“That remains to be seen.” Stone called Dino.
“Bacchetti.”
“I’m busting out of here,” Stone said. “Send me killer help.”
“Where are you going?”
“To be determined. I just have to get out.”
“Okay, meet me at La Goulue for lunch at twelve-thirty.”
“Done,” Stone said. “You book. I want everybody to know I’m lunching with a cop.” He hung up and turned to Joan. “Got that?”
“Sure.”
“As soon as Fred gets back, tell him we’re going out.”
“Okay.”
“Listen, if you go upstairs to the master bedroom, there’s a shotgun leaning against the wall and a box of shells on the bed. Bring them down here, please.”
“Right.” Joan fled upstairs and returned with the arms, then went to her office.
Stone went into his safe and removed a small 9mm Sig Arms pistol and a shoulder holster and got them on.
Fred walked in.
“Any problems?”
“None at all, sir. I took precautions.”
“Then let’s get out of here,” Stone said. He got into the car in the garage and placed the shotgun on his lap, then Fred rolled out onto the street. Two men on motorcycles, who had been waiting at the curb, followed the car. As they turned onto Park Avenue, Stone noticed a motorcyclist sitting on an idling machine, talking on a cell phone. “See that, Fred?”
“I did, but he’s not following us. Where to first, sir?” Fred asked.
“Let’s start at Turnbull & Asser,” Stone replied. Fred drove him to 50 East Fifty-seventh Street, parked illegally, got out, surveyed the street in every direction, then stood at the rear door of the car with his hand on his pistol while Stone got out and hurried into the store. Fred remained on guard outside, and the two motorcycle cops sat on their machines, watching the traffic.
Stone went up to the third floor and encountered Felix, who looked after the bespoke shirt department. “Yes, Mr. Barrington?”
“Let’s see your new swatches,” Stone said.
Felix trotted out a couple of thick swatch books, and Stone began to run through them, writing down some fabric numbers on an order form. Stone’s back was to the elevator, but he heard it open.
He stood up and reached under his jacket as if he were scratching an itch while he moved to the other side of the table, then watched a woman carrying a large handbag get off the elevator with a small dog on a leash.
Stone went back to the swatch books, this time facing the elevator, while Felix went to see if he could help her. He could not, apparently, and he returned to the table, while she looked at ties.
Stone handed him the completed order form. “Please add four whites — two French-cuffed and two barrel-cuffed. When is delivery?”
“London is running eight weeks right now.”
“Good.”
A dog barked. Stone looked up to see the woman, who had approached the table, digging into her handbag. Instinctively, his hand went under his jacket, and he loosened the pistol in its holster.
The woman’s hand came out of the bag holding something black, and everything seemed to slow down. Stone didn’t wait to identify the object; he yanked the 9mm from its holster and began to swing it toward her, thumbing off the safety. The first round would fire double-action, and he made a mental note to himself to fire a second round, because he was less accurate with double-action. Now he had to wait and either identify the object in her hand or, if he wanted to be sure, fire immediately. On an instinct that had been finely honed to sense trouble, he fired.
The woman, who was not large, flew backward onto the floor in a spray of blood, and the dog began to bark incessantly. Stone didn’t need a second shot.
Felix was pressed against a shelf of shirts and yelling something, but Stone was not wearing ear protection, so the shot had rendered him temporarily deaf. He got up and, holding the gun in a firing position, walked toward the supine woman. There was a hole high up in her chest, and coughed-up blood on her lips. Her eyes were wide open, as if shocked or angry: probably both, he reflected.
He reached out with a toe and, without looking directly at it, kicked the black object away from her. “Call 911, Felix,” Stone said. “Tell them that the police are already on the scene, but we need an ambulance. Woman with a gunshot wound to the chest.”
Felix found his phone and began calling.
Stone found his own phone and called Fred.
“Yes, sir?”
“Send those two cops up to the third floor right now. You stay there and watch yourself. There’s been an attempt. He put the phone away and looked at the woman. She seemed semiconscious, now.
Stone finally found time to take a closer look at the black object on the floor; it was a .22 semiautomatic with a silencer. He began breathing normally again.
29
Dino got out of the elevator, followed by two detectives wearing badges on their breast pockets. The EMTs were working on the woman, doing something to her chest and starting an IV. Dino took a good look at her before they handed him a manila envelope, then wheeled her to the elevator. “How’d it go down?” he asked.
“I was sitting at this table, looking that way.” Stone jerked his thumb. “I heard the elevator door open, and I moved over here. She had a large handbag and a small dog on a leash.”
“Yeah, the dog’s fine. He’s downstairs waiting for animal control.”
“She put her hand into her bag, groping for something, and I put mine on my gun. I saw her come out with something black, and I made the decision.”
“Good thing you didn’t think it over,” Dino said.
“Yeah, well.”
One of the detectives was clearing the .22. “Baretta,” he said. “Nice piece, if you’re going for the head.”
“Anything to add?” Dino asked.
“Nothing,” Stone replied.
“Then let’s get out of here. I’m hungry.”
Dino led the way out of the building to where both their cars were stopped. Dino’s SUV had a flashing light going. “Let’s take your car,” he said. “It’s more comfortable.” He told his people to follow them, then got into Stone’s rear seat.
Stone got in, too.
“You okay?” Dino asked, looking at him closely.
“Yeah, I’m okay. Why not?”
“You ever shoot anybody before? I mean, actually hit them?”
Stone thought about that for a moment. “No.”
“Where were you aiming?”
“Center of the chest.”
“Good thing for her you’re a lousy shot.”
Stone didn’t argue with that. He’d never spent enough time at the range.
“You missed her heart but knicked a lung, I think. The EMTs were treating her for a collapsed lung.”
“Good.”
“This is good for us,” Dino said. “We get to talk to this one.”
“Great.”
“There was no wallet or purse inside the big bag, though — no driver’s license or credit cards, just some makeup, etcetera. She’s likely a pro, but not a great one, or you’d be the one in the meat wagon.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I’m proud of you for shooting first. That’s not like you, really.”
“I guess it is when my life is at stake,” Stone said.
“I guess so. Jeez, I’m hungry.”
They pulled up outside La Goulue and waited for the officers to have a look around before they went in and occupied their table.”
The waiter brought them their usual drinks, and Dino handed him the menu. “I’ll have the steak frites,” he said. “Stone?”
“The same,” Stone said. “And two glasses of the Côtes-du-Rhône.” The waiter headed for the kitchen.
The maître d’ came over and shook their hands. “I checked the reservations, Dino,” he said. “There’s nobody here that I don’t know.”