Fresh Disasters

30

Stone awoke from a drug-induced sleep, tried to turn over, then emitted a girlish shriek. Every muscle and bone in his body seemed to be making an angry protest. He struggled into a sitting position, grabbed the pill bottle on the bedside table and tossed down a painkiller with half a glass of water. He steadied himself for a moment, then navigated his way into the bathroom, taking short steps, peed, and shuffled back onto the bed.

He managed to reach the phone and page Joan.

“Good morning,” she said cheerily. “Did you sleep well?”

“That wasn’t sleep, it was a coma,” he replied. “And stop sounding so chirpy.”

“Oooh, it’s going to be one of those days, is it?”

“I hurt all over.”

“The doctor said you would.”

“She didn’t say that to me.”

“She said it to me, when you couldn’t hear her. Apparently, she made a quick assessment of your character and decided it would be better if you didn’t know.”

“I always want to know what’s happening to me.”

“She said you could faint or go into convulsions if you move around too much.”

“I didn’t want to know that.”

“Only joking. She said just to stay in bed until lunchtime, at least.”

“What time is it?”

“Lunchtime, in the land of the living.”

“Will you ask Helene to bring me something to eat, please?”

“What would you like?”

“I don’t care. Anything.”

“A sandwich?”

“No, I can’t eat a sandwich with one hand.”

“Did you lose a hand?”

“I have this blue plastic thing on my wrist.”

“Does it interfere with the movement of your fingers?”

Stone wiggled his fingers. “Apparently not.”

“Then you can handle a sandwich?”

“Tell her scrambled eggs and bacon. And an English muffin with marmalade. And orange juice and coffee.”

“Well, at least your appetite has survived.” She hung up.

Stone gingerly rearranged himself in bed and waited for the painkiller to kick in. His first inkling that it was working was when the pounding in his head began to subside. A moment later, he woke up with a tray on his belly.

“Eat,” Helene commanded. She was a compact woman with a thick Greek accent who had done for him for years.

Stone pressed the remote control, and the bed sat him up and raised his feet. “Good morning, Helene,” he said.

“Eat,” she said again. “You feel better.” She marched out of the room.

Stone ate hungrily. The various pains in his body were gradually replaced by a cozy warmth, and he was able to move more freely.

Dino walked into the room, unannounced. “You’re alive.”

“Why do you sound surprised?”

“How did you feel when you woke up?”

“I hurt all over, but I took a pill.”

“How do you feel now?”

“Warm and fuzzy.”

“Must be a good drug. We hauled in Devlin Daltry and had a chat with him.”

“Did you beat him to a pulp?”

“Sure we did, and we dumped the body in the East River.”

“Did he have anything to say before he died?”

“He had an alibi, backed up by two retired cops.”

“The ones who chased me into Central Park, I bet.”

“Probably, but we had to release him.”

“Anything on the car?”

“Stolen.”

“You wouldn’t think a sculptor would know how to hot-wire a car.”

“No, you wouldn’t. That’s why I wasn’t too surprised when I ran his name, and he had an arrest for car theft when he was nineteen, no conviction.”

“Celia was right about the guy; I should have listened to her. What’s his address?”

“What, you’re going down there?”

“No, Dino. What’s the address?”

Dino wrote it on a slip of paper and put it on the bedside table. “You up for dinner this evening?”

“As long as the pills last.”

“See you then.” He walked out of the room.

Stone sat and stewed for a few minutes, then he called Bob Cantor.

“Cantor.”

“You’re back.”

“How’d you guess?”

“Have you heard from Herbie?”

“No.”

“I took him to Finger’s law office for a deposition yesterday, stashed him in an office, and he ran the moment I left him alone. Dattila’s two goons may have followed him out.”

“Uh-oh. Did he say where they had held him the first time?”

“Herbie said an attic, downtown. Probably someplace near Dattila’s coffeehouse, near a subway station.”

“I’ll do a missing persons report and get them looking for him again.”

“Another thing: Herbie said that before he jumped out the window, Dattila showed up and told Cheech and Gus-that’s the two guys who dragged him out of Elaine’s-to kill him slowly.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It sounds like we should find him soon, but I’m laid up in bed today. I was hit by a car yesterday.”

“An accident?”

“Nope, and I want to talk to you about that.”

“Who done it?”

“A guy named Devlin Daltry, a sculptor, who lives at…” He looked at the paper on the bedside table and gave Cantor the address.

“You’re sure he’s the guy?”

“Yes.”

“Is he going to be arrested?”

“No. He has an alibi from two retired cops, no names.”

“You want something to happen to him?”

“Yes, but the two cops may be hanging around him as bodyguards.”

“You care what happens to them?”

“Let’s not spread this around. I’d like Daltry found alone and pain inflicted upon him, but not anything even nearly like death.”

“Any message you want delivered?”

“The pain will be the message. Oh, and I want his left wrist broken.”

“That’s an odd request.”

“It’s what he did to me.”

“I know somebody who can handle this discreetly.”

“I thought you would.”

“When?”

“I’ll be at Elaine’s this evening with Dino, from about eight-thirty.”

“I’ll see what can be done.”

“If it’s not done this evening, call me beforehand, so I can have an alibi.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks, Bob. I hope Herbie gets found before…”

“Yeah.” Cantor hung up.

“Before he’s too dead,” Stone said to himself.