“Yeah, and if you’d done that this would all be over,” Dino said.
“Well, I guess you’ve got a point,” Stone said, “but if there’d been a witness in a doorway or something you’d be doing time for it.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you would have just shot him, and a witness could have sent you away for a long time.”
“Tell you what, Stone,” Dino said. “Next time we get near him, give me the first shot and keep your mouth shut. I’ll deal with whatever a witness might say.”
“As you wish,” Stone said. “I’ll come visit you in Dannemora now and then.”
“Now,” Dino said, “I think we’d better get out of here, because someone has already called 911, and I don’t want to have to explain how all these cars got shot up.”
“Let’s go see how our steaks are doing,” Stone said, and they crossed the street and went into Clarke’s through the back door. The steaks were on their table, under lids, but they were still fairly hot.
Their waiter came over. “Hey, Dino, did you catch the gunfire outside?”
“What gunfire?” Dino asked innocently.
“Never mind,” the waiter replied, then went away.
Stone dug into his lukewarm steak. “It was a BMW, wasn’t it?”
“What? Sig’s motorcycle?”
“Yes. A black BMW?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re a big help. And Sig was dressed in all-black leather and a helmet, right?”
“I think so.”
“Then add those things to his description.”
“How do you know he won’t change everything?”
“I think he really loves the BMW, just from the way he rode it, and I think he thinks he looks really cool in black.”
“If you say so,” Dino replied. He made the call.
56
Stone walked into his bedroom and found a note on his bedside table. Joan must have left it for him.
Stone,
It’s been more than fun, a lot more, but I need to go back to work. I’ve missed the bakery, missed the people, and most of all, the smell of baking bread. I’m going to spend a lot more time here.
Also, I think it’s time for you and me to take a break, maybe a permanent one. I think we’ve wrung all we can out of each other, especially in bed, so we should just give it a rest. I am very fond of you, though, and who knows how I’ll feel in, say, a year?
He had been half expecting something like that, and there it was. In addition to some regret, he also felt some relief. After all, Holly was due in town in a few days, and who knew where that was going? The very least he could do was to be available for her and whatever she wanted.
He stripped off and fell into bed, exhausted. The act of firing a weapon at another human being had drained him of adrenaline. He was pondering, as he drifted off, what Dino had said to him.
The following morning Stone went down to his desk and found a heavy, ivory-colored envelope waiting for him. Inside was the promised ticket, heavily laminated and with a photo ID on the backside. He consigned it to his safe for the time being.
Joan knocked and came in. “It’s in the garage,” she said.
He had forgotten about the Norton. She placed a helmet on his desk. “They left this, too, and this.” She placed a folded one-piece rider’s suit next to the helmet, along with the owner’s manual and a bill of sale, certifying that the machine had been repaired with genuine Norton replacement parts. He shook out the suit and held it up to himself.
“That works,” Joan said.
Stone got into the suit, which fit very well, and walked into the garage. There it was, on its kickstand, gleaming, better than new. There was a pair of gloves in the suit pocket, and he put them on, slipped his cell phone into a breast pocket, then set the helmet on his head and adjusted the chinstrap.
The keys were in an envelope taped to the tank, and he pocketed one and inserted the other in the ignition. Following what Harvey had shown him, he kicked the starter once, and it came to life. He rehearsed the gear-change sequence while still on the kickstand, then he got off and pressed the button beside the garage door. He mounted the bike, pushed off the stand, shifted into first, and motored slowly into the street, flipping down the helmet visor. The garage door closed behind him.
He drove the cycle gingerly across the East Side to the Sixty-third Street entrance to the FDR Drive, practicing shifts, and leaning into the corners as much as he dared. Sweet! At last, he turned onto the highway and, for the first time, really accelerated. He headed downtown, brazenly weaving through the traffic, then crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and got off at the first turn and drove to where the River Café was. Too early for lunch, though.
He reversed course and drove all the way to Harlem before leaving the highway and starting down Second Avenue. By now, the machine was practically an extension of his body, and he drove with more confidence than was probably good for him. He eventually turned onto his street, stopped at the garage door and, having no remote control, phoned Joan.
“I’m outside,” he said. “Buzz me in.”
“Buzz yourself in,” she said. “It’s taped to your handlebars.”
He found the remote, drove inside, parked the cycle, shut it down, and stroked it like a pet. “You are a very good girl,” he said to it, then he got out of his riding suit and went back to his desk.
Joan buzzed him. “Holly on one,” she said.
Stone punched the button. “Hello, there!”
“A motorcycle? Really? At your age?”
“How did you...”
“Joan told me, of course. This is terrible. Now you’re going to drive the thing through a plate-glass window somewhere, and I’m going to have to break cover and visit you in the hospital, and we’re going to become a de facto couple, and you’ll be dogged by the media everywhere you go, and I’ll have to explain why you’re driving a motorcycle at your very advanced age.”
“I’m not that...”
“Yes, you are, you just won’t admit it.”
“I just drove it to Brooklyn and back, and it behaved beautifully! Me, too.”
“I don’t want to hear about it. I’ll have nightmares!”
“Let’s make a pact,” he said. “Let’s never mention the motorcycle again.”
“I can’t do that! I’d explode. Besides, what would I give you a hard time about?”
“Okay, how about just until the election. If you win, I’ll retire the motorcycle, and you won’t have to worry.”
She sighed. “That’s the best deal I’m going to get, isn’t it?”
“Maybe not, but it’s the best deal on the motorcycle you’re going to get.”
“Okay. Did you get your invitation for Tuesday night?”
“I did, and I’m very grateful for the access.”
“We’re going to have this period between when the polls close and when, maybe, the media will announce that I’ve won, and during that period I’m going to fuck your brains out,” she said.
“Promise?”
“I vow it, because if I win, it will be our last time until I’m a free civilian again and can do whatever I want.”
“I’ve got news for you, kiddo,” he said, “you’re going to do whatever you want, anyway, and to hell with the media. As long as we don’t do it in the street, they’ll never lay a glove on you, because Americans want their president to have a sex life, one that they can fantasize about, and you’re going to give them that, with all the help from me that I can muster.”
She giggled. “And we know how much that is, don’t we?”
“That said, I support your suggestion that we have those hours and minutes to be wanton, while you’re still, technically, a non-president. And I look forward to every minute of it.