6 Stone Barrington Novels (185 page)

STONE NEARLY CHOKED
on his bourbon. Tiff glided by, flashing Stone a brilliantly threatening smile that seemed to say, “If you speak to me I will cut your heart out.”

“Evening, Stone,” she said, as she passed.

“Evening, Tiffany.”

“Oh,” Arrington said, “so that's the fabled United States Attorney for the Southern District of New York.”

Dino laughed. “I'm surprised she'd show her face in here.”

“Why not?” Arrington said. “I hear she's already shown everything else.”

“Stop it, both of you,” Stone said through clenched teeth. “She'll hear you.”

“She's really quite lovely, Stone,” Arrington said. “I hope your roll in the hay was worth the consequences.”

“What consequences?” Dino asked.

“From what I hear, Stone is just about the most famous man in New York, and tomorrow's papers aren't even out, yet.”

“God, is there no end to this?” Stone said aloud.

Arrington patted his hand. “Probably not, my dear, at least not until someone else does something even more outrageous, if that's possible. Dino, do you think you could get me a copy of that videotape from that fellow in New Jersey?”

“Just go to Google and type in ‘U.S. Attorney,' ” Dino said. “The tape will be right at the head of the list.”

Stone glared at him. “You sound as if you've already been there.”

Dino shrugged. “A couple of guys at the precinct stumbled onto it. Several of my detectives have already ordered their personal copies. You're their hero.”

“I want both of you to listen to me very carefully,” Stone said, keeping his voice low and calm. “Either we are going to have a moratorium on this subject from this moment on, or the two of you can dine together without my company.” He was volcanically angry, but he was not going to allow himself to show it.

“Why, Stone,” Arrington said, taking his hand, “you're angry. I've never seen you angry before.”

“And I hope you never do again,” Stone replied. “Now, shall we order?” He thanked God his back was to Tiff. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He ignored it.

THEY WERE FINISHING
dinner when Stone's cell phone vibrated again, and still he ignored it. A moment later, it went off for a third time. He looked at the phone and read the number from caller ID—Lance. “Will you excuse me for a moment?” Stone said.

“Of course,” Arrington replied.

Stone got up and walked toward the front door, while answering his phone. “Yes?”

“It's Lance.”

Stone stepped outside into the cold. “What is it?”

“I need you right now.”

Stone cursed under his breath. “I'm sorry, you're breaking up.”

“Don't hand me that,” Lance said. “I need you right this minute. A car will pick you up in front of Elaine's in about thirty seconds.”

“I'm sorry, I still can't read you,” Stone said. “Try again later.” He turned off the cell phone and walked back inside, shivering.

“Who was it?” Arrington asked.

“A client. We had a bad connection, so I couldn't hear him.”

“Do a lot of clients call you at eleven o'clock in the evening?” Arrington asked.

“More than I would like.”

“It's gotta be a girl,” Dino said.

Stone had to put a stop to this right now. “It was Lance.”

“Lance who?” Arrington asked.

“Lance Cabot,” Dino said. “He would be the New York station chief for the CIA, if they have a New York station.”

“I used to know a Lance Cabot years ago,” Arrington said.

“What did he look like?” Dino asked.

Arrington pointed toward the front door. “Very much like that,” she said.

Lance strode through the restaurant to the table. “Why, Arrington,” he said, his usual charming self, “how nice to see you after all these years.”

“And you, Lance,” Arrington said, offering her hand. “I hear you're with the CIA these days.”

A flicker of annoyance ran across Lance's face, but he kept his composure. He turned to Stone. “I need to speak to you outside.”

“I'm sorry, Lance, but we're about to have dessert,” Stone replied. “Would you like something?”

“I'm afraid I haven't time right now, but I do need to speak to you.”

Stone turned to Arrington. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”

“Of course.”

Stone jerked his head in the direction of the mens' room and walked back there. It was a small facility, but he checked the booth to be sure they were alone.

Lance leaned against the door.
“Now,”
he said.

“Lance, I'm having dinner with friends. You'll have to get along without me tonight.”

“Are you armed, Stone?” Lance asked.

“No,” Stone replied.

“Another breach of my instructions.”

“Lance, your instructions are becoming a pain in the ass.”

Lance reached under his arm and produced a very small semiautomatic pistol. Simultaneously, he took a small tube from his pocket and began screwing it into the barrel. The whole assembly was no more than six inches long. “Please don't underestimate the power of this little weapon,” he said. “It can put an end to your life instantly, or, more appropriate to this occasion, destroy a knee, which will require a mechanical replacement, if you don't bleed to death while waiting for the paramedics to arrive.”

“No,” Stone said.

Lance pointed the gun at Stone's right knee and fired a round, making a soft
pffft
noise.

Stone moved at the last second, and he felt something tug at his trouser leg. He looked down to see both an entry and an exit hole through the inside knee of his pants.

“Hold still,” Lance said, taking aim again. “I wouldn't want to hit the femoral artery.”

“All right,” Stone said, holding his hands out before him. “That won't be necessary; I'll come with you.”

“Thank you so much,” Lance said. “Now say your goodbyes, and we'll be on our way.”

Stone walked back into the restaurant and to his table. “Arrington,” he said, “I must apologize, but something urgent has come up, and I have to accompany Lance somewhere. I hope you'll forgive me.”

“If I must,” she replied.

“Arrington,” Lance said, “I hope we'll have an opportunity to renew our acquaintance at more length soon. Good night.”

“Good night, Lance, Stone.”

Stone got his coat and followed Lance from the restaurant. They got into a black car.

“Now,” Lance said, “where did Arrington hear that I am connected with the Agency?”

“She didn't hear it from me,” Stone said.

“Did Dino tell her?”

“She didn't hear it from me,” Stone repeated.

“All right.”

“So what's the emergency?” Stone asked.

“We've caught Billy Bob.”

“What? Where?”

“He was sitting outside your house in the red Hummer; he was armed with a silenced nine-millimeter handgun and two of the rather special grenades I told you about.”

“Outside my house?”

“That is correct. Stone, if you once again fail to follow an instruction of mine, I'll have you inducted into the armed services with the rank of private, so that if you should ever ignore another order, I can have you court-martialed and sent to Leavenworth for a few years. We have a rather special little detention unit there.”

“All right, all right,” Stone said.

“And if I find you unarmed again until this is over, I will, I promise, shoot you in a particularly painful place.”

Stone slumped in his seat and wished he were at home in his bed.

LANCE BEGAN
idly unscrewing the silencer from his little pistol.

“What is that, some CIA secret weapon?” Stone asked.

“Hardly,” Lance replied. “It's a Keltec three-eighty, weighs ten ounces, loaded. Of course, our gunsmiths have done a little work on it, but it's a wonderfully concealable weapon and very effective, if the range isn't too great. I'll send you one.”

“I don't understand why you need me.”

“I want you to interrogate Billy Bob.”

“And why do you think he'll talk to me more readily than to you?”

“He seems heavily invested in you; no one else has so captured his attention, so, even if he's just angry with you, he'll communicate.”

“I don't see how this is going to work.”

“You're going to be the good cop,” Lance explained. “After I've shouted at him or threatened him, you're going to interrupt. Surely, you've done this a thousand times.”

“Very nearly,” Stone said. He had always played the good cop to Dino's bad, when questioning suspects. “Where is Billy Bob?”

“In your garage,” Lance replied.

“What?”

“It was convenient to the scene of his capture.”

“How did you get into my house?”

Lance looked at him, almost with pity. “
Really,
Stone.”

Stone sat back and shut up.

“Now, here's the way it's going to go,” Lance said. “Two of my men are with Billy Bob now, two very . . . ah, capable gentlemen. They may have slapped him around a bit by the time we get there, depending on his attitude. They're both rather short-tempered.”

“Dino and I never got to soften them up,” Stone said, half to himself. “Dino would have loved that.”

“We do not operate under the same strictures placed upon the NYPD,” Lance said, “or any other law-enforcement agency.”

Stone wondered how far Lance would take that. “And just how far would you take that?” he asked.

“As far as necessary,” Lance replied. “I hope it won't be necessary to spill Billy Bob's brains onto your garage floor. Incidentally, it's good of you to have a two-car garage and only one car. Otherwise, we'd have to do this in your office.”

“Whatever I can do to help,” Stone said, sarcastically.

“Now you're beginning to understand your position,” Lance said. “I did not recruit you simply for legal advice or for the people you know, or for the table you have at Elaine's. I did so, because there are times I need someone like you, someone with a semipublic face, with gainful employment, who lives in full view of the world, or nearly so, and has some skills, no matter how rudimentary. It helps that you inadvertently made contact with and gained the attention of Billy Bob through other means.

“I recruited Dino, because there are times when I need the resources of a big-city police department without having to deal with its hierarchy.”

“Why did you recruit Holly Barker?”

“I need Holly for other, more operational reasons. She is considering a more permanent offer from us as we speak, though I think it might take a few weeks or months for her to gather the resolve to leave her present, quite pleasant circumstances and join us.”

They turned the corner onto Stone's block and stopped in front of his house.

“Let's go in through your office,” Lance said, using a key of his own, to Stone's annoyance.

“I don't recall our contract saying anything about your using my house at will for surreptitious interrogations.”

“There's a part of your contract that reads ‘render all reasonable assistance,' ” Lance suggested. He led the way through Stone's office, into his basement, then into the garage. Billy Bob sat in his shirtsleeves, tied to an armless kitchen chair with a wicker seat, which Stone had stored in the garage because he didn't need it, but it was too nice to throw away. Billy Bob's hands were tied behind him. He glared at Stone but said nothing.

“Now, Harlan,” Lance said. “I know that may not be your name, but . . . oh what the hell, we'll just call you Billy Bob. Stone is used to that.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Billy Bob replied, not unpleasantly.

“I can see this is going to be more fun than I had hoped,” Lance said. He turned toward his two men, who were leaning nonchalantly against the garage wall. “I would like for you two to cause Billy Bob, here, considerable pain, without marking him up too badly. I want him relatively bruise-free when we deliver him to Guantanamo, if possible. If not, then . . .”

“Sure thing,” one of the men said, pushing himself off the wall and striding toward Billy Bob, whose expression did not change.

“Hold it a minute, Lance,” Stone said. “Give me a few minutes alone with Billy Bob.”

“Oh, all right,” Lance said, as if it were against his better judgment. He beckoned to his two companions. “Come with me,” he said. At the door he turned back to Stone out of Billy Bob's hearing. “Five minutes, Stone, and I want to know three things: One, who is his contact at the New Mexico weapons installation; two, where are the other
thirty-four grenades he and Billy Bob stole; and three, the name, address and telephone number of the person to whom he intended to sell them.” Lance left, and Stone returned to the garage.

He leaned against his car. “So, you were going to kill me?”

“I still am,” Billy Bob said.

“Why? What did I ever do to you?”

“You inconvenienced me.”

“That hardly stacks up against your murdering that girl in my house and trying to blame me for it, then stealing fifty thousand dollars from me.”

“I was only getting started,” Billy Bob said.

“You're in over your head, now, Billy Bob. Let me explain things to you: You're not under arrest; you're not going to be arraigned or allowed to see an attorney, except me; and when Lance's two thugs are done with you, if there's anything left, you're going to find yourself in a cage at Gitmo with a lot of companions who speak only Arabic or Urdu, and nobody will ever know you're there. You'll spend the next few years being interrogated a couple of times a day, until they've milked you dry, and then you'll disappear even from Cuba. Now, if you give me the information Lance wants, then maybe I can ameliorate those circumstances a bit, do some kind of a deal.”

“What, no jail time?” Billy Bob asked, contempt in his voice.

“That's not impossible,” Stone said, “but let's start with no torture, no death, and work from there, a bit of information at a time. If you'll tell Lance everything—and I mean
everything
he wants to know, then I'll see that you walk out of here by morning. Then you can take your stolen money and disappear, and Lance won't care. Only the police and the feds will be looking for you, and you don't seem to have had too much trouble evading them, up to this point.”

“Oh, stop it,” Billy Bob said. “I'm going to get whatever I'm going to get, and there's not a fucking thing you can do about it.”

“So, you absolutely refuse to tell me anything?”

“Only to stick your slick personality and your legal skills up your ass.”

“I'm really sorry to hear that, Billy Bob, and I wish they hadn't chosen to do this in my garage. Have you ever tried getting bloodstains out of a concrete floor?” Stone walked slowly to the door and opened it. “Lance?”

Lance came back into the room with his two henchmen.

“I'm afraid you're going to have to persuade him to talk to you,” Stone said.

Lance turned to the two men. “Strip him, and cut the cane seat out of that chair so his genitals will be exposed. I'm going to get some tools; I'll be right back.” He motioned for Stone to follow him, then closed the door behind him and started up the stairs.

“Let's see what being naked does to his self-confidence,” Lance said, as they emerged into the first floor of the house. He went to the bar in Stone's study and poured them both a Knob Creek.

“You're not really going to torture the guy, are you?”

“No? Stick around.”

“I don't want any part of this,” Stone said.

Lance sipped his drink. “You're too squeamish, Stone,” he said. “You wouldn't mind what we did to him, if you didn't know him, if he wasn't in your house, would you?”

“I would, wherever you had him,” Stone replied. “I believe in the rule of law, even for Billy Bob. I'd be content to see him in prison for the rest of his life, and God knows, there's enough evidence to put him there—two murders, that we know about, just for a start.”

“Oh, I'm not going to torture him, Stone, but a few minutes with that thought in Billy Bob's mind might do wonders to loosen his tongue.”

There was a rattling noise from downstairs.

“What's that?” Lance asked.

“That is the sound of my garage door opening.”

Lance set down his drink and started for the stairs. “What are those two fools doing? We don't want people passing by looking into your garage, do we?”

As Stone followed him down the stairs, the rattling noise came again. “They're closing the garage door,” he said.

Lance strode across the basement and flung open the inside door to the garage, which was in total darkness. “Where's the fucking light switch?” he demanded, groping along the wall.

Stone found the switch, and the garage was, once again, flooded with flourescent light. One of Lance's two men lay on his back, his throat gaping and blood pooling around him; the other sat on the floor, leaning against Stone's car, clutching his chest and coughing blood down the front of his shirt. One of them couldn't be helped, and Stone didn't know what to do for the other.

Lance calmly flipped open his cell phone and pressed a single button. “This is a Mayday,” he said, slowly and clearly. I need paramedics and a cleaning crew
now,
at the Barrington residence, garage entrance.”

The man leaning against Stone's car coughed once more and keeled over sideways, coming to rest with his head on the concrete floor and his eyes open.

“Hang on,” Lance said. “Scrub the paramedics; just send the cleaning crew.”