Criminal Mischief

2

Stone slid in behind his desk, picked up the phone, and speed-dialed Dino.

“Bacchetti.”

“I want to report a robbery.”

“Normally, I would transfer you to burglary, but my interest is piqued. Who robbed you?”

“A small, dark-haired woman with wonderful breasts — wonderful everything, actually.”

“I hope you got something of value in return.”

“You know the little Remington bronze in my study?”

“The Sergeant? I’ve coveted it for years.”

“That.”

“What is its value?”

“I paid twenty-five grand for it, at auction, some years ago.”

“I suppose you didn’t get that much for it, in exchange for services rendered.”

“You could say that. I mean, it was spectacular, but not that spectacular.”

“Does this robber have a name?”

“Let’s put it this way, she used one: Tink Dorsey.”

“I don’t suppose you have a photograph.”

“We didn’t get that far.”

“So, shall I put out an APB for a short, dark-haired woman with great tits, carrying a small but expensive sculpture?”

“You think that would get some action?”

“I think a lot of street cops would be on the lookout for the tits.”

“Yeah, you might need to rephrase.”

“I think we’d better just post it on our stolen art page. The art boys probably even have a photograph of it on file.”

“Go.”

“We still on for dinner at Patroon?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll be bringing Tink Dorsey.”

“Not unless you capture her.” They both hung up.

His secretary, Joan Robertson, buzzed him.

“Yes?”

“Someone who says her name is ‘Tink’ is on two.”

Stone hesitated, then decided not to bring up The Sergeant. He pressed the button. “Good morning!”

“I trust you slept well for the rest of the night.”

“I did. I would have called to thank you, but I couldn’t find your card.”

“Oh, shit. I forgot. I used them all up, gotta get some reprinted. Here’s my number.” She gave him one with a 917 area code, a cell phone.

“Got it.”

“Am I interrupting anything?”

“Only the practice of law. You want to join a friend and me for dinner?”

“The friend who dumped you last night?”

“One and the same.”

“Love to.”

“Can we meet at Patroon?” He gave her the address. “Seven?”

“See you there. How are we dressing?”

“I’m wearing a necktie.”

“Then I won’t.”

“It would just get in the way of what some have called your best feature,” he said.

She laughed and hung up. He did like that laugh.

Stone got there first, then Dino walked in right behind Tink, who was already laughing. They put her in the booth between them.

“Did you two get introduced?”

“We did not,” she said.

“Tink Dorsey, this is Dino Bacchetti.”

She shook his hand. “Oh, I know that name. Aren’t you the DA, or something?”

“I’m the police commissioner for the City of New York,” Dino replied, flashing his badge, “and you’re under arrest.”

She laughed. “And what for? I haven’t had time to steal the silver yet.”

“For the theft of a valuable work of art,” Dino said. “A small Remington sculpture called The Sergeant.”

She reached into her bag. For a moment, Stone thought she might come up with a gun, but instead she came up with the Remington and set it on the table. “You mean this?”

“That’s what I mean,” Dino said. “I take it you’re confessing.”

“Well, I was listing to the right when I left Stone’s house last night, and I needed some ballast.”

It was Dino’s turn to laugh.

“Really, Stone, I only borrowed it for the night, just so I could look at it some more. You didn’t need to call the cops, let alone the police commissioner.”

“I always go directly to the top,” Stone said.

“I like that in a man.”

Dino barged in. “Are you dropping the charges, Stone?”

Stone hefted The Sergeant in his hands and inspected it thoroughly. It had the right number stamped into the bronze. “I guess I have no alternative,” he said.

“Gee, thanks,” Tink said. “What a compliment!”

“You were a bad girl, and you gave me a fright,” Stone explained.

“I guess I was, but my heart’s in the right place.”

“I can’t deny that,” Stone said.

They ordered.

Fred was waiting outside with the Bentley, and it was raining. They piled in.

“This is gorgeous,” Tink said, stroking the leather. “If I’d known you drove a Bentley, I would have stolen the car, instead.”

“Home, Fred,” Stone said. “Tink, that’s Fred in the front seat. Fred, she’s Tink Dorsey.”

“Good evening, Ms. Dorsey.”

“So far,” she replied.

“Can you manage to stay the whole night?” Stone asked.

“What’s the matter, you afraid I’ll steal something else?”

“Only my heart.”

“I was aiming farther south, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Fred pulled into the garage.

“An indoor Bentley!” Tink said. “This gets better and better!”

Upstairs, they went to their respective dressing rooms and emerged simultaneously, equally naked. Stone yanked the covers back, and they fell into bed.

“Just think of this as a continuation of last night,” Tink said. “Pretend I never left.”

Stone’s position muffled his reply.

“Don’t talk, sweetie,” she said. “You’re doing just fine,” she breathed.

It took half an hour to wear themselves out, then they slept. Tink woke up first; her head was in his lap, so she didn’t have far to go.

Stone made a noise.

She stopped. “Sorry about that.”

“I think it was Helen Lawrenson who said, by way of instruction, ‘It’s like eating a banana, without leaving any teeth marks.’ ”

“I’ll remember that,” she said, then returned to her work.

Stone came explosively.

She crawled up and put her head on his shoulder. “I’ll bet you think you’re done for the night,” she said.

“Absolutely.”

“Don’t count on it.”