Criminal Mischief

11

Stone called Kitty on Monday morning. “Did you successfully sack Bloomingdale’s?”

“You might say that. I got a few things that will go nicely with the car.”

“I never thought of the car as a fashion accessory.”

“The car is the object. The clothes are the accessories.”

“Thank you for clearing that up for me.”

“Anytime.”

“I fear you may not have told me enough about your ex-husband.”

“What more could you possibly want to know? How he is in bed?”

“No, what concerns me is how he is on the street, or rather, in the gutter.”

“Do you mean, is he a street fighter?”

“That’s the idea. And, perhaps, if he enjoys it a little too much.”

“Have you engaged with him in a street fight?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Are you calling from the emergency room?”

“No, but our boy, Harry, may be seeking solace there.”

“You mean, you fought him and won?”

“Let’s say I avoided losing, and he did not.”

“My goodness, Stone, I have underestimated you.”

“I’m sorry I came up short in your prior assessment.”

“Not anymore.”

“Perhaps you could render an opinion on whether Harry will come back for more.”

“I’d say that is highly likely,” she replied. “Especially if he lost. And next time, he’ll be ready.”

“I don’t think you and I should see each other anymore.”

“Heavens, Stone, how could I have been more cooperative?”

“It’s not that. It’s that I suspect you of encouraging a fight with Harry without telling me what to expect.”

“Did that hurt your feelings, dear?”

“Not as much as it hurt Harry’s.”

“Well, let me tell you that I had no intention of bringing that about. I never thought Harry would be a problem for you, and I figured that, if he were, you could handle it, which you have. Besides, I so enjoyed you in bed. Harry is certainly no match for you there.”

“Flattery might get you somewhere,” Stone said. “I’ll call you, after I’ve survived my next encounter with Harry.” He hung up.

Five minutes later, the phone rang again.

“Hello?”

“Stone, it’s Viv.”

“Hi, Viv. You know, you should rent out your matchmaking skills to the Heavyweight Division of the American Boxing Association.”

“I heard about your tiff with Harry.”

“ ‘Tiff’? Ask Harry about that.”

“I called him, but he wasn’t picking up.”

“And what had you planned to say to him?”

“I was going to upbraid him for picking a fight with Kitty’s new boyfriend.”

“Harry didn’t pick the fight. I did.”

“Oh, dear, did he hurt you?”

“Let’s just say that he was slow getting up.”

“You hurt Harry?”

“I showed him the view from the gutter, before he could show me.”

“This is all my fault,” Viv said.

“You may rightfully share the blame with Kitty.”

“I’ve no problem with that,” she said.

“You know, if I hadn’t done a little research on Harry, I might be speaking to you now from a hospital bed, or perhaps even from a slab at the morgue. Either of you could have warned me, but nobody said anything.”

“Research? What kind of research?”

“I spoke to a mutual acquaintance, with some knowledge of Harry’s temperament.”

“And who was that?”

“It was a confidential source and will remain so.”

“Well, I apologize for whatever role I might have played.”

“If you want to get back in my good graces, do it with information.”

“What kind of information?”

“Well, at some point I imagine that Harry’s ego is going to demand a rematch. I would like to know when that is.”

“I’ll do what I can, Stone. That’s all I can do. Ear to the ground, I promise.”

“I’d like to see that,” Stone said, but Viv had already hung up.

Stone’s next call was to Dino.

“Bacchetti.”

“It’s Stone.”

“Hi, there. I hear you and Harry Hillman did a little dancing.”

“Harry did the dancing. I just kept him moving.”

“You saw him coming, then?”

“Yes, and he didn’t see me, until it was too late. Did you know about Harry’s tendency toward violence?”

“There were times when there was a whiff of it in the air.”

“The next time your nose knows, I’d like to hear about it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Did you incur any damage?”

“Well, my knuckles are a little sore.”

“Did you have any weapons?”

“Fred loaned me a couple of rolls of quarters.”

“That would add some weight to your punch.”

“They achieved the desired effect.”

“Do you think Harry is going to take it lying down?”

“Well, he was lying down when I last saw him, but I am reliably informed that when he figures out what happened he’ll be back, and on his feet.”

“And how are you preparing for that?”

“I don’t know. Can you still buy an axe handle in this city?”

“Probably, but it’s a little obvious. Doesn’t conceal well. Don’t you still have your old police baton?”

“Somewhere, I guess. I’ll have to look around.”

“Do it before you leave the house again.”

“You haven’t encouraged me to go armed. Why is that?”

“Shooting deaths are already up this year over last, and I wouldn’t want you to add to the numbers.”

“That’s sweet of you.”

“My advice on that front, if you decide to carry, is to use the .380, not the .45. The cleanup is easier.”

“I’m not sure the .380 would stop him; he’s something of an ox.”

“A head shot with the .380 will drop him in his tracks. God, I hope nobody is listening to me telling you how to murder somebody.”

“I believe we were discussing self-defense,” Stone said.

“Of course we were. Dinner at Clarke’s?”

“Six-thirty.” They both hung up.

Stone went looking for his police baton.