Black Dog

Twenty-One

They were halfway through the roast duck when Dino looked toward the bar and pointed his knife. “Hey, my guys got Junior!” The four cops were muscling a protesting man toward the front door. The jazz group leaned back, so as not to get knocked down.

“No, they don’t have him.”

“What do you mean? They’re getting him cuffed.”

“It sure looks like him, but trust me, that’s not Junior.”

“Then why are they cuffing him?”

“Go figure. They’ll sort it out at the precinct.”

Georgette appeared at their table. “Dino,” she said. “Your cops are dragging one of my best customers out of here.”

“You mean Eddie Charles Jr.?”

“No, I mean Marv Kelly, my favorite billionaire.”

“Dino,” Stone said, “go save the NYPD fifty million bucks.”

Dino put down his utensils, wiped his greasy face with his napkin, and leaned into the crowd, using his elbows. He reached the front door just in time to stop the cops from dragging the billionaire into the street. Stone watched and laughed as Dino flashed his badge and yelled something at the cops. He uncuffed the man, dusting off his shoulders and apologizing profusely, while shouting at the cops. He turned the man around and walked him back to his seat at the bar, then produced his card and made the “anything I can ever do for you, call me” speech. It seemed to be working. He signaled the bartender to bring a double of what the man had been drinking. Then he backed away, still apologizing, and finally made it back to the table.

“Good job,” Stone said.

“It’s your fault,” Dino said. “You didn’t tell me he was the wrong guy.”

“I did tell you he was the wrong guy, but you were so occupied with the duck that you ignored me until Georgette intervened. You got there just in time to avoid the attention of the Post’s front page tomorrow morning. Chances are, you’ll still make Page Six.” That was the newspaper’s gossip column. “If you’re lucky, you’ll come off as the hero who saved the day. If you’re not lucky, then you’ll be explaining things to the mayor first thing tomorrow morning.”

Dino returned his attention to the duck, only to find that Stone had eaten all the best parts while he was attending to the matter out front. “This is what I get for being a good guy?”

“No, it’s what you don’t get.”

“I was hungry!”

“I was hungrier. And I thought you were heading for the precinct.”

Georgette came by the table. “Thank you, Dino, for fixing something that was your fault anyway.”

Dino could only sputter.

“There’s plenty of bread left,” Stone said.

“I want duck!”

“They’ll have to start all over. At this time of night, it’ll take at least an hour. Order some cheesecake, that’ll fill you up.”

“Yeah, but it’s not duck.”

Dino grabbed a passing waiter’s sleeve. “Another duck,” he said.

“We’re all out, Commissioner. You got the last one.”

Dino slumped in his chair, finally defeated.

“How about a nice slice of cheesecake, on the house?”

“Oh, all right.” It came, and he wolfed it down. “Okay,” he said, “let’s get out of here.”

They threaded their way through the crowd at the bar. Dino paused to apologize to the billionaire again.

As Stone passed he said to the man, “They treated you very badly. I hope you’re suing the NYPD.”

“Good idea,” the man said. “You want to be my witness?”

“I didn’t have a good enough view,” Stone said. “Maybe next time.” By the time Stone got into the street, Dino was slamming the car door, and the vehicle drove off without him, leaving him in the gutter, shouting at the rear bumper.

It had started to rain. Stone hoofed it over to Fifth Avenue and finally got a cab, but he was soaked.