“Oh, men always think that,” she said, exasperated. “There are things Thad can give me, things I need, things you can’t . . .” She left it hanging.
“Can’t afford?” he asked. “I live pretty well. Of course, I’m not worth five billion dollars, but I didn’t think Thad was, anymore, not after his new stock offering collapsed, and with the way the market has been.”
“It’s true,” she said. “Thad was hurt badly. Now he’s only worth three billion.”
“What a blow,” Stone said.
“It’s not the money,” she said. “All right, maybe that’s part of it. God knows, I’ll never have to draw another anxious breath.”
“Not about money, anyway.”
“Won’t you try and understand?”
“What is there to understand? I’m out, Thad’s in. It’s your life; I can’t tell you how to live it.”
“If only you’d . . .” She stopped.
Stone didn’t want to hear the rest, anyway. “I think it’s a little late for ‘if only,’ ” he said. “Clearly, you’ve thought this out, I’m not going to try to talk you out of it.”
“Thank God for that,” she muttered, half to herself.
They sat silently for a moment, then, without another word, Callie got up and headed for the door, nearly knocking down Dino, who had chosen that moment to walk in.
Dino turned and watched her rush out the door, then he walked over to Stone’s table and sat down. Dino Bacchetti had been Stone’s partner when he was still on the NYPD; now he ran the detective squad at the Nineteenth Precinct. “So,” he said, “I see you managed to fuck up another relationship.”
“Jesus, Dino, I didn’t do anything,” Stone said.
Dino motioned to Michael for a drink. “That’s usually the problem,” he said. The drink was placed before him, and he sipped it.
“You want some dinner, Dino?” Michael asked.
“Whatever he’s having,” Dino replied.
“Caesar salad and the osso buco?”
“Good.” He turned to Stone. “After a while, women expect you to do something.”
“She’s marrying Thad Shames.”
Dino’s eyebrows shot up. “No shit? Well, I’ll admit, I didn’t see that one coming. I guess Thad isn’t broke yet.”
“Not yet, but he’s only worth three billion now.”
“Poor guy; couple months, he’ll be living on the street. Still, he got the girl.”
“Don’t rub it in.”
“It’s what I do,” Dino explained.
Stone’s cellphone, clipped to his belt, began to vibrate. “Now what?” he said to nobody in particular. “Hello?”
“Stone, it’s Bill Eggers.” Bill was the managing partner of Woodman & Weld, the prestigious law firm for which Stone did unprestigious jobs.
“Yeah, Bill.”
“You sound down.”
“Just tired; what’s up?”
“You got anything heavy on your plate right now?”
“Nothing much.”
“Good; there’s a guy coming to see you tomorrow morning at nine, with some work. Do whatever he says.”
“Suppose he wants me to kill somebody.”
“If this guy wanted somebody killed, he’d do it himself. His name is John Bartholomew, and he’s major, in his way.”
“I’ll be glad to see him.”
“You got a passport?”
“Yes.” Not that he’d used it for a long time.
“Good. You’re going to need it.” Eggers hung up.
Elaine came over and pulled up a chair. “Callie left in a hurry,” she said. “I guess you fucked it up again.”
“Don’t you start,” Stone said.
Chapter 2
STONE WOKE UP HUNGOVER. HE SHOULDN’T drink that much so close to bedtime, he reflected, and resolved, once again, not to do it again. It was half past eight, and this guy Bartholomew was coming at nine; no time for breakfast. He showered and shaved and got into a suit, then went down to his office on the ground floor.
The ground floor, except for the garage, had been a dentist’s office when Stone’s great-aunt had still owned the house. After Stone inherited the place and renovated it, mostly with the sweat of his own brow, he turned the dentist’s office into his own. His secretary, Joan Robertson, worked at the front of the house, then came a couple of small rooms for supplies and the copying machine, then his own office, a pleasant room at the back of the house, looking out into the gardens of Turtle Bay, a collection of townhouses in the East Forties that opened onto a common garden. Only the burglar bars spoiled the view.