Kisser

41

STONE HAD MADE IT HOME and was at his desk when Joan buzzed him.

“A man to see you. He says he’s from Sig Larsen,” Joan said on the intercom.

“Send him in,” Stone replied.

The man did not look like someone from a messenger service; he looked like someone from the Russian mob, tall and thick. “Good morning,” he said in unaccented English. He handed Stone an envelope. “Mr. Larsen says you can read this, but you can’t copy it; I have to take it back with me.”

“Would you like some coffee?” Stone asked.

“Yes, thank you.” The man took the offered chair. “Black, please.”

Stone buzzed Joan and asked for a large coffee, and she brought it in.

The proposal was forty-one pages long, and Stone began to read every line.

The man finished his coffee and began to look restless.

Stone was on page eight.

“Could I use a restroom?” the man asked.

“Right over there,” Stone said, pointing to a door.

The man got up, went to the toilet, and closed the door.

Stone picked up the proposal and ran down the hall to Joan’s office. She watched incredulously while he shoved the stack of papers into the Xerox machine and pressed the button. “How many pages a minute does this thing copy?”

“I don’t know, maybe twenty-five.”

Stone tapped his foot impatiently, and when the last copy came out he grabbed the original and ran back to his office. He had just sat down when the man let himself out of the toilet.

“Sorry this is taking so long,” Stone said.

“Take your time,” the man replied.

Stone began reading faster, then scanning. Finally, he restacked the sheets and handed them to the man. “Tell Sig thanks,” he said.

The man returned the pages to their envelope and left.

Stone called Mitzi.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Stone. Sig sent over his proposal, and I read it.”

“What was it like?”

“Too good to be true. There is no corporation or company mentioned, no names of the principals, and no audited balance sheet.”

“A scam, then?”

“Of course, what did you expect?”

“And you weren’t allowed to copy it?”

“I wasn’t allowed, but I copied it anyway, while the messenger was in the john.”

“Oh, good. Will you fax it to the U.S. Attorney’s office?”

“No, but I’ll give it to you, and you can fax it to her without mentioning my name in any context.”

“Is it really that bad between you and her?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out.”

“Okay, here’s the fax number at the apartment.” She gave it to him. “Dinner tonight?”

“Can’t tonight.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Let me call you; I’m still in recovery.”

She laughed. “Poor baby.”

“Bye-bye,” Stone said. He hung up, gave Joan the fax number, and asked her to send the document to Mitzi.

“Sure,” Joan said. “Oh, a delivery arrived for you.”

“Bring it in.”

Joan came in holding a crystal vase containing at least two dozen red roses. “Here’s the card,” she said, then stood waiting while he read it.

With fond memories and anticipation

The card didn’t need a signature; Stone immediately recognized Dolce’s bold, slanted handwriting.

“Who?” Joan asked.

“Will you kindly send these to the nearest hospital or old folks’ home?” Stone said.

“I thought so,” Joan said. “I saw her across the street yesterday afternoon, looking as if she was trying to decide whether to come over here.”

Stone was further alarmed. “Was she alone?”

“There was a large man with her.”

“Her keeper,” Stone said. “Eduardo is allowing her out of the house for shopping trips.”

“Oh, then she must be a lot better,” Joan said.

“Don’t you believe it,” Stone replied. “I saw the look in her eyes: She’s still mad dog crazy.”

Joan looked worried. “Oh, God, what should I do if I see her out there again?”

Stone thought about that. “I don’t know.”

“Well, thanks, that’s very helpful. Should I call the cops or just shoot her?”

“Neither of those options works for me,” Stone said. “Are you on friendly terms with Eduardo’s secretary?”

“Well, I imagine her as some sort of Sicilian bat, hanging upside down in his house, but she’s civil, in an abrupt sort of way.”

“Call her and tell her you didn’t want to mention this to me, but Dolce is hanging around my house.”

“That’s taking yourself out of it very nicely,” she said.

“Look, I do not want to call Eduardo and tell him his lunatic daughter is stalking me.”

“No, you want me to do it.”

“No, just mention it to his secretary in the terms I outlined, and I’m sure word will get to Eduardo in the proper manner.”

“You know I have a.45 in my desk drawer, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course I know it. Have I ever mentioned to you the amount of paperwork and the number of court appearances required to deal with charges of murder and possessing an illegal weapon?”

“It’s not illegal; you got me a license, remember? I can even carry it around.”

“Getting you that license the way I got it is almost as difficult to deal with as a murder charge,” Stone said. “So for God’s sake, don’t shoot Dolce-or anybody else.”

“I’ll try not to,” Joan said, and flounced out.

“And don’t flounce!” Stone called after her.

Joan buzzed again. “Bob Cantor on one.”

“Hello, Bob, what’s up?”

“I’ll tell you what’s down,” Bob said, “the spirits of the Leahy boys.”

“What’s the problem?”

“They’re bored stiff. They’re saying I promised they could shoot somebody, but there’s nobody there.”

“Gee, I’m sorry they’re not being entertained by shooting people. You’d think they would be happy they’re not being shot at.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“All right, tell them to drop the surveillance on Carrie, and tell them to explain carefully to her that they think there’s no longer any danger.”

“Oh, thank you!” Bob said with a faked sob. “Bye-bye.” He hung up.

Stone tried to think of something to do.