Dirty Work

13

Stone stayed at home the early part of the evening, waiting for Carpenter to call, until hunger got the better of him. What the hell, she had his cell phone number, so why wait?

He arrived at Elaine’s only moments before she would have given away his table. It was a very busy night, and even regulars were waiting at the bar. They shot him evil glances as he sat down.

Elaine came over. “You know how much I could have gotten for your table?” she asked, nodding at the bar.

“Let them eat . . . cake,” Stone replied. “You’ll overcharge them anyway.”

“You could get a fork in the chest, talking like that,” she replied equably.

“I just want one in my hand, and something to eat.” He grabbed a waiter and ordered a spinach salad and osso buco. “Tell Barry I want it with polenta instead of pasta,” he said. “And I need a Wild Turkey on the rocks, and bad.”

“Tough day?” Elaine asked.

“I had to face Elena Marks today,” he replied.

“You mean, explain how you killed her husband?”

“I didn’t kill her husband, and neither did the guy I sent. You been talking to Dino?”

“I’ll never tell.”

“Just between you and me and the nearest gossip columnist in this joint, Larry had already bought it when the kid took his dive.”

“The cops don’t seem to know that.”

“They will soon,” Stone said. “I’ve seen to it.”

“So where’s Felicity, the English doll?”

“Working. I was hoping she’d make it to dinner.”

“What does she do?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“If I did, she’d have to kill me, and believe me, she would.”

“I don’t think she would enjoy it,” Elaine observed.

“Maybe not, but she’d do it just the same. She’s already pointed a gun at me once today.”

“I didn’t know you were that bad in the sack.”

Stone’s cell phone vibrated. “Hello?”

“It’s me,” Carpenter said.

“Who’s this?”

“Don’t give me a hard time. I’m in a car on the way to Elaine’s; that’s where you are, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll be there shortly.” She punched off.

“Was that Felicity?” Elaine asked.

“It was Carpenter,” he replied.

“Her last name is Devonshire,” Elaine said. “Why do you call her Carpenter?”

“It was how she introduced herself at our first encounter,” Stone said.

“I don’t get it.”

“She had an associate named Mason and another named Plumber.”

“What is she, an English cop?”

“Elaine, if I told you any more, she’d have to kill you.”

“Enough said,” Elaine said, throwing up her hands. “And here she is,” she said, looking toward the door.

Carpenter walked in and came to the table. “Dino will be here in a minute,” she said, pecking him on the cheek.

“How do you know that?” Stone asked.

“Because we came here in his car.”

Dino came in, a newspaper tucked under his arm, and sat down. “Evening, all,” he said.

Elaine reached over and patted his cheek affectionately.

“Wait a minute,” Stone said. “What were you and Dino doing in the same car?”

Carpenter smiled. “You’re beautiful when you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“No?” she said, frowning.

After his session with Elena Marks, Stone was glad she could still frown. “I’m just curious.”

“Should we tell him, Dino?” Carpenter asked.

“Nah,” Dino said. “Let him sweat.”

“I’m not sweating,” Stone said.

“Sure you are,” Dino replied.

“He’s sweating,” Carpenter agreed.

“Yeah,” Elaine said.

“Okay, don’t tell me,” he said to Carpenter. “You want a drink and some dinner?”

“Yes, please. I’ll start with one of those bourbon whiskies.”

Stone flagged down a waiter. “Bring her what I’m having,” he said.

“And what are you having?” Carpenter asked.

“Unborn calf,” Stone replied. “With a very nice sauce.”

“Sounds yummy,” she replied. “Okay, Dino and I were in the same meeting.”

“About what?” Stone asked, puzzled.

“If we told you, we’d have to kill you,” Dino said.

Elaine roared with laughter, then she got up and hopped to another table.

“You know,” Carpenter said, “your Herbie Fisher character wasn’t entirely useless.”

“That’s right,” Dino said, flipping idly through the Post.

“You mean, because of the picture he took?”

“Can you think of any other way he wasn’t entirely useless?” Dino asked.

“Now that you mention it, no.” He turned to Carpenter. “You said it was the only one in existence. What did you mean by that?”

“I meant it’s the only one in existence.”

“Thank you for the clarification. Why is it the only one in existence?”

“Because she has scrupulously avoided ever being photographed.”

“In her entire life?”

“Since she was about twelve, in school.”

“Why?”

“Because she doesn’t want anybody to know what she looks like.”

“All right,” Stone said. “Who is she?”

“She’s a woman who goes around assassinating people,” Carpenter said. “And the luckiest thing in your life is that she doesn’t know you’re responsible for the only photograph ever taken of her.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Dino said, handing Carpenter the Post and tapping an item on Page Six.

Carpenter read aloud. “ ‘Rumor has it that the strange death of Lawrence Fortescue (Mr. Elena Marks), caused by a peeper photographer who fell through a skylight while taking candid snaps of Mr. M. and a certain young lady doing disgusting things to each other, was organized by a fairly sleazy Gotham “lawyer,” with a very “hard” name, who hired the falling photog. Any guesses? We’ll bet he’s supping tonight at Elaine’s.” ’

Carpenter put the paper down. “Oh, shit,” she said.

“Oh, yeah,” Dino agreed.