Hit List

28

Stone called Dino back.

“Bacchetti.”

“What part did your cops play in this incident? They were protecting her, right?”

“After the first few days, she called us and asked us to remove our people, said she felt safe enough.”

“Any change in her attitude?”

“We’ve got two cops on her now.”

“Except for me, this is the first time somebody on the list has eluded them, right?”

“Right.”

“Maybe it’s time to get more aggressive,” Stone said.

“Yeah? How do we do that? Shoot first and think about it later?”

“Do this: assign unmarked police cars to drive these people to and from work, and put one cop, besides the driver, in the car with them. Have the guy carry a shotgun, which is more likely to hit the target than a handgun and does less collateral damage, if you’re lucky. You can also load them with bird shot instead of buckshot; that will still do a lot of damage at close range while cutting down on the collateral damage. Also, three of those on the list are already dead and don’t require further attention from you.”

“Six cars and twelve men.”

“Your arithmetic is good,” Stone said.

“Okay, that’s worth a try.”

“Now, if you want to get really aggressive, put a couple of motorcycles behind each car, which will give your guys better visibility and they can also give chase more easily.”

“Twelve motorcycles and drivers?”

“Yeah, but you can use light motorcycles, not Harleys. They’d be more nimble in traffic. If you want to go cheap, put one motorcycle, not two, on each car.”

“What about you?”

“I’m cowering indoors,” Stone said. “If I go out and need an escort, I’ll call you.”

“Your brain works pretty good early in the morning,” Dino said, then hung up.

Vanessa, wanted to go home and meet her decorator. So, Stone and Fred got her into the Bentley and launched from the garage. No one followed.

Stone went back to his desk and fidgeted.

Joan came in. “Cabin fever?”

“You know me too well.”

“Can you get out and around without being slaughtered in the street?”

“That remains to be seen.” Stone called Dino.

“Bacchetti.”

“I’m busting out of here,” Stone said. “Send me killer help.”

“Where are you going?”

“To be determined. I just have to get out.”

“Okay, meet me at La Goulue for lunch at twelve-thirty.”

“Done,” Stone said. “You book. I want everybody to know I’m lunching with a cop.” He hung up and turned to Joan. “Got that?”

“Sure.”

“As soon as Fred gets back, tell him we’re going out.”

“Okay.”

“Listen, if you go upstairs to the master bedroom, there’s a shotgun leaning against the wall and a box of shells on the bed. Bring them down here, please.”

“Right.” Joan fled upstairs and returned with the arms, then went to her office.

Stone went into his safe and removed a small 9mm Sig Arms pistol and a shoulder holster and got them on.

Fred walked in.

“Any problems?”

“None at all, sir. I took precautions.”

“Then let’s get out of here,” Stone said. He got into the car in the garage and placed the shotgun on his lap, then Fred rolled out onto the street. Two men on motorcycles, who had been waiting at the curb, followed the car. As they turned onto Park Avenue, Stone noticed a motorcyclist sitting on an idling machine, talking on a cell phone. “See that, Fred?”

“I did, but he’s not following us. Where to first, sir?” Fred asked.

“Let’s start at Turnbull & Asser,” Stone replied. Fred drove him to 50 East Fifty-seventh Street, parked illegally, got out, surveyed the street in every direction, then stood at the rear door of the car with his hand on his pistol while Stone got out and hurried into the store. Fred remained on guard outside, and the two motorcycle cops sat on their machines, watching the traffic.

Stone went up to the third floor and encountered Felix, who looked after the bespoke shirt department. “Yes, Mr. Barrington?”

“Let’s see your new swatches,” Stone said.

Felix trotted out a couple of thick swatch books, and Stone began to run through them, writing down some fabric numbers on an order form. Stone’s back was to the elevator, but he heard it open.

He stood up and reached under his jacket as if he were scratching an itch while he moved to the other side of the table, then watched a woman carrying a large handbag get off the elevator with a small dog on a leash.

Stone went back to the swatch books, this time facing the elevator, while Felix went to see if he could help her. He could not, apparently, and he returned to the table, while she looked at ties.

Stone handed him the completed order form. “Please add four whites — two French-cuffed and two barrel-cuffed. When is delivery?”

“London is running eight weeks right now.”

“Good.”

A dog barked. Stone looked up to see the woman, who had approached the table, digging into her handbag. Instinctively, his hand went under his jacket, and he loosened the pistol in its holster.

The woman’s hand came out of the bag holding something black, and everything seemed to slow down. Stone didn’t wait to identify the object; he yanked the 9mm from its holster and began to swing it toward her, thumbing off the safety. The first round would fire double-action, and he made a mental note to himself to fire a second round, because he was less accurate with double-action. Now he had to wait and either identify the object in her hand or, if he wanted to be sure, fire immediately. On an instinct that had been finely honed to sense trouble, he fired.

The woman, who was not large, flew backward onto the floor in a spray of blood, and the dog began to bark incessantly. Stone didn’t need a second shot.

Felix was pressed against a shelf of shirts and yelling something, but Stone was not wearing ear protection, so the shot had rendered him temporarily deaf. He got up and, holding the gun in a firing position, walked toward the supine woman. There was a hole high up in her chest, and coughed-up blood on her lips. Her eyes were wide open, as if shocked or angry: probably both, he reflected.

He reached out with a toe and, without looking directly at it, kicked the black object away from her. “Call 911, Felix,” Stone said. “Tell them that the police are already on the scene, but we need an ambulance. Woman with a gunshot wound to the chest.”

Felix found his phone and began calling.

Stone found his own phone and called Fred.

“Yes, sir?”

“Send those two cops up to the third floor right now. You stay there and watch yourself. There’s been an attempt. He put the phone away and looked at the woman. She seemed semiconscious, now.

Stone finally found time to take a closer look at the black object on the floor; it was a .22 semiautomatic with a silencer. He began breathing normally again.