Stone held up a hand, stopping Dino in his tracks, then a finger, turning him toward the bar.

“I get your point,” Stone said. “I’ll see who I can come up with.”

“You don’t have a lot of time,” Eggers said. “It’s at nine o’clock tomorrow night.”

“What’s at nine o’clock tomorrow night?”

“The assignation. Larry Fortescue has an appointment with a masseuse who, I understand, routinely massages more than his neck muscles. Elena would like some very clear photographs of that service being performed.”

“Let me see what I can do,” Stone said.

Eggers tossed off the remainder of his Scotch and placed a folded sheet of paper on the table. “I knew you would grasp the nettle,” he said, standing up. “The address of the building is on the paper. I’ll need the prints and negatives by noon the day after tomorrow.”

“What’s the rush?”

“Elena Marks is accustomed to instant gratification.”

“But not from Larry?”

“You are quick, Stone. Nighty-night.” He slapped Dino on the back as he passed the bar on his way to the door.

Dino came over, licking Scotch off his hand, where Eggers had spilled it. He flopped into a chair. “So what was that about?” he asked, pointing his chin at Eggers’s disappearing back.

“Dirty work,” Stone said.

2

Dino patted the rest of the spilled Scotch off his hand with a cocktail napkin. “Is there any other kind?”

“Sure there is, and they give me plenty of it,” Stone said defensively.

“How dirty?”

“Just slightly grubby; I don’t have to kill anybody.”

“And who are you going to get to do it?”

“Well, Teddy’s dead, so I guess I’d better call Bob Cantor,” Stone said, digging out his cell phone and switching it on.

“Bob’s your man, as well as your uncle,” Dino observed.

Stone dialed the number and got a recording. He left a message, then dialed Cantor’s cell phone.

It was answered instantly. “Speak to me!” Cantor’s voice shouted over a babble of voices and steel-band music.

“It’s Stone. Where the hell are you?”

“Saint Thomas, baby!” Cantor yelled.

“Like in the Virgin Islands, Saint Thomas?”

“I’m not talking about the church.”

“Bob, I need some help. Are you sober?”

“Certainly not! I’ve had enough piña coladas to fill that hot tub at your house.”

“It’s not a hot tub; it’s just a big bathtub with the Jacuzzi thing.”

“Whatever. Why don’t you come down here, Stone? You wouldn’t believe the women.”

“I’d believe them.”

“What d’ya need, that you would interrupt a man’s drinking?”

Stone looked around and cupped a hand over the cell phone. “I need a second-story man who’s good with a camera.”

“You running a badger game?”