“Now you’re getting the picture,” Stone replied. “But just in case you didn’t, I’ll spell it out for you: You get caught, you’re looking at a Peeping Tom charge, and maybe attempted burglary, at the very least, and at worst, a blackmail rap. You could do time, and you’ll do it with no weekly visits and freshly baked cookies from me. In short: Fuck up and you’re on your own.”

Herbie held up his hands defensively. “I told you, I got it. I’m a pro. I know the risks, and I’ll take whatever, if things go wrong.”

“If you’re not back here with the goods at ten tomorrow morning, I’ll know things went wrong, and I’ll be joining your uncle Bob in Saint Thomas for a week or two. He’ll testify that I was with him the whole time.”

“You think Uncle Bobby would do that to me?”

“He’s already told me he would. He doesn’t like fuckups, either.”

Nodding furiously, Herbie got up and fled the premises.

Stone hoped to God he’d made an impression on the kid.

He buzzed for Joan.

“Yes, Stone?”

“Book me a table for two at Café des Artistes at eight-thirty, please.”

“Sure, and I promise not to tell Elaine.”

“You’d better not. If I’m dead, you’re out of a job.”

“You have a point.”

“And if a woman named Carpenter calls, give her my cell phone number. I don’t want to miss her call.”

“Somebody new, Stone?”

“Somebody old, but not all that old.”

5

Carpenter showed up at Stone’s house exactly on time, followed by a uniformed chauffeur carrying two large suitcases.

“I’m accepting your invitation,” she said, kissing Stone lightly on the lips.

“And you’re very welcome,” Stone said. “Put the cases in the elevator,” he said to the chauffeur. “I’ll do the rest.”

They rode up to his bedroom together, and he showed her where to put her clothes. “Make it quick,” he said. “Our dinner table is in half an hour.” He looked at his watch: Herbie Fisher should be in the building by now.

Stone employed a service that provided drivers, and his usual man had his Mercedes E55 waiting at the curb when they came out of the house.

“Very nice,” Carpenter said, settling into the backseat beside Stone.

“And armored, too,” Stone said. “Just in case anybody intends to do you harm.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. When I went car shopping a while back, they were wheeling it into the showroom. Some mob guy had ordered it and had got himself popped the day before it arrived.”

“Bad timing.”

“Good for me, though. I was being shot at, at the time, and I bought it from the widow at a nice discount. The armor is only good for small arms—no land mines or rockets.”