A Safe House

54

Stone got hold of the phone. “Dino?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

Stone thought about it and drew a blank. “I can’t remember.”

“What’s the matter with you, Stone?”

Stone remembered. “Gas.”

“Well, fart, and it’ll go away.”

“Not that gas.”

“You mean you’ve been gassed?”

Thank God, Stone thought. That’s the word I’ve been trying to remember. “Gassed,” he said with some satisfaction.

“Who gassed you?”

“Senator.”

Joan grabbed the phone. “Dino, for Christ’s sake, two people are shot and one is gassed. I called nine-one-one, but I don’t think they believed me.”

“Is Stone shot?”

“No, just gassed.”

“I’ll call nine-one-one,” Dino said. “They’ll listen to me.” He hung up.

“Dino’s on it,” Joan said. “Finally.”

Stone lay on his back, sucking in breaths. He looked at where the coffee table had stood and saw a white Stetson with drops of blood on it. “Did you shoot him in the head?” he asked Joan.

“No, in the upper chest. Looks like it went through and through.”

“Why didn’t you shoot him in the head?”

“Don’t start that again!”

“Start what?”

There was a banging on the door, and Joan went to answer it. Two teams of EMTs barged in. “Which one’s worse?” one of them asked Stone.

“I dunno. Take your pick.”

“I’ve got a bleeder over here,” the EMT said. “Gimme a tourniquet.”

“There’s a nice necktie on it,” Stone said.

“Who is this guy?” he asked Joan, pointing to Stone. “Did you shoot him?”

“He is unshot,” Joan said.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Gas.”

“I never got a call for gas,” he said, poking at Stone.

“He’s been gassed,” she said.

“What kind of gas?”

“I don’t know. They brought it with them,” she said, holding up the gas mask that hung around Slade’s neck.

“What a mess!” the man said, cutting off the gas mask with scissors.

“Police!” somebody yelled.

“And about fucking time,” Joan said to Dino.

“Don’t start with me, Joan,” Dino said. “Where’s Stone?”

“You see all that broken glass?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s underneath it.”

“I already checked him out,” the EMT said, buckling Slade onto a stretcher. “He’s okay, except for the gas.”

“Gas, again,” Dino said.

“Where are you taking me?” Slade asked weakly.

“Bellevue,” the man said.

“No you are not!” Slade replied. “You are taking me to New York Hospital, and I want you to call Dr. Stanley Weinberg, the chief of surgery, and tell him I’m on the way.”

“I’m not your social secretary, pal,” the EMT said, picking his way through the glass.

“You’re not going to be anything in an hour,” Slade said, “if you don’t call Weinberg.” Then he fainted.

“Thank God, he’s out,” the EMT said. “I guess we’d better go to the New York Hospital trauma center. It’s just as close.”

“I want to go to Lenox Hill Hospital,” Stone said. “I’m known there.”

“Oh, well, sure. Can I mix you a martini on the way?”

“Bourbon,” Stone said. “Knob Creek, rocks.”

“You’d better deliver them as requested,” Joan said. “Otherwise, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“What about the bleeder? What do we do with him?”

“Anything you like,” Joan replied.

The next team came after Stone. “Stop!” Stone said, suddenly lucid. “All I need is oxygen. I’ve been gassed.”

The EMT looked at Joan. “Well?”

“Give him oxygen, dummy! He’s been gassed!”

They sat Stone up in a wing chair and got an oxygen mask on him. Joan poured him a Knob Creek on the rocks and handed it to him.

“Here,” she said, “do yourself some good.”

Stone lifted his mask and took a big swig. “Did they leave without me?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Joan replied, “they said you were too much trouble.”

“Dino, does the NYPD have a gas squad? Sort of like the bomb squad?”

Joan handed Dino a Scotch. “Nobody’s ever asked for a gas squad,” he said, taking a pull on his drink. “I’ll look into that.”

“Never mind,” Stone said, shucking off his mask. “I feel normal now.”

“Uh-oh,” Dino said. “Where’s Jenna?”

“Jenna who?”

“Wallace Slade’s ex?”

“She’s around here somewhere,” Stone replied.

Joan got up. “She must have taken shelter somewhere. I’ll root her out.”

“Who shot Slade?” Dino asked.

“Joan did.”

“Why didn’t she shoot him in the head?”