Black Dog

Forty-Three

Stone left a third message for Bridget in three days, which he considered his limit on attempts to make contact. Anything after that had the odor of dumpee about it, so he stopped calling. Dino was unavailable, so he went to Clarke’s alone. Rush hour was not over, and he and the bartender had to work at maximum reach to get a bourbon into his hand.

“I’m sorry,” a woman’s voice said, “is my ear crowding your elbow?”

“It was, but now it’s working perfectly,” Stone said, demonstrating by bringing his glass to his lips. “I’m grateful for the inadvertent assistance of your ear.”

“My ear accepts your thanks,” she said. “Do you have a name?”

“I do, and it is Stone Barrington.”

“That sounds as if it should be carved in limestone on the exterior of a financial institution.”

“That is a refreshingly new one,” Stone said. “What does your name sound like?”

“Like a place to get a tan.”

Stone thought about that. “Help me out here.”

“Sandy Beech. Sandra, really, but it doesn’t work that way.”

“Are you in the profession of guarding lives?”

“I’m in the profession of preserving them.”

“You pickle people?”

“That happens only when they have passed from my hands.”

“Then you are a physician?”

“I am.”

“Do you practice at a nearby institution?”

“At the Morgan Clinic.”

“Is that the sort of place where over-imbibers go to dry out?”

“Not necessarily,” she replied. “Though that is on our menu of services. We’re in the business of whatever ails you.”

“That’s very broad-minded of you,” Stone said.

“It’s a third-generation private clinic,” she said. “We’re still operated by a Dr. Morgan.”

“If I may change the subject, have you dined yet this evening?”

“I have not.”

“Then will you join me in the dining room for a repast?”

“Thank you, yes. I was just getting hungry when your elbow rose to my rescue.”

He led her to the dining room, where the headwaiter gave him his usual table, even though Dino was absent. “I recommend the beef,” he said.

“Sold. I’d like my repast medium rare, please.”

Stone ordered steaks and a bottle of the Pine Ridge Cabernet.

Sandy tasted it. “Ah, deep and dark,” she said.

“My first requirement of a Cabernet is that I be unable to see through it.”

She held her glass to the light. “Passed,” she said.

As she took her first sip, a man who was not the waiter appeared at her elbow.

“I see you didn’t bother to wait,” he said.

“Au contraire,” she replied. “I waited for an hour. That’s the point at which I consider myself stood up.”

“Sandy,” Stone said, “if you wish to revert to your previous plan, I will try to get over it.”

“I do not wish to revert,” she replied, taking a larger sip of her wine.

“Then it remains for me to invite your acquaintance to join us,” he said. “I can have the waiter bring us another chair. My name is Stone Barrington,” he said, extending a hand.

“I’m not interested in your name,” the man said, “or another chair. What I’d like is for you to leave, and I’ll take your seat.”

“Sandy,” Stone said, “what is your wish?”

“I wish my acquaintance to dematerialize,” she said, “and reconstitute himself somewhere else.”

“I think that’s very plain,” Stone said to the man. “But I’ll translate for you: the lady wishes you to go away.”

The waiter appeared with their steaks, elbowed the man out of the way, and served them.

“Now,” Stone said to the man. “It remains only for you to leave us in peace.”

“Perhaps you’d like to step out onto the sidewalk,” he said, indicating the side door to the street.

“Oh, Bryce,” Sandy said, “really now. I’ve had enough of you.” She made a shooing motion. “Scat.”

“Would you like me to translate that?” Stone asked.

“I’ve issued you an invitation,” the man said to Stone.

“Declined,” Stone replied. He reached into his coat pocket and produced his NYPD badge. “Would you like the assistance of some gentlemen in blue? There are two parked outside in a police cruiser.”

That gave him pause. “Another time,” Bryce said, and left.

“His full name is Bryce Newcomb,” Sandy said, “in case you’d like to hunt him down and thrash him later.”

“I will not devote a single brain cell to remembering that name,” Stone replied, “nor an ounce of energy to thrashing him.”

“I didn’t make you for a cop.”

“That’s because I got over it some years ago. Now I practice the law instead of enforcing it.”

“How remunerative of you.”

“I didn’t leave the NYPD quietly,” Stone said. “They threw me out.”

“Was it something you said?”

“Said, and said repeatedly,” Stone replied, “but their excuse was a bullet in the knee.”

“They shot you?”

“No, I was previously shot, in the line of duty.”

“So you are now a pensioned invalid?”

“No, I recovered and am now an attorney-at-law, but I took their pension anyway. It keeps me in bourbon.”

“And how did you make this legal leap?”

“I already had the law degree when I enrolled at the police academy, but I still had to pass the bar exam, which I eventually got around to. An old law-school buddy gave me some work, and it ensued that I made partner.”

“Was that the end of your professional road?”

“No, after that I made senior partner, so I hardly have to work at all.”

“I’ve noticed that about senior partners in other fields — medicine, for instance. Do you often come to this place alone?”

“No, I usually come with an old friend, who was my partner when we were homicide detectives about two hundred years ago. But now and then he has other demands on his time.”

“Before I forget, you shouldn’t think that Bryce Newcomb has just gone away.”

“He has a vengeful heart, does he?”

“To the extent that he has a heart, yes.”

“So I should watch my ass?”

“That puts it very nicely.”

“Will my badge cover me?”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” she said. “He’s an unreasonable sort.”

“How does he earn his daily bread?”

“He doesn’t. An ancestor or two made that unnecessary.”

“One of those, huh?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I have a client like that who has turned out to be a lot of trouble. Well, not a client, exactly. I’m his trustee, appointed by his stepmother, whom he is suspected of murdering.”

“Are there a lot of suspects?”

“Only one, thus far.”

“Well, with two trust-fund babies in your life, I suppose you should really watch your ass.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”