Family Jewels

3

Fred Flicker had a good look at Ms. Fiske as he held open the door of the Bentley. Pretty good, he thought, but Fred was a harsh judge of flesh. He got into the driver’s seat.

“And where would you like to go, madam?” he asked.

“Madam? Really?”

“Would you prefer miss?”

“Infinitely.”

“Where would you like to go, miss?”

“Home?”

“Would you like to give me a hint?”

“Oh, I’m sorry — 740 Park Avenue.”

“Yes, miss.” Fred put the car in gear and drove away. Fifteen minutes later he pulled to a stop in front of her building, got out and opened the door for her.

“Thank you, Fred.”

He handed her a card. “Please call me at this number when you’re ready to go out, miss. I’ll be here in five minutes.”

“Actually,” she said, “I’d rather just go to lunch now. I’m presentable, no need to go upstairs.” She got back into the car.

Fred mounted the driver’s seat again. “Where to, miss?”

“The Boathouse in Central Park,” she said, dialing a number on her cell phone.

“Yes, miss.” Ten minutes later they were there. Fred assisted her from the car, then parked it and followed her into the restaurant. She was seated at an outside table overlooking the lake. A woman entered, they air-kissed, and the two women sat down together.

Fred stood to one side of the seating area and was approached by the headwaiter.

“May I help you?” the man asked, in a tone that sounded as if he had no wish to help.

“Security,” Fred said, nodding toward the Fiske table.

“Really?”

“Really. Trust me.”

“Oh, all right.” He stalked away.

A moment later the waiter returned to the terrace, leading a large, handsome gentleman. Fred looked him over: six-five, maybe six-six, two-twenty, chiseled features, square jaw. He was seated on the opposite side of the outdoor area from where Ms. Fiske sat. He looked at her, she looked at the man and nodded.

Fred walked over to the man’s table. “Good afternoon,” he said.

The man looked at him disdainfully. “Is it?”

“Take my word for it,” Fred replied. “I am a security person for Ms. Fiske.”

The man looked him up and down. “Really?”

“Really. She would be very grateful if you would leave the restaurant and not follow her anywhere again.”

The man stood up and approached Fred, who remained rooted to the spot. He reached out, put his hands under Fred’s arms and lifted him like a child, until they were nose to nose. “I would be very grateful if you would go away and stay away,” he said.

Fred reached out with both hands and briefly explored the man’s rib cage. Gun under the left armpit. “Kindly put me down and take your hands away,” he said.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll hurt you.”

Broad smile. “I’d like to see you try.”

Fred reached out with both hands, took the man by his ears and head-butted him squarely in the nose, hard. The man dropped him, and Fred landed on his toes. The man clapped a hand over his nose, and blood seeped between his fingers. Fred picked up a napkin from the table and handed it to him. “Use this,” he said, “and if I were you I’d run over to the nearest emergency room and have that nose looked at. It will need setting.”

While Fred waited for a reply, the headwaiter appeared again, this time in the company of two uniformed police officers.

“Can you do something about this, please?” he said, indicating Fred.

“Okay, what’s happening here?” one of the cops said.

“This man assaulted me,” Fred replied evenly. “It was necessary for me to defend myself.”

The cop removed the man’s hand from his face and took a look at his nose, then he turned to Fred. “You did that? How’d you reach that high?”

“He lifted me into range,” Fred replied. “And I have reason to believe that he is armed — shoulder holster, left side.”

“Oh, yeah?” The cop patted the area, then reached inside the man’s jacket and pulled out a small 9mm pistol. “Tell you what,” he said. “We’ll give you a lift to the ER, and on the way we can have a little chat about this.” He held up the gun.

The man nodded, and the two policemen escorted him from the restaurant. Fred walked over to Ms. Fiske’s table. “I don’t believe he’ll bother you for the remainder of the day, miss.”

“I’m so glad,” Ms. Fiske replied. “In that case, I don’t believe I’ll need you for the rest of the day, Fred. You may convey the news to Mr. Barrington.”

“I will do so, miss,” Fred replied. “Good day.” He walked out of the restaurant and went for the car.

Half an hour later, Fred had conveyed the news to Mr. Barrington.

“Well done,” Stone said.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Do you think he got the message?”

“If he didn’t, next time I’ll break his patella — that will keep him out of action for a while.”

“As long as it’s in self-defense,” Stone said, and Fred took his leave.

Stone joined Dino and his wife, Viv, for dinner at Patroon that evening, and he told them about Fred’s actions that afternoon.

“Sounds like a law-abiding citizen to me,” Dino said.

“Fred or the other guy?”

“Fred, of course. It would have weighed with the arresting officer that he was so much smaller than the one who was doing the bleeding. What was this all about?”

“Recently divorced woman with an ex-husband who can’t face reality and is stalking her.”

Dino, to Stone’s astonishment, began to sing: “It seems to me I’ve heard that song before. It’s from an old familiar score...”

“Dino,” Viv said. “I never knew you could sing.”

“He can’t,” Stone replied.

“Still, the song resonates, doesn’t it?” Dino asked. “Jule Styne and Sammy Cahn.”

“I’ll bet you didn’t know he was a musicologist, either,” Stone said to Viv.

“I learn something new about him every... month or so,” she replied.

“Half the women Stone has ever been involved with had angry men in the way.”

“I’m not involved with her,” Stone said, “she’s a client.”

“That never got in the way before, and I don’t think the American Bar Association would like it.”

“So, I offer some of my clients a broad range of services.”

Viv burst out laughing. “Don’t tell me, just let my imagination run wild.”