Desperate Measures

20

Stone was seeing Cilla off when he saw Faith walking past and up the front steps next door. He walked through the door to the next house.

“Oh!” she said, stepping back. “You frightened me.”

“Apparently nothing else does,” Stone said. “Forgive me for sounding like a father, but where have you been?”

“I left a few things at the hotel, and since it was such a nice evening, I walked over there to retrieve them.” She held up a shopping bag as if it explained everything.

“Come with me,” he said, holding the door for her. “Let’s have a drink.”

He settled her in the study with a cognac and took a seat. “Have you forgotten that we’re in the middle of a wave of murders with victims who look just like you and who live in, roughly, the same neighborhood as that hotel?”

“Well, it seems to me that we’re not in the middle of this wave, but at the end. Nobody’s been killed for a week.”

“And you took that as a reason to take a stroll in a dangerous place?”

“Pretty much, I guess.”

“Faith, you can’t just do that.”

“I’m a grown woman, I can do whatever I like.”

“Not if you want to continue working for me.”

“Are you threatening to fire me if I don’t do as you say?”

“I’m threatening to fire you if you continue to risk your life by doing foolish things. I’ve no wish to have to ship your body back to your people in Georgia in a box, and I won’t be a party to your murder. Do you understand me?”

She pouted, but said nothing.

“All right, tomorrow morning start looking for another place to live. I’ll give you two weeks to move out, and your salary will continue until then.”

Faith produced the ultimate feminine weapon, for which males have no defense: she began to cry.

“Oh, come on! You said you’re an adult, start behaving like one. This isn’t junior high.”

“I don’t want to lose my job,” she said.

“You’ll lose it instantly if you’re dead. Has anyone told you what these killers do to the women?”

“I read the newspapers,” she said.

“Well, sometimes there are things the police don’t tell the press. Would you like for me to describe, in detail, what they’re leaving out?”

“No!” she said. “Spare me.”

Stone knocked off the rest of his cognac and set down his glass. “Come see me tomorrow morning and tell me what you want to do,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed. Finish your drink here, if you like.” He went upstairs, undressed, brushed his teeth, and got into bed. He was still angry with her, and it took him a while to get to sleep.

The following morning, Stone made a call to Mike Freeman at Strategic Services and placed an order. The order arrived about an hour later and took a seat outside Joan’s office.

Faith knocked and entered his office. “I’ve thought it over,” she said, “and you’re right. It was foolish of me to do that last night, and I don’t want to lose my job, so I’ll follow your orders on this until they catch these people.”

“That’s good,” Stone said. “Now, I have a gift for you.” He buzzed Joan. “Send in the gift.”

A large man in a dark suit with a bulge under his arm walked into the office.

“Faith, this is Jimbo. He is going to be your constant companion whenever you leave the house, unless we’re out of town, and until the killers are caught.”

Faith was speechless. “You got me a minder?”

“That’s a good way to describe Jimbo,” Stone said. “He’s your minder during the day. A woman named Sylvia will be on the night shift.”

“That’s outrageous.”

“You’re not required to continue to work here, but if you decide you want to, then Jimbo is part of the deal. I’ve known him a few years, and he’s a nice guy. You’ll get used to him. You might even begin to appreciate him. Jimbo, will you please see Faith to her office?”

“Certainly, Mr. Barrington,” Jimbo replied. “Faith, right this way, please.”

She stalked out of the room, followed by the faithful Jimbo.

Joan buzzed him. “Dino, on one.”

Stone pressed the button. “Good morning.”

“If you say so,” Dino said grumpily.

“What’s up today?”

“I thought you’d like to know. Yesterday, after my two guys put what’s-his-name—?”

“Donald Trask?”

“Yeah, after they put him into a cab, they followed him to see if he went home. He didn’t. He went down to the Lower East Side, where there’s a gun shop used by a lot of cops, and tried to buy a gun.”

“I know the place. He can’t buy a gun in Manhattan without a New York City carry permit.”

“He bought a gun.”

“He has a carry permit?”

“He does, and before you ask, he hasn’t done anything that would make it possible for me to have it canceled.”

“He got drunk and tried to lure me into a fight.”

“He got drunk, maybe, but I keep telling you, all he did was invite you to participate in a sporting event, which is not even a misdemeanor, let alone a felony.”

“What did he buy?”

“A Beretta nine millimeter, the small one, and an over-the-belt holster — oh, and couple of spare magazines and a box of ammo.”

“What kind of ammo?”

“Federal Personal Defense, the hollow points.”

“So he’s serious, you think?”

“I don’t know,” Dino said, “but if I were you, I’d behave as if he were serious.”

“Where did he go from there?”

“To the New York Athletic Club.”

“That’s where he’s staying.”

“I wonder what their rules are about firearms on the premises?” Dino said.

“I don’t know,” Stone said, “but we could find out if one of your guys would call the club secretary and tell them there’s an armed member in one of their rooms.”

“I think you should perform that task yourself,” Dino said.

“I would,” Stone replied, “but I want to be able to deny having done it.”

“Figures,” Dino said.