“I’m doing very well. And how are you doing?”

“Great.”

I could see movement in the back seat, and I had the Taurus in drive and my foot ready to hit the accelerator. And if I had the carbine across my lap, I’d really feel better about this conversation.

He asked me, “Whaddaya up to?”

This idiot always asked the same stupid questions, and I replied, “Same old shit.”

“Yeah? How’s Mrs. Sutta?”

I almost said, “Fuck you,” but instead I asked, “Where’s your boss?”

He smiled, and if we’d been closer, I’d have buried my fist in his face. He kept smiling and replied, “I don’t know. Why do you want to know?”

I divided my attention between Tony and the movement in the back seat. I said to Tony, “Tell him I’m looking for him.”

“Yeah? Why ya lookin’ for him?”

I recalled that these conversations with Tony, even when he was doing business as Anthony, were not very enlightening or meaningful. I replied, “I remembered some other stuff about his father that I wanted to tell him.”

“Yeah? He likes to hear that stuff. Me, too. Tell me.”

Well, he asked, so I said, “If Frank had lived a little longer, he would have given you up to the Feds, and you’d still be in jail.”

“Hey, fuck you.”

“No, fuck you, Tony. And fuck your boss, and fuck-”

The tinted rear window went down, and I was ready to cut the wheel and ram the Escalade, but Kelly Ann said, “You’re cursing! No cursing!”

I took a deep breath, and said to her, “Sorry, sweetheart.” I said to Tony, “Tell your boss to stop hiding and act like a man.”

Tony would have said, “Fuck you,” but Kelly Ann was waiting to pounce, and I could hear Frankie, sitting next to her, mimicking his older sister, “No cursing, no cursing.”

Tony said to me, “I’ll let him know what you said.”

“That’s very kind of you. But I’d like to tell him in person.”

“Yeah. We’re workin’ on that.”

“Good. And my regards to his future widow.”

That seemed to confuse him, then he got it, and said to me, “Yeah, you too,” which wasn’t exactly the correct reply, but I got it.

We rolled up our windows and continued on our ways.

The question would be, “Why are you making things worse?” And the answer is, “Things could not be any worse, so there’s no downside to pissing off the guy who already wants to kill you.” In fact, it makes me feel better, and it might cause him to make a mistake. And that’s all I wanted – one mistake on his part, so I could kill him myself.

It was ten minutes past five, and the rain had arrived, though the Stanhopes had not. But Susan assured me, “They called ten minutes ago, and they just got off the Expressway.” She gave me an ETA of fifteen minutes, which was more than enough time for my second Dewar’s and soda.

Susan and I were in the kitchen, and Sophie had laid out hors d’oeuvres on the center island, which I wasn’t allowed to touch. Also, the caterer had arrived, and she and Susan had planned a few menus for the week. Plus, Sophie was going to live in the downstairs maid’s room for the next five days. This was a convenience for Susan, of course, but it also gave William and Charlotte someone to boss around besides their daughter, and it might even ensure that we’d keep our voices down if we all got into a screaming match.

The phone rang, and Susan spoke to someone and said, “Yes, we’re expecting them.” Susan hung up and said to me, “It’s the florist, finally.” She informed me, “There are guards now at the gates.”

I didn’t comment on that, though I did note all this preparation for the arrival of Mom and Dad. But I recalled, from my last life here, that William and Charlotte never seemed to notice or appreciate all that Susan did for them when they came to visit. Well, they were demanding parents, but yet they spoke of Peter as if he were the perfect child. In fact, he was a useless turd, but he knew how to butter up Mom and Dad, and he knew where his bread came from.

My other thought was that Susan was far too optimistic about her parents actually staying here. She’d had their old guest room cleaned and stocked with bottled water and snacks, and I was sure there were flowers for their room. I looked at Susan, and though I didn’t want her parents here, neither did I want her to be disappointed or hurt. I said to her, “Look, Susan, why don’t I go to a hotel-?”

“No. You are my future husband and the father of our children. You are staying here with me, Edward, and Carolyn.”

“But-”

“But I do want you to disappear until I get a drink into their hands.” She suggested, “Wait in the office with the door closed, and I’ll buzz you on the intercom. About fifteen or twenty minutes after they arrive.”

“They’ll see my car when they pull up.”

“I’ll tell them it’s my second car.”

“They’ll see that there are guards in the gatehouse and that I couldn’t be living there.”

“All right, do you want to greet them with me?”

“No, Susan, I want to leave. I’ll be back-”

“You are not leaving.” She explained, “You’re just hiding for a while.”

“All right.” So I grabbed a napkinful of hors d’oeuvres and my Scotch, then I looked at her and said, “Good luck.”

“John, just remember one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Half of a hundred million dollars.”

I smiled, and carried my hideout rations into the office and closed the door. The blinds were open, and I could see the florist van pull up. I watched as two men unloaded enough flower arrangements to bury an Italian funeral home.

I lowered the blinds so that William and Charlotte didn’t get a peek at their future son-in-law, and sat at the desk and checked my e-mail, ate hors d’oeuvres, and sipped my Scotch.

Susan had called Mr. Mancuso, and she told me that he’d given her some assurances, some advice, and also some of the same information about Anthony’s disappearance that he’d given me. He’d also told her that he was impressed with her courage, but that she needed to balance that with some extra vigilance, and so forth. Apparently, according to Susan, they were now good buddies, which made me happy.

I had not told Susan about running into Tony because she had enough on her mind, but right after the incident I had called Felix Mancuso using Susan’s cell phone, and I left him a message on his voice mail relating my intemperate remarks to Anthony’s driver. I suggested that he or someone from his office might want to question Tony regarding his boss’s whereabouts, if they hadn’t done so already. I had also informed Mancuso that Amir Nasim was in the process of installing a full security system at Stanhope Hall that would rival whatever they had in place at 26 Federal Plaza, which was the address on Special Agent Mancuso’s card. I suggested, too, that he might consider updating Detective Nastasi, or I’d do that if the FBI and the local police were not sharing information this week.