by Stuart Woods
* * *
—
GINO AND VERONICA BELLINI glided to a halt in front of the restaurant. “Here we are,” he said, and he waited for their driver to open the door for them.
“And how do you know this place?”
“I don’t. I read about it in a novel.”
The door opened, and they went inside the restaurant and Gino gave his name. They were escorted to a table against a wall and sat side by side with a good view of the whole place. Drinks and menus were delivered.
“Holy shit,” Gino said.
“You put that so gracefully, Gino,” Veronica said drily. “What does it mean?”
“Look across the room, center booth, under some photographs on the wall.”
“I see two couples having dinner.”
“Exactly. The blonde is Meg Harmon.”
Veronica stared across the room. “Holy shit,” she said softly. “What do we do?”
“First of all, stop staring at them. Look anywhere else in the room but there.”
“Okay, now what?”
“Tell me what you’d like for dinner.”
“A steak and a Caesar salad,” she replied.
The headwaiter materialized at their table and inquired if they’d like to order.
“Two Caesar salads, two strip steaks, medium rare,” Gino responded.
“Would you like any vegetables?”
“Onion rings and green beans,” Gino said.
The man handed him a wine list. “I’ll be back in a moment to take your wine order.” He vanished.
“Are you looking at them?” Gino asked.
“I’m trying not to,” Veronica replied.
“Look for other interesting faces in the room—imagine who they might be.”
The headwaiter returned. “Have you chosen a wine, sir?”
Gino glanced at the wine list at the high end of the price range. “A bottle of the Opus One,” he replied.
“An excellent choice. May I decant it for you?”
Gino looked at him blankly.
“The wine is twenty years old; it’s likely to have some sediment at the bottom.”
“Yes, do that, thanks.”
“I see an actor I recognize,” Veronica said, “but I can’t think of his name.”
“Good, keep checking him out until the name comes to you.”
The headwaiter returned with a bottle of wine in a basket, a candle, and a corkscrew. He uncorked the wine, sniffed the cork and handed it to Gino, who aped him.
The headwaiter held the bottle with the candle under it and carefully poured the wine into a decanter. “There,” he said, and poured some for Gino to taste.
Gino tasted it. “Yeah, okay.”
The man poured two glasses. “I’ll be back shortly to make your salads,” he said, then went away.
Gino got out his cell phone, Googled the Lombardy Hotel, and rang the number. “Joseph Cross,” he said to the operator.
“Hello?”
“You’re in—good.”
“About ten minutes ago,” he said. “We’re about to go out for dinner.”
“Write this down—Patroon, 160 East Forty-sixth Street. Call them and make a reservation, then get here as soon as possible. I’ll call you after you’re seated.”
“Right,” Joe said, then hung up. “We’ve got a restaurant recommendation from Gino,” he said to Jane.
18
The headwaiter returned with a small cart, with a bowl and several ingredients on top. Gino and Veronica watched as he expertly mixed egg yolks, crushed garlic, oil, a little vinegar, anchovies, Parmesan cheese, and a teaspoon of mustard. When the mixture was smooth he poured the dressing over torn leaves of romaine lettuce, sprinkled croutons on top, and served them.
“Great,” Gino said, tasting a bite. Veronica approved as well. “Here we go,” Gino whispered, looking up at the entrance.
Dirty Joe and Jungle Jane appeared at the dining room door, nicely dressed, and they were seated at a table to Gino’s right and ordered drinks.
Gino tapped in Joe’s number, and Joe picked it up.
“Yes?”
“You’re sitting on the south wall,” Gino said. “We’re on the west wall. On the east wall there is a table with four people, sitting under some photographs. Got it?”
“I think so.”
“The blonde is who you came to town to see.”
“Got her,” Jo replied.
“Now stop looking at her. They’re already on their main course, so you don’t order a starter. Eat something before they finish dinner, then go outside and wait until they come out. Follow them and find out where she’s staying.”
“Gotcha. We don’t have our tools yet.”
“Don’t do anything, just follow her. When she’s safely inside you can go anywhere you like. Be at my place at ten tomorrow morning.”
“Gotcha.” Joe hung up.
“So that’s Dirty Joe?” Veronica asked.
“And his girl, Jungle Jane, the cleaned-up versions. We’re not going to have to hunt down Meg—Joe will take care of that. Tomorrow, after he’s armed, he can take care of her.”
“Gino, you are so smart.”
“Sometimes it’s better just to be lucky. Tonight we got lucky.”
* * *
—
STONE AND HIS PARTY finished their dessert, paid the bill, and left the restaurant.
* * *
—
JOE AND JANE sat in a taxi, the motor running, and watched as the two couples got into a large black SUV. “Driver,” Joe said, “follow that car.”
“Jesus,” the driver said.
“What’s wrong?”
“That’s a cop car,” he said, “and it’s got the police commissioner’s license plates. You want me to follow him?”
“Exactly. You can hang well back, I just want to see where the car goes.”
They followed the SUV down to First Avenue, took a left on East Forty-ninth Street. The big vehicle continued across Second Avenue and stopped on the right, in the middle of the block.
The cabbie stopped, too, well back. “Well?” he asked.
“We’ll get out here,” Joe said, handing the man a twenty. “Keep the change.” They got out of the car and walked slowly up the opposite side of the street as the occupants of the vehicle dismounted and went inside a town house. As Joe and Jane passed, he made a mental note of the house number. “Got ’em,” he said. “This is going to be easier than I had thought.”
* * *
—
STONE TOOK his guests into his study, and Fred brought them espressos, while they sipped cognac or Grand Marnier.
Dino’s phone buzzed and he glanced at the caller’s number before answering. “What?” he said, then listened for a moment. “Are they still in sight? Okay, don’t worry about it.” He hung up.
“What was that?” Stone asked.
“A cab followed us from the restaurant, and two people, a man and a woman, got out of it down the street and walked past your house. The guy appeared to write down your house number, then they walked up to Second Avenue and got another cab.”
“Let me get this straight,” Stone said. “They got out of a cab down my block, then walked another block and got into another cab?”
“Right, and the guy wrote down your house number. My driver is an on-the-ball cop. I do not like this. Do you like it?”
“I do not like it,” Stone said.
“Wait a minute,” Meg said, “is this about me?”
“Could be,” Dino said. “I don’t think this one is about Stone.”
“There’s something I didn’t want to tell you while we were in the restaurant,” Meg said.
“All right,” Stone replied, “shoot.”
“While we were having dinner, Gino and Veronica Bellini came into the place and were seated across the room from us, on the opposite wall.”
“Why didn’t you speak up?” Stone asked. “I’d have liked a look at the guy.”
“Because I didn’t want Gino to know I’d spotted him. Gino made a phone call, and a few minutes later a couple came into the restaurant and were seated to my left, a few tables away. Gino made another call, and the man of the couple answered, then both he and the woman took a good look at me, but only once. They ate something, but left before we did.”
“Describe the couple,” Stone said.
“The man was tall—maybe six-three or six-four—and thin, with thick, curly, salt-and-pepper hair, not recently cut. The woman was, maybe, five-eight and curvaceous, and here’s the thing—they were both deeply tanned.”
Dino spoke up. “You’re describing the people in the boat who shot at you.”
“I am?” Meg replied.
“I hope you’re both wrong,” Stone said.
“I saw them in the boat, too, and neither of us is wrong,” Dino replied.
“And they were waiting outside in a cab when we left the restaurant, and followed us.”
“Right,” Dino said, “and as soon as they had your address, they got into another cab and drove away.”
“This is disturbing,” Viv said. She had not spoken until now. “I think we’re going to need someone in the house, to answer the door if anyone calls.”
“Good idea,” Dino said.
“I think so, too,” Meg replied.
Stone spoke up. “I have a better idea.”
“Let’s hear it,” Dino said.
“I think we should get out of here early tomorrow morning and leave Dino’s people to pick up this couple, if they drop by again.”
“And where would we go?” Meg asked.
“Maine is nice this time of year,” Stone replied. “And I’m running out of houses.”
19
Stone and Meg had breakfast in bed, with Bob and Sugar playing on the rug nearby.
“Why Maine?” Meg asked. They had been too busy exhausting each other the night before for her to ask.
“Because I have a house there, it’s convenient and secluded, on an island. Our only other option is L.A., and that’s too far away.”
“How small an island?”
“The largest in Penobscot Bay,” Stone said. “The village is Dark Harbor, and it’s big enough for shops and restaurants and to fill out your wardrobe, if necessary. Otherwise, there’s L.L. Bean.”
“I’d better pack,” Meg said. “What will I need?”
“Casual stuff—a sweater or a light coat for the evenings, which will be cool. I’m sorry you won’t get to wear any of your new things. Save them for our return.”
“And when will that be?”
“When it’s safe. Dino is going to put people in the block, and if the couple shows up again, they’ll be arrested.”
“On what charge? They haven’t done anything.”
“They’ve done something in Florida—they tried to kill us, and Dino can identify them. So can you, for that matter, but I was too busy ducking at the time.”
“Then why don’t we just stay in the house until Dino’s people arrest them?”
“Because we don’t know when they’ll show up—today, tomorrow, or next week? They may even know that you made them, and if that’s the case, they’re going to be very cautious.”
“Then I’ll pack,” Meg said. “Is there a washer and dryer at your place?”
“There is, and a housekeeper to operate them.” He picked up the phone. “I’ll call them now and let them know to expect us. Seth can arrange for our second flight.”
“We have to change planes?”
“There’s an airstrip on the island, but it’s too short for my airplane. A smaller plane will take us from the Rockland airport. It’s a ten- or fifteen-minute flight.”
“I like small planes even less than bigger ones,” she said.
“I’ll blindfold you.” He called Seth Hotchkiss at the Maine house and let Joan know they’d be leaving.
“You want to take one dog or two?” she asked.
“Doesn’t Sugar have a mother?”
“You mean besides me? Yes, she does, but I had a call yesterday, and she won’t be back for another few days. She begged me to keep Sugar, and it didn’t take much begging.”
“Then this will be a two-dog trip.” He hung up and picked up the Times.
“Aren’t you going to pack?” Meg asked.
“I have a wardrobe in situ.”
* * *
—
FRED LOADED them into the Bentley while it was still in the garage, then drove quickly out, closing the garage door behind them, while Stone looked up and down the street.
“I don’t see anybody,” he said.
* * *
—
AN HOUR LATER they were rolling down runway 1 and lifting off. After a departure procedure they were pointed at Maine, and the flight to Rockland took little more than half an hour. Bob and Sugar sat on a rear seat each, looking out the window.
When they turned off the runway at Rockland and taxied to the FBO, a Cessna 182 was waiting for them. They transferred Meg’s luggage, emptied the dogs and boarded, and they were soon flying at a thousand feet over the largest and most beautiful bay in Maine, if not the world.
Meg seemed entranced rather than frightened. “Maybe small planes are not so bad,” she said.
“That’s Islesboro, dead ahead,” Stone said, pointing. “See the airstrip?”
“Oh, it’s paved,” she said. “I was expecting something more primitive, like dirt.”
“It’s a very civilized runway, it’s just short, only two thousand four hundred and fifty feet. I once offered to pay for lengthening it another thousand feet, and the locals were horrified. They don’t want jets flying in, and, anyway, this is a small inconvenience.”
They set down on the Islesboro strip and taxied to where Seth awaited, standing next to the house car, a 1938 Ford station wagon, beautifully restored. Stone introduced Meg, and Seth put her luggage into the car, then drove them to the house.
“Oh,” Meg said, as they drove up. “It’s bigger than I had expected.”
“You expected a dirt runway and a tarpaper shack?” Stone asked.
“Well, just something more rustic.” She liked the interior, too, and the bedroom. Seth’s wife, Mary, was introduced and asked their preferences for dinner.
“It has to be lobster,” Meg said. “I can never get enough lobster.”
Stone’s cell phone rang, and he answered it.
“Hi, it’s Dino.”
“What’s happening?”
“They haven’t turned up, but I’ve identified them.”
“How the hell did you do that?”
“I had a sketch done, scanned, and sent to the Monroe County sheriff’s office in the Keys. Somebody in the Islamorada office recognized them immediately. One Joseph Cross and his girlfriend, Jane, no last name yet, known to the locals as Dirty Joe and Jungle Jane.”
“They’re nothing if not colorful,” Stone said.
“He’s let it be known that he’s a retired businessman from San Francisco,” Dino said. “Nobody knows what business, but I can guess.”
“I expect it involves weapons,” Stone replied.
“That’s my expectation, too, but the guy has no criminal record in California, Florida, or anywhere else, and we can’t run a check on the girl without a last name.”
“Did you cross-check him with Gino Bellini?”
“Yeah, and no match.”
“Meg told me that Gino did some juvie time, but that could have been expunged if he kept his nose clean. Still, Gino and
Dirty Joe could have met there and kept in touch.”
“Let’s not take our guessing too far,” Dino said.
“Have you put out an APB on them yet?”
“That’s too much of a stretch at this point, but we’ve checked the hotels and come up with nothing. Of course, they could have registered under an assumed name, if they have IDs and credit cards for that.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Stone said. “If the guy’s a pro he’ll have all the tools.”
“Are you in Maine yet?”
“We’re at the house.”
“I hope Meg likes it.”
“She was expecting a hovel, so anything would have impressed her. She’s upstairs getting unpacked now.”
“Okay, I’ll keep you posted. Go eat a lobster.”
“Will do.” Stone hung up.
20
Dirty Joe and Jungle Jane arrived at Gino Bellini’s apartment building and were sent up to the twenty-ninth floor in the elevator. A uniformed maid met them at the door and ushered them into the living room.
“Wow,” Joe said, “what a view!”
“Nice, isn’t it?” Gino replied. “Coffee?” There was a silver service on the table before the sofa.
“Thank you, both black,” Joe replied. They took a seat.
“I assume you’ve tracked Miss Meg to the house.”
“We have.”
“Whose house is it?”
“There’s a brass plaque on the street-level door that says ‘The Barrington Practice,’ followed by ‘Woodman & Weld.’”
“Is the house owner’s name Barrington?”
“That’s our assumption.”
“Have you been to the house this morning?”
“We were there at eight o’clock,” Joe replied, “for an hour and a half. Nobody left.”
“Then they must have left very early,” Gino said, “because they’re not there anymore.”
“Then where are they?”
Gino set an iPad on the coffee table. “They’re in Maine,” he said.
“Maine?”
