Foul Play

Two

Stone picked up the phone. “Hey.” Dino Bacchetti and Stone had been partners on the NYPD many years before. Now Dino was the police commissioner for the City of New York.

“My computer says that some of my uniforms just made a house call at your place. Tell me about it.”

“I got out of a cab around the corner, made the turn, and saw a man — large, wearing some sort of raincoat and a ski mask and, come to think of it, a black baseball cap, kicking a man who was down. I hit him on the arm with my umbrella, then once on the chin, nearly missing, and he ran. The victim was my eleven o’clock appointment. Joan and I got him inside, and the rest is about as you would imagine.”

“How badly was the victim injured?”

“He’s ambulatory, but if I had gotten there a little later, he could have been dead. Are you keeping a watch on my place?”

“Not exactly. There’s a note in the computer that says call me if a visit is made there or at my place.”

“Thank you.”

“Also, there was another such beating, about the same time — same description as the attacker at your place, but on the Upper West Side.”

“Coincidence?”

“Maybe. I don’t like coincidences.”

“I seem to recall that.”

“Well, it’s too soon to panic. Dinner at P. J. Clarke’s, seven?”

“Done.” They both hung up.

Joan came in. “How’d it go with the new client?”

“Very nicely. I sent him to Charley Fox for advice.”

“Oh, good. Sounds like he can pay our bill.”

“He most certainly can.”

“He said he’s at the Carlyle. For how long?”

“He wants to look for an apartment.”

“For a while, then. He’s all alone in the big city?”

“Yes. Tell you what. Call him and ask him if he’d like to have dinner at P.J.’s at seven.”

“Okay.” Joan came back in a couple of minutes. “Yes,” she said.

“Did you tell him where it is?”

“Yes, I remember that he’s new in town.”

“Of course you do.”

“He says he’ll wear dry clothes.”

“That’s good.”

“I liked him,” Joan said. “Seems like a good guy.”

“So did I. That’s why I asked him to dinner.”

“He’s going to need to meet women,” Joan said.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Stone said. “Anyway, when word gets around that he has as much money as he has, he’ll be swamped.”

“That much, huh?”

“That much.”

Stone got to Clarke’s a little early, and Dino arrived a little later. The bartender had already brought drinks for both of them.

“I invited somebody to have dinner with us,” Stone said.

“What’s her name?”

“Shepherd Troutman.”

“That doesn’t sound like a her.”

“That’s because it isn’t. He’s a new client.”

“And you wanted to impress him that you know the police commissioner, is that it?”

“That’s not it. How about we just tell him you’re a cop.”

“Okay. Why’d you invite him?”

“He’s new in town and alone, and he got beat up this morning outside my house. I thought he might enjoy dining with a view of something besides the inside of a hotel room.”

“Okay, you’re a prince,” Dino said.

Stone looked toward the door. “Here he comes, I think.”

He caught Troutman’s eye and waved him over and introduced him to Dino. “Dino’s a cop,” Stone said. “He’s the guy you call when you need some parking tickets fixed.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Shep replied, shaking hands.

“You look a lot better than you’re supposed to,” Stone said. “How’d that happen?”

“Well, I was short on underwear, so I asked Fred to drop me at Bloomingdale’s, where they have what I want.”

“Okay,” Stone said. “What does underwear have to do with your appearance?”

“After I got the boxer shorts, I started out of the store, and a woman at a makeup counter waved me over and said, ‘You need help.’ She held up a mirror, and I saw that she was right. So she spent about ten minutes doing stuff, and I looked human again, so I bought whatever she had used, so I can look human again tomorrow.”

“Good idea,” Dino said. “I heard about your incident this morning. On behalf of the NYPD, I apologize.”

“Oh, I thought New York greeted everybody that way,” Shep said.

“You seem pretty cheerful for somebody who got mugged recently.”

“A couple of painkillers helped. They made me a little fuzzy around the edges for a few minutes, but I got over it. Oh, Stone, I may have found an apartment to buy.”

“Good. Where?”

“The one I’m living in now.”

“In the Carlyle?”

“The manager told me it was for sale.”

“How much was he asking?”

Shep told him.

“I hope you didn’t snap it up at that price,” Stone said. “Look around a bit. Start with what else they’ve got for sale, and if you still like the one you’re in, offer him less.”

“How much less?”

“A third. He’ll counter, then you’ll finally agree. How big is it?”

“Two bedrooms, study, living room, kitchen, lots of closet space, beautifully furnished, including a grand piano.”

“Do you play?”

“A little. The guy who owned it was a big-time Broadway producer. He died a couple of months ago.”

“So the estate is selling it, not the hotel?”

“That’s right.”

“What’s the monthly maintenance?”

“Maid service is included.”

“No — real estate taxes, repairs, utilities, use of the gym, like that. Every apartment you would own has a monthly fee that covers those things. In hotels, it’s particularly high, because of the services available.”

“I guess I’d better ask about that.”

“You might also offer to rent it for a few months, to give you time to get the lay of the land.”

“Maybe.” Shep looked across the room, where two nicely dressed women were being shown to a table. “Funny, I saw one of those ladies walking through the lobby when I left. She smiled at me.”

“That’s something else every high-end hotel has,” Stone said. “Not that they’d ever admit it.”

Shep’s eyebrows went up. “No kidding? That good-looking?”

“Like your suite, they’re very expensive, too,” Stone said.

“After dinner, you two come by for a drink. See what you think of the place.”