BooksBarbecue
Back Dirty Work
Chapters (62)
  1. 1
  2. 2
  3. 3
  4. 4
  5. 5
  6. 6
  7. 7
  8. 8
  9. 9
  10. 10
  11. 11
  12. 12
  13. 13
  14. 14
  15. 15
  16. 16
  17. 17
  18. 18
  19. 19
  20. 20
  21. 21
  22. 22
  23. 23
  24. 24
  25. 25
  26. 26
  27. 27
  28. 28
  29. 29
  30. 30
  31. 31
  32. 32
  33. 33
  34. 34
  35. 35
  36. 36
  37. 37
  38. 38
  39. 39
  40. 40
  41. 41
  42. 42
  43. 43
  44. 44
  45. 45
  46. 46
  47. 47
  48. 48
  49. 49
  50. 50
  51. 51
  52. 52
  53. 53
  54. 54
  55. 55
  56. 56
  57. 57
  58. 58
  59. 59
  60. 60
  61. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  62. AUTHOR’S NOTE

“Stay with me,” Dino said, “and keep your mouth shut.”

“What could I possibly say?” Stone replied.

50

Dino and Stone walked into the downstairs lobby of the Four Seasons to find a phalanx of uniformed police officers standing in front of the men’s-room door. A man in a pin-striped suit was yelling at them. “You don’t understand! I’ve got to get into that men’s room right now!”

Dino tapped the man on the shoulder, spinning him around. He flashed his badge. “Sir,” he said, “go upstairs and ask the headwaiter to direct you to the other men’s room.”

“What other men’s room? There isn’t one.”

“Believe me, he’ll find you one,” Dino said. He pointed at an officer. “You. Escort this gentleman upstairs.”

The cop took the man’s elbow and steered him up the staircase.

“Out of my way,” Dino said to the uniforms, who parted like the Red Sea. He pointed a thumb at Stone. “He’s with me.” Then he led the way into the men’s room. A team of EMTs were bent over two bodies, one of them in a dark suit.

“Are they dead?” Dino asked.

“Yep,” an EMT replied, “both of them.”

“Then get the hell out of my crime scene.”

The EMTs gathered their gear and left.

Dino bent over Sir Edward. “One in the chest, one in the head. Very professional.” He looked at the men’s-room attendant. “Poor schmuck,” he said. “Wrong place at the wrong time.”

A uniform stuck his head through the doorway. “Lieutenant, we got an FBI guy up at the bar. He’s the only witness.”

“Let’s go,” Dino said to Stone. He marched up the stairs and to the bar, where an EMT was doing something to the back of a young man’s head. There was a glass of brown liquid before him, no ice. He took a big swig.

Dino removed the glass from his hand and set it on the bar. “This is how the FBI recovers from a tap on the head?” he asked. “I’m Bacchetti, NYPD. What happened, and get it right the first time.”

“I was sitting here, watching the people entering the hall to the dining room. My partner was in the dining room with the director, his deputy, and his guests.”

“Who were . . . ?”

“Deputy Director Robert Kinney, Sir Edward somebody or other, the dead man, and a woman who works—worked for him.”

“Go on.”

“Sir Edward came down the hall looking for the men’s room. I went with him, and then the woman—”

“Wait a minute, what woman?”

“There was a woman sitting next to me at the bar.”

“She was sitting next to you, or you were sitting next to her?”

“Well . . .”

“I’m glad we got that cleared up.”