“You’re drinking single malts now?” Stone asked.

“Only when you’re buying,” Dino replied. “And it’s better than that corn whisky you drink.”

“Corn liquor aged in oak barrels for ten years,” Stone said. “And bourbon is a patriotic American libation.”

“Then you ought to get the Medal of Honor. What’s going on?”

“I need your help.”

“So what else is new?”

“You’ll be preventing a killing on the streets of New York, so just think of it as doing your job.”

“I’m real anxious to hear what your idea of doing my job is.”

“All right, pay attention, this is complicated.”

“I’ll try to follow,” Dino said, “if you’ll keep it to words of two syllables or less.”

“Actually—”

“That’s four syllables.”

“Dino, shut up and listen.”

“Can I have another Laphroaig on the rocks?” Dino asked a passing waiter.

“You haven’t finished the one you’re drinking,” Stone pointed out.

“Yeah, but you’re going to talk for a long time, and I don’t want to interrupt you by ordering another drink.”

“You just did.”

“After this. Go.”

“I’ve arranged a meeting between the head of Carpenter’s service and La Biche, and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dino nearly shouted. “How the fuck could you do that when you don’t know either one of them?”

“We’ve all met since I saw you last.”

“Last I heard, you were upset about their trying to kill her.”

“I still am. I’m trying to stop it from happening. That’s why I need your help.”

“Okay, just a minute, there’s something I want to know.”

“What?”

“What are four retired NYPD cops doing outside in the street and at the bar right now?”

“They’re making sure I’m not being followed.”

“Stone, have you come over all paranoid?”

“Dino, if you’ll just let me talk uninterrupted for a few minutes, all your questions will be answered, I promise.”

“I’m listening.”

“No, you’re not, you’re asking questions.”

“No, I’m listening.” Dino rested his chin in his hand. “See? This is me listening.”

“To begin again, I’ve arranged a meeting between La Biche and Sir Edward Fieldstone—”

“Where do the Brits get these names?” Dino asked, shaking his head.

“Dino, shut up and listen.”

Dino drew an imaginary zipper across his mouth.

“ . . . who is the head of Carpenter’s service. He has proposed a truce between his people and La Biche—in short, they stop killing each other.”

Dino shook his head in wonder and laughed.

“Dino . . .”

“I didn’t say a word, but that was funny.”

“The participants in this situation don’t think it’s funny.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. How many of this Fieldstone guy’s people has La Biche got on the scoreboard?”

“Too many, that’s why he wants the truce. So I’ve arranged a meeting between them.”