Hot Pursuit

13

Stone called Herbie Fisher. “Hey there,” Herbie said.

“Thanks for lunch yesterday.”

“Anytime.”

“I’ve got a small piece of business that would be good for an associate. It’s nothing much now, but it could grow.”

“What sort of business?”

“Her name is Pat Frank. She’s just started a flight department business that would manage the maintenance and paperwork for owner/pilots of jets. Also, she owns a small apartment building on the East Side, and she’ll need legal work for that.”

“There’s a smart kid down the hall named Richard Searle who would be good for it. He owns a small airplane, too, but I’m not sure what kind.”

“Great. Have him call Pat this morning and make a date to meet with her.” Stone gave Herbie the address and phone number. “Thanks, kiddo.” He hung up and dictated the letter to Pat’s doctor tenant, signed it, and told Joan to mail it.

There, he thought, I’ve got that one off my plate. He didn’t know how wrong he was.

Dino called and asked him to lunch at that place on the East Side. Stone took a cab and entered by the front door; he was ushered in by one of the staff wearing the ubiquitous black suit and green tie.

“Good day, Mr. Barrington,” the man said. “Welcome back. Commissioner Bacchetti is waiting for you in the bar, second floor.” Stone took the elevator and found Dino in the cave-like, paneled room that sported a richly stocked bar and a few tables.

Stone joined Dino at a table. “You think they have Knob Creek in this joint?”

“If they don’t, I’ll shoot the bartender,” Dino said. “You drinking at lunch these days?”

“Not really, just thought I’d ask.”

“Phillip,” Dino called to the bartender.

“Yes, Commissioner?”

“Do you stock a weird bourbon called Knob Creek?”

“Yes, sir, ever since Mr. Barrington joined us. Your Laphroaig is in stock, too.”

“Thank you, Phillip.”

“How did they know?” Stone asked.

“Word gets around.”

“You’ve moved up to a single malt?”

“I think it’s more in line with my station in life.”

“I think you’re right,” Stone said.

“You’re agreeing with my tastes?”

“Once in a great while.”

“That about describes the frequency.”

Others began to arrive in the bar, and the dining room filled quickly.

“Let’s see,” Stone said. “From here I can see a former secretary of state, a Supreme Court justice, and a producer of Broadway plays and Hollywood movies. There’s also a great actress over there in the corner, having lunch with a very good actress, and that guy with a political show on MSNBC. Are there any nobodies in this club?”

“Probably, but none that you haven’t heard of.”

“Who proposed you?”

“Salton, just like you. Bill Eggers was my seconder.”

“It annoys me that Eggers could have proposed me, but didn’t.”

“Relax, it’s considered bad form to propose people you’re in business with. The founders didn’t want this to be a club of businessmen, and there are very few of them on the membership list.”

“Where is the membership list?”

“Downstairs there’s a board on the wall with all the names. When a member comes into the building a peg is put next to his name. When he leaves, the peg is removed. You can tell at a glance who’s here and who isn’t.”

“It’s a very quiet dining room, isn’t it?”

“These are very quiet people, who are accustomed to being heard without raising their voices.”

A well-known literary personage in the center of the dining room raised an index finger without looking away from his companion, and a waiter instantly appeared at his side.

“That’s how you summon a waiter here,” Dino said. “A finger is all it takes.”

The mayor of New York City, formerly the commissioner of police and Dino’s mentor, entered the dining room with the senior senator from New York, Stanley Bauer. He waved at Stone and Dino, then came over to their table in the bar.

“Welcome aboard, Stone,” Tom Donnelly said.

“Thank you, Mayor,” Stone replied, shaking his hand.

“Dino, you seem to be keeping a lid on things.”

“That’s because I sit on the lid,” Dino said. “Something you told me to do a long time ago.”

“It’s always a pleasure to hear my words reverberate from those I instructed,” the mayor said, then returned to his own table.

“He hasn’t changed,” Stone said.

“He’s more relaxed, I think. It’s a little scary to think he finds the mayor’s job less stressful than mine.”

Stone laughed. “Are you finding it stressful, Dino?”

“All the time — you just have to learn to live with it.”

Stone looked up and saw a handsome man in a pin-striped suit and a dark, clipped beard enter the room. He wore a diamond earring in one ear. “Did you see that guy at the Saltons’ house in D.C.?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Holly said something about him, I can’t remember exactly what, but it wasn’t favorable.”

“He’s a Saudi. He’s something either at the embassy in Washington or the UN embassy here, I’m not sure which.”

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t know. I’ve seen it in the papers — always on the party pages — but I can’t remember.”

“Who’s he with?”

“I don’t know the guy. Why are you interested in them?”

“I just feel as though I ought to be interested — something Holly said, I guess. I wish I could remember what it was. Maybe I should call her.”

“Cell phones are a no-no here,” Dino said. “Texting is okay, or e-mails, but not speaking into them.”

They placed their orders but kept the table in the bar.

“So, Dino, what’s keeping you awake nights?”

“Nothing keeps me awake, I sleep like a stone, you should pardon the expression.”

“Not even terrorism?”

“What’s the point of losing sleep?” Dino asked. “It wouldn’t solve any problems. I do better if I sleep when I’m in bed and worry when I’m awake.”

Their lunch arrived. “The food is excellent here,” Stone said.

“There’s a saying here,” Dino said, “if the food were any better, you couldn’t get a table.”