Black Dog

Twenty-Three

Stone walked into P. J. Clarke’s and was shocked to find Dino at the bar chatting amiably with a beautiful woman — a stunner, with bright red hair and green eyes. “Good evening,” he said, offering his hand. “I’m Stone Barrington. Who in the world are you?”

“I’m Bridget Tierney,” she replied, shaking his hand.

“I hope my friend, Mr. Peabody, here, hasn’t been bothering you.”

“ ‘Peabody’? He told me his name was Dino Bacchetti.”

“I’m very much afraid that he tells people that all the time, especially attractive women. He also tells a preposterous story about being the New York City police commissioner. Did he try that on you?”

“I’m afraid so,” she said, searing Dino with a glance.

“I’m glad I came along before any real harm was done. Did he invite you to dinner?”

“He did.”

“I’m afraid he can’t afford to dine in good restaurants. He would just stick you with the check.”

“Now that you mention it,” she said, “he does look pretty sneaky, doesn’t he?”

“He’s married, too. Did he mention that?”

“No,” she replied, “he did not.”

“Oh, yes, to a fine woman who has to support him and their four children. She’s taken away his credit cards.”

“All right,” Dino said, “this has gone far enough.”

“The truth hurts, doesn’t it?” Stone asked. “I wonder, Bridget, if you’d like to dine with me, instead? You won’t get the check, I promise.”

“I think I’d like that very much,” she said, hopping off her barstool.

“Right this way.” Stone led her to a table, with Dino tagging along like a puppy, denying all Stone had said.

“Really, Dino, this has gone far enough, hasn’t it?”

But Dino was showing Bridget his badge and ID.

“It’s a very good fake, isn’t it?” Stone asked Bridget. “He’s been using it for years.”

Dino laid down his business card, as well.

“The badge and ID look pretty real,” she said.

“There’s a shop in Times Square that will sell you one just like it. You, too, can be police commissioner!”

The maître d’ approached. “Excuse me, Commissioner,” he said, “there’s a phone call for you.”

“I’ll be right back,” Dino said.

“It’s all part of the act,” Stone said. “We’ll see no more of him tonight.”

“Thank you for rescuing me, Stone.”

“It’s all part of the service.”

“Tell me, are you the infamous Stone Barrington I’m forever reading about on Page Six, of the Post?”

Stone shrugged. “They do have a way of making up things about me,” he said. “Don’t believe everything you read in the columns.”

“Are you a partner at Woodman & Weld?”

“A senior partner. Have you heard of us?”

“I’m a partner at Woodside & Weems,” she said, naming a white-shoe firm.

“Allow me to congratulate you. Have I stolen any of your clients?”

“Not even close.”

“It’s a relief to hear that. It’s so embarrassing when competing firms accuse me.”

“When is poor Dino coming back?” she asked.

“Oh, I think he’s all out of gall for the evening.”

Dino returned and sat down on the other side of Bridget. “Did he jump you while I was gone?”

“No,” she replied, “but he was thinking about it. I could tell.”

“Show her your scar from the bullet wound, Dino. That’s always very convincing.”

“All right,” Bridget said. “This has gone far enough, both of you.” The waiter approached. “I’d like a strip steak, medium, and a loaded baked potato, please,” she said. “And I don’t care who pays for it.”

Stone and Dino ordered, too. “She’s paying,” Stone said to the waiter.

After dinner, Stone invited Bridget back to his house for a drink. “I’m afraid Dino will insist on coming,” he said.

They drove down to Stone’s house, and he let them in.

“The house really belongs to a friend of Stone’s,” Dino said. “He made the mistake of giving Stone a key.”

“Who’s the friend?” she asked.

“A terrible person named Edwin Charles Jr.”

“I know Eddie. He’s not so terrible. I saw him at lunch today, in fact.”

“At lunch where?” Dino asked.

“The Grill,” she replied. “Used to be the Four Seasons.”

“There you are, Dino,” Stone said. “Right under your nose the whole time.”

“Who was he lunching with?”

“The managing partner of my law firm,” she said.

“Whatever you do, don’t hire Junior,” Stone leapt in. “He tried that with us, and we barred him from the building. He tried to bribe the head of our personnel department.”

“I heard that he actually had bribed the fellow, and that he got tossed out on his ear.”

“You mustn’t believe every rumor you hear,” Stone said. “Cognac?”

“Oh, I checked out the story. It was all perfectly true. Yes, cognac, please.”

“He’s a suspect in the murder of his stepmother, Annetta Charles,” Dino said.

“He’s the only suspect,” Stone echoed. “And Dino and his merry band of detectives can’t find him anywhere.”

“I heard he’s living at his club,” Bridget said.

“The Yale Club?” Dino asked.

“The Athletic Club,” she replied.

“Excuse me for a moment, I have to make a call.” Dino stepped out of the study.

“Well,” Stone said, “that got rid of him, at last. Do you think you and I might have dinner without him very soon?”

“I think we might,” she replied.

Dino returned, breathless. “We nailed him at the Athletic Club!” he said. “I gotta go.”

“Of course you do, Dino,” Stone said. “Don’t let the doorknob hit you in the ass!” He turned his attention back to Bridget.