“Done,” Stone said. He turned to the woman: “Tell him what’s included.” He got out his phone and called Joan.
“Yes, boss?”
“Joan, I need twenty-five grand in cash right now.”
“Which court?”
“I don’t need bail, I’m in a motorcycle shop on Third Avenue, almost at P.J.’s.”
“The one with the Norton in the window?”
“That’s the one.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t see it. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Stone hung up and turned to the owner again. “Harvey, the cash will be here in ten minutes. While I’m waiting, I’d like to see the title, the original title, the registration, and the original owner’s manual — and the original tool kit. Oh, and I’d like it filled up and your best helmet and delivered to my house in Manhattan tomorrow morning at ten.”
“Doable, as soon as I see cash,” Harvey replied firmly.
“Let me speak to Gilly,” he said, turning to the woman.
“You shouldn’t have told him my name, Harvey. He’s creepy.”
“I am not creepy, I’m an attorney-at-law.”
“Yeah? A minute ago you told me you were a cop.”
“Used to be. Retired.”
“You really want to do this, Harvey? Okay.” She went to her desk, unlocked a drawer, and came out with a fat envelope and a soft leather case.
Stone pulled up a chair, shook out the contents of the envelope, and went through the paperwork. To his astonishment, it was all there. A little greasy, but there.
Then, two people entered the showroom — Joan, through the front door, carrying a bank bag, and a young man, through a rear door, carrying a five-gallon jerry can. They all met in the middle, and money changed hands. Joan left. Harvey signed the title and offered his hand. “All yours, Barrington.”
Stone shook the hand. “Was there really another buyer?”
“You bet your ass there was, but he’s late with the money, and I don’t do late.”
“What did the guy look like?”
“Six-two, wiry, beak of a nose, name of Sig.”
“Harvey,” Stone said, “I’m going to ask a favor of you.”
“You can ask,” Harvey replied.
“When Sig shows up, I want you to tell him that the bike has been sold, but the new owner is at Clarke’s, and he might deal. Tell him the guy’s name is Frank, and he’s having dinner at Clarke’s, across the street.”
Harvey looked worried. “I don’t know if I want to break that news to Sig. He looks like he knows how to handle himself.”
At that moment, a cell phone rang, and Harvey fished it out of a pocket. “This is Harvey. Oh, hi, Sig. No, I won’t wait until tomorrow. In fact, I just sold it to a guy named Frank, who’s eating a steak at Clarke’s, across the street, as we speak. You could talk to him. He says he’ll deal.” Harvey hung up to cut off the sputtering noises coming from the phone. “He’s all yours, Barrington. I’m getting out of here. You, too, babe.”
Stone gave Harvey his card, with his address for the delivery tomorrow morning. “Call first and tell my secretary, Joan, exactly what time you’re arriving. She’ll open the garage door. Have you got a vehicle that will hold it?”
“I’ve got a trailer.”
“Back into the garage, unload, and leave.”
“You got it,” Harvey said. He poured gasoline into the tank and with a wave, locked them out of the shop. He was last seen pushing the Norton into the back room, followed by the woman.
“See you tomorrow, Harvey,” Stone called after them. “Let’s go,” he said to Dino, “I’m hungry.”
“We’ll need another chair at our table,” Dino said, “since you’ve invited Sig.”
55
They were settled at their table at P.J. Clarke’s when Stone asked, “Did you reload?”
Dino stared at him. “Why?”
“You had only four rounds the last time we talked about this.”
“I reloaded: I’ve got a full magazine in the weapon, one in the chamber and two loaded magazines in my shoulder holster. You?”
“Same here.”
“Why are we worrying about this?” Dino asked.
“Well, I just want to know we can handle him if he walks in here and starts shooting.”
“Why would he do that? He doesn’t know where we are.”
“Dino, didn’t you hear me tell the motorcycle guy to tell him we’re at Clarke’s?”
“Shit, I forgot about that. Why did you do that?”
“I couldn’t think of any other way to find him.”
“Then we’d better get out of here, before he shows up,” Dino said, hipping across the seats and standing.
“What about our steaks?” Stone asked.
“If he comes, how long will he take to get here?”
“He must be in the neighborhood. He found the Norton.”
Dino flagged down a waiter. “Keep our steaks warm,” he said, and headed for the back door. “Come on, Stone, we can’t have a gunfight at Clarke’s.”
They hurried out the back door and into the street, which turned out to be deserted.
“Nothing,” Dino said.
“He could be along any minute.”
“While our steaks either get cold or overcooked. How long should we give him?”
Stone looked down the street to the motorcycle showroom, and checked to be sure the Norton was no longer in the window. “Shouldn’t take him long,” Stone said. Then he perked up his ears. From down Third Avenue, seemingly from the far distance, came a howl. “Not long at all,” he said.
Dino heard it, too. “He just shifted gears. We need a defensive position.”
Stone looked across the street and saw a construction dumpster. “There.”
“Inside a dumpster? This is a good suit.”
“Behind the dumpster,” Stone said. “Come on.” He ran across the street, slammed the open lid of the dumpster shut, and stood behind it. “Okay, now we’ve got two sheets of steel between us and him, plus whatever’s in the dumpster.”
“I don’t think we can do better,” Dino said. “Careful we don’t put rounds through Clarke’s windows.”
The distant motorcycle was only a block away now, and shifting down. The machine, with a single rider, appeared, hopped up onto the curb outside Clarke’s, and the driver got off and peered through the window.
“Not yet,” Dino said, “wait until he’s got the brick wall behind him.”
“Is it enough?”
“It’s a very old building; they built with two stacks of bricks in those days — no brick veneer.”
The man surveyed the interior of the bar for another moment, then began walking toward the rear entrance.
“Hey, Sig!” Stone shouted. “Freeze! Show us your hands!”
Sig went for something inside his jacket and snapped off two quick rounds in the direction of the voice; Stone heard them strike the dumpster with a hollow thump. Stone returned the volley with two shots of his own, but Sig had reversed course and was now in front of the bar window again.
He leapt into the air and landed on the motorcycle; a push of a button brought it to life.
“Not yet!” Dino called. “The window.”
Then Sig moved away from the window, but not into the street. He drove up the sidewalk, while Stone and Dino poured rounds into the parked cars lined up in the gutter. In what seemed like a moment, he was turning down Second Avenue and could be heard accelerating.
“Shit!” Dino yelled. “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?” Stone asked.
“Yell at him to freeze!”
“Because I wasn’t looking to murder him. I gave him a chance to drop the weapon.”
“Yeah, and look what he did instead!” Dino yelled at him. “When you want to kill a guy, you don’t warn him — Don’t you know that?”
“Oh, you just shoot him in the head?”