Shakeup

38

Stone was walking back from the Grill, after lunch with a client, when his phone rang. “Yes?” he said and continued walking.

“It’s Dino. You want the latest news, or you want to see it on TV?”

“Dino, you know I hang on your every breath. What’s going on?”

“Donald Clark got offed while in a grand jury hearing.”

Stone was stunned. “While testifying? Who shot him, the prosecutor?”

“No, they were on a lunch break and Clark went to an adjoining room to meet with his attorney, who gave him the good news that the U.S. attorney was offering him immunity in the Carlyle case. He wanted to think it over, so the attorney left him alone while he ordered lunch.”

“So, he got more than he ordered, and in the federal courthouse?”

“He got a .22 slug in the back of the head, and an extra one for insurance.”

“Have we heard what Little Debby’s alibi is?”

“Not yet, but I’ll give ten-to-one odds that it will be a peach.”

“I’m not taking that bet,” Stone said.

“Anyway, an elderly black woman was seen in a nearby hallway, carrying a pail and a mop. You ever heard of Ma Barker?”

“A 1930s gang leader, wasn’t she?”

“Right. Also, the sobriquet of a certain middle-aged black woman who works as a hit man — excuse me, hit lady.”

“Is Ma Barker’s alibi a peach?”

“You bet your ass it is. She was at choir practice at her church.”

“Oh, that’s good in so many ways!”

“You are right! She can put twelve ladies and a reverend on the stand to testify to her presence.”

“Come on, nobody at a church choir practice would so blatantly lie for her.”

“Right, but the cops have spoken to the twelve ladies and the reverend that she named — who were not, of course, necessarily at the church. You can bet they were well paid, though, and Ma Barker, too.”

“That’s breathtaking.”

“Did I mention that the feds found a gray wig on fire in a trash can in the courthouse?”

“How about a weapon?”

“Nowhere in sight, and not in Ma Barker’s house, either. They got a warrant.”

“So everybody involved takes a walk?”

“Everybody but Donald Clark. He took a gurney to a slab downstairs.”

“What’s the old expression?”

“It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy?”

“That’s the one. My sentiments exactly.”

“Are you going to tell Art Jacoby?” Dino asked.

“No, I thought you’d like to do that.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Well, I’m not going to tell him,” Stone said. “Let’s let him hear about it on the evening news. Talk to you later.” He hung up. The phone rang again before he could get it back into his pocket. “Yes?”

“Stone, it’s Art Jacoby; have you heard?”

“Yep.”

“Donald Clark got himself shot in a federal courthouse.”

“Art, I just gave you an affirmative response to your question.”

“They suspect a black hit lady called Ma Barker.”

“Art, you’re not listening. I just heard it all from Dino.”

“Why didn’t you say so? Ma Barker is one slick lady,” Art said.

“You know what her alibi is? Twelve members of her church choir and her Reverend.”

“How do you know all this stuff? It just happened.”

“Art, are you at home?”

“If you can call this hotel a home, yeah.”

“Then sit down and compose yourself. Take a few deep breaths.”

“I’m next on Little Debby’s hit list. I’m not going to have any breath to spare.”

“Art, I have to run now. Try and calm down. You’ll live longer.”

“Fat chance,” Art said, then hung up.

Maren Gustav got a call from Mark Bernstein. She listened carefully, asked some questions, then hung up.

Her secretary came in. “Have you heard?”

Maren held up a hand. “I have heard, so you don’t get to tell me the story.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going to think about it before I do anything. If anybody else calls, tell them I’ve already heard the news and, if it’s a reporter, that I have no comment at this time.”

“That’s pretty ballsy,” the woman said.

“It’s the truth,” Maren said, “all of it.” She made shooing motions, and the woman went back to her desk. A moment later she buzzed Maren.

Maren picked up. “Was I not clear?”

“It’s Stone Barrington, and he didn’t ask if you’ve heard.”

“Ah.” She picked up the phone. “Yes, I’ve heard.”

“I figured you had,” Stone said. “I was calling for a different reason.”

“Pray tell, what is that?”

“I hear that Little Debby’s alibi was that she was in New York at the time of the killing. I thought that might necessitate a trip to our city by the nation’s chief investigative officer.”

“I like the way you think,” she said.

“I like that you like the way I think. It will make your expense account look better if you just stay with me, rather than at the Carlyle.”

“More good thinking.” She looked at her watch. “I have a helicopter at my disposal, now, you know.”

“I rather thought you did.”

“I can be scratching on your door by six o’clock.”

“I love that sound,” Stone said. “What would you like to dine on?”

“You,” she said.

“I hope your phone isn’t tapped.”

“Trust me, it’s not.”

“We’ll dine in then.”

“Oh, yes.”