Black Dog

Twenty-Four

Stone woke slowly. There was a pile of red hair on his shoulder, and his right arm was numb to the fingertips. A smooth leg was thrown over his own leg. A bell rang, signaling the arrival of the dumbwaiter.

Stone extracted his arm from under Bridget’s head and tried to move his fingers, which didn’t work. He got up and went to the dumbwaiter, slapping his right hand. Pins and needles ensued, and a moment later he could grip one side of the tray, sort of. He set it on the foot of the bed, then found a wicker stand, which he set between them. He kissed Bridget on the ear with a loud smack, and she raised her head and looked around.

“Hmm, I’m in a naked man’s bedroom,” she said to nobody in particular.

“It is I,” Stone said. “Breakfast is ready.” He found the remote control and raised the back of the bed until she was pointed at the tray.

“Ummm,” she muttered.

“I’ll take that as an affirmative,” Stone said, arranging a starched linen napkin over her naked breasts. “Bon appétit!”

“What?”

“That’s French for ‘wake up and eat.’ ”

She picked up a sausage and bit off the end. “Oh, yes!” she enthused, grabbing her fork and digging in.

They were both quiet until the food had been consumed.

“Did you kidnap me and bring me here?” she asked.

“Au contraire!” Stone replied. “That’s French for ‘you couldn’t be more wrong.’ My last memory is of you slinging me over your shoulder and throwing me into bed, then tearing off my clothes.”

“My last memory is somewhat different,” she said. “You were removing mine.”

“I tried to help,” Stone replied. “Anyway, it was a good breakfast, wasn’t it?”

“The sex wasn’t awful, either.”

“We do what we can.”

“You do pretty good. What is the hour?”

“A quarter past seven. Time to do it again.”

“That will have to wait for another occasion,” she said, hopping out of bed. “I have an eight o’clock meeting, and I can’t wear the dress I was wearing.”

“My loss. May we schedule a rematch?”

“How’s your schedule for this evening?” she asked, pulling on a thong.

“Wide open,” Stone said. “Seven o’clock here? My cook will do for us.”

“Where am I?”

Stone gave her the address.

“Is that Turtle Bay? With the garden?”

“It is. We’ll dine in the garden, if you like.”

“I like.” She gathered up her clothes and ran into the bathroom.

“There’s a fresh toothbrush in there!” Stone shouted.

She stuck her head outside the door, foaming at the mouth. “Found it!” she said, sort of.

She departed the bathroom with her hair newly brushed, planted a big kiss on his lips, and ran for the door. “See you at seven!” she shouted over her shoulder.

Stone switched on the TV and made do with Morning Joe.

His phone rang. “Yes?”

“Is this Stone Barrington?”

“Yes, you got lucky.”

“This is the night court bailiff. We’ve got an arraignment scheduled for an Edwin Charles Jr., and he says you’re representing him.”

“Never heard of him,” Stone replied. “Tell him to ask for a public defender.”

“Really? On a murder one charge?”

“The experience will do him good.” Stone hung up.

Almost immediately, the phone rang again. This time it was Joan. “I’ve got Eddie Jr. on the other line,” she said. “He’s being arraigned on a murder one charge, and he wants you.”

“I believe you have your instructions with regard to Junior,” Stone said. “Didn’t I charge you with finding him a lawyer?”

“Well, ah, I’ve been pretty busy, what with the house and all.”

“Be sure and tell Junior that, when you tell him his attorney is on the way, and it is not I.”

He hung up.

Eventually, shaved, showered, and dressed, Stone made his way downstairs to his office, where he found a beautiful blonde in a short dress arranging the mail on his desk.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Peaches Page.”

“Of course you are.” Stone remembered that Joan had hired her. “Has Joan surfaced yet?”

“She called from a cab. She had to go down to the courthouse for something.”

“Probably picking out a lawyer for Eddie Jr. in the hallway outside the courtroom. That’s where the best ones hang out.”

“Really?”

“Not really, but murderers can’t be choosy.”

“I know Eddie Jr.,” Peaches replied. “He couldn’t be a murderer.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had that unfortunate experience, but when you’ve hung around law offices long enough, you’ll learn that absolutely anybody could be a murderer.”

“But his mother?”

“Stepmother.”

“Oh, well...”

“Yes.”

They heard the street door slam. Joan came in, dropping a couple of stuffed shopping bags and getting out of her coat.

“How did your tour of our courts turn out?” Stone asked.

“He got somebody from the law firm Annetta fired when she hired you,” she said. “Oh, the lawyer wants two million dollars from Eddie’s trust for bail.”

Stone thought about that.

“Well?” Joan asked.

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Well, it’s Eddie’s money — eventually.”

“Okay, but cut his allowance in half, until the trust has been reimbursed.”

“I’ll get it done.”

“No rush. A tour of Rikers Island will be a character-building experience for Junior.”