Foul Play

Twenty

As the sun was setting a little breeze sprang up, and they took shelter in Brooke’s caftan and Stone’s robe.

“What is your preference for ordered-in pizza?” Brooke asked.

“Domino’s medium Extravaganza, hold the green peppers.”

“What’s on an Extravaganza?”

“Everything, but green peppers.”

“What have you got against green peppers?”

“Too green. Also, too herbaceous.”

“I like green peppers,” she said.

“Okay, just order a medium Extravaganza, and I can pick the peppers off my half. By the way, since I’m naked under this robe, I don’t have any pockets, which means I don’t have any cash. If you can find my trousers you can rummage through them for my money clip. Tip generously.”

She was gone for longer than he thought that would take, then she came back and phoned in the pizza order.

“Did you enjoy reading through the stuff in my wallet?” he asked.

“No, it was mundane: license, pilot’s license, insurance card, like that.”

“I’m familiar,” Stone said. “What did you expect to find?”

“Oh, maybe a picture of a girl, someone to be jealous of.”

“God, I’m such a disappointment! I must start carrying more interesting ID!”

“Well, there was that card from the Central Intelligence Agency, identifying you as a special adviser. Are you really in the CIA?”

“No, not really. I’m a special adviser to the director, Lance Cabot. Which reminds me, I need to call him.”

“Now?”

“No, not now. Tomorrow maybe, or Monday.”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you, since it has to do with that stuff I can’t tell you about.”

She made a frustrated noise, then went to find a bottle of wine, glasses, and some napkins, tossing Stone a corkscrew. “Will you open it? I can never make these things work.”

“Sure. Watch, and you’ll know how to do it next time.” He opened the bottle swiftly and tossed the cork to her. “Sniff it to see if it smells good. If it doesn’t, we’ll open another bottle.”

She sniffed it. “It smells good,” she said, pouring them each a glass.

The doorbell rang; she answered it and came back with a pizza box. “I tipped him twenty bucks, is that enough?”

“Yes. No wonder he arrived so quickly.”

They attacked the pizza. When they were done she asked, “How did you become involved with the CIA. Or, if you tell me, will you have to kill me?”

“That would be the easy way out,” he said. “My history with the Agency is long and complicated, and if I explained it all to you, you wouldn’t believe most of it. Let’s just say that we have found ways to be useful to each other over the years. Besides the card, Lance gave me a badge and a diplomatic passport, which would be helpful in airports, except that I haven’t flown commercial in years.”

“You have a jet?”

“Yes.”

“Me, too — or, as with the houses, I will as soon as the settlement documents are signed.”

“You’d better tell Herb Fisher to negotiate the maintenance costs into your agreement. They can be crippling.”

“Good idea. When we split, Chet asked me what I wanted, and I said I wanted to go on living exactly the way I have for the past eleven years, plus a lump sum. He agreed to that, in principle, as you lawyers say, and Herb is making it happen.”

“It’s a good thing you’ve got Herb arguing for you, or you’d be spending the next twenty years in court. When he says, ‘Sign this,’ don’t hesitate, just do it.”

“Herb says I should ask for ‘the use’ of the jet, not for owning the airplane.”

“Smart move. Chet will have to pay all the expenses, as he always has, so he won’t really miss it. If you want to stay on his good side, give him ample notice of when you want the airplane.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“What kind of airplane is it?”

“A Gulfstream 700.”

“That is a great deal of airplane.”

“Chet was good at picking out airplanes and cars.”

They watched a movie on the wall-sized TV in the master bedroom, then fell asleep.

His cell phone woke him. He opened an eye and saw the sun coming up. A private call. “Hello, Lance,” he said, yawning.

“Don’t tell me I woke you.”

Stone looked at the bedside clock. “You woke me. What sensible person wouldn’t be asleep at this hour? Hang on a second.” Stone got into his robe and walked out onto the deck.

“I hear ocean waves,” Lance said. “What shore do they beat against?”

“The south shore of the island called Long.”

“Southampton?”

“East, etcetera.”

“Your taste in friends is improving. Or have you sprung for some real estate out there?”

“I own too much real estate as it is,” Stone said. “Out here, I prefer to mooch.”

“Me, too. What were you going to call me about?”

“How did you know I was going to call you?”

“I get these feelings now and then, and you always call.”

“Okay, a client of mine named Shepherd Troutman has got himself entangled with what Dino thinks is the Russian mob.” Stone related recent events. “And yesterday we were followed from the East Side heliport by a black helicopter.” He cited the registration number. “It’s registered to McGlumphy and Whitfield, a Delaware corporation, which was also the buyer of Shep’s business.”

“Where is Shep now?”

“He’s holed up on the Vineyard at his father’s house. The father is still alive, by the way, but nobody knows it.”

“Let me look into it.”

“If anybody can bust into a Delaware corporation, Lance, it’s you.”

“I suppose that’s true enough,” Lance said. “Talk to you later.”

They both hung up, then Stone went back inside, snuggled under the covers again, and went back to sleep.