Reckless Abandon

14

THE CAB WENT around the block again, and when they turned downtown on Second again, Stone told the driver to stop at the corner before the restaurant. He opened the door and got out so he could see better. Holly did the same on the other side.

Dino’s car was double-parked a few yards ahead of them, and Stone could make out a commotion on the sidewalk in front of Elaine’s. A man Stone recognized as Dino’s cop driver was pointing a gun into the Cadillac and barking orders.

“Holly, do you have my Walther with you?” Stone asked.

“In my purse,” Holly said.

“Get back in the cab and hand me the gun.” He leaned down, reached across the backseat, and accepted the pistol.

“There’s one in the chamber and six in the magazine,” she said.

“Please stay in the cab until I wave you in.” Stone gave the cabbie a twenty, then closed the door and went to the sidewalk and started down the street toward Elaine’s with the Walther in his hand. He could see now that Dino was on the sidewalk, cuffing the man with the briefcase.

Then, as he approached and Dino was dragging the man to his feet, the rear door of the Cadillac opened, and Lance Cabot got out, his hands in the air.

“Stone!” he yelled. “That guy is mine!” He nodded toward the handcuffed man.

Stone walked up to Dino. “Hang on,” he said. “That’s Lance Cabot over there at the car, and he says this guy belongs to him.”

Dino looked back and forth from his captive to the Cadillac. “All right, Mike,” he yelled to his driver, “we’re clear, no problem.” He unlocked the handcuffs and handed the man his briefcase. “Is there a machine gun in here, pal?” he asked him.

“Talk to Cabot,” the man said.

Lance walked up and offered his hand to Dino. “I’m Lance Cabot,” he said. “I’m sorry about the misunderstanding.”

Dino shook his hand. “Don’t worry about it. It was all Stone’s fault.”

“That’s right,” Holly said from behind Stone. “I’m a witness.”

“Thanks so much, everybody,” Stone said. “How did I call this wrong?”

“Well, you weren’t entirely wrong,” Dino replied. “You just didn’t know who you were dealing with.”

“It’s dinnertime,” Stone said, and they went into Elaine’s.

Elaine was at a front table, and she waved them over. “Are you guys having street fights outside my place again?”

“Just a misunderstanding,” Stone said. “Elaine, this is Lance Cabot, and, Lance, you haven’t met Holly Barker, either.” Everybody shook hands, and Stone didn’t like the way Holly was looking at Lance.

They settled in at a table.

Lance turned to Holly. “Are you the police chief in Orchid Beach, Florida?”

“That’s right,” Holly replied, looking stunned. “How could you know that?”

“Anybody who pays attention knows that,” Lance said.

Holly seemed to melt a little in her seat, annoying Stone. “So, Lance,” he said, “do you normally travel with bodyguards who have machine guns in briefcases?”

“No, not normally,” Lance replied smoothly, as if he had been asked if he wore pleated pants. “Just today.”

“What’s so dangerous about today?” Stone asked.

“Well, around lunchtime today I picked up a tail.”

Stone felt a penny drop. “Yes? Where?”

“I was in Little Italy doing some business, and I picked up on an evil-looking black Mercedes following me. We lost it in Brooklyn, but policy is, when you pick up a tail, you increase security.”

Holly hid behind her menu.

“A wise policy,” Stone agreed. “Holly, can we get you a drink?”

Holly lowered the menu to eye level. “Knob Creek on the rocks,” she said, then raised the menu again.

“Make it two,” Lance said.

“Three Knob Creeks on the rocks and whatever poison Lieutenant Bacchetti is having this evening,” Stone told the waiter.

“Dino,” Lance said, “your reputation precedes you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dino asked.

“We have a list of reliable police officers in various cities who we sometimes deal with. You’re on it.”

“That’s news to me,” Dino said.

Lance turned to Holly. “I’ll see that your name is placed on it, too.”

Holly put down the menu. “How nice,” she said, noncommittally.

“He’s turning us all into spies,” Dino whispered loudly.

“Oh, nothing as sinister as that. Sometimes, during the course of our work, we stumble across criminal activity that, technically, is outside our purview. When that happens, it’s nice to know some people in local law enforcement.”

“Tell me,” Stone said, “in the course of your work have you run across somebody named Trini Rodriguez?”

Lance furrowed his brow. “I don’t believe so.”

“How about a Robert Marshall?”

Lance shook his head. “Nope.”

“I think I’d better come clean,” Holly said. “It was Stone’s car that was following you today.”

Lance turned to Stone and looked at him askance.

“Don’t point that thing at me,” Stone said. “Go on, Holly.”

“And I was driving it.”

The drinks arrived, and Lance raised his glass. “To coincidence,” he said. “You put enough coincidences together, and what you get is…” He gazed at Holly. “… fate.”

Holly blushed. “Let me explain. I’m in New York looking for a man named Trini Rodriguez, who may be using the name Robert Marshall.”

“Why?” Lance asked.

“Multiple homicides,” Holly replied. “Today, he came out of the La Boheme coffeehouse and got into your car.”

“That was Trini Rodriguez?” Lance asked.

“Yep. What was he doing with you?”

“Well, I can’t tell you that, but I can tell you it was nothing to do with multiple homicides.”

“What name did he give you?” Holly asked.

“I was told he was called Bobo. He was to assist me in some enquiries, as the British would put it.”

“Did he?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”

“Swell,” Holly said. “First, the FBI protects this bastard, and now the CIA.”

Lance looked around and made a tamping motion with his hand. “Please. I wish I could help you, Holly, but until today I’d never clapped eyes on Mr. Rodriguez, and I never expect to again. However, if he should cross my line of vision again, I’ll be glad to call you. May I have your number?”

Holly gave him her card while Stone rolled his eyes.

“Anything else you can tell me about him or about the people who sent you to him?”

“Alas, no,” Lance said sadly. “The nature of the work, I’m afraid.” He turned to Stone. “By the way,” he said, “have you, by any chance, heard from Herbert J. Fisher?”

“No, I haven’t,” Stone said. “Should I have?”

“Just a thought. Herbie didn’t make his flight to Saint Thomas this evening.”

“I thought you had a man on him,” Stone said.

“I thought so, too, but Herbie, the little shit, eluded him. Herbie is out there in the land, somewhere, in his red Mustang, moving about with reckless abandon.”

“That’s just terrific,” Stone said. “If I hear from him, what shall I tell him?”

“Tell him to go and stand on the corner of Forty-second Street and Broadway, then call me,” Lance replied. “I’ll have someone go there and shoot him.”

Stone wasn’t at all sure he was kidding.