“Oh, oh, here we go,” Dierdre said, pointing at the TV. “Listen up.”

Dierdre’s face popped onto the screen, over a copse of microphones. “The district attorney’s office is pleased to announce that we have indicted and arrested Carmine Dattila on multiple charges of murder, attempted murder, extortion, abetting prostitution and abetting gambling.” TV Dierdre went on, but the real Dierdre was yelling at Gianni to change the channel back. She turned back to Stone. “I just wanted you to see that, so you’ll know I’m not lying.”

“Well, that’s great, Dierdre,” Stone said. “All this because of Herbie’s little tape?”

“Herbie’s little tape and the fact that Gus Castiglione rolled over this afternoon.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Nope. Turns out Cheech was his younger brother, and he was feeling just terrible about stabbing him repeatedly with a butcher knife. We had to get the poor thing a priest, and when that was done, he spilled his guts into a VCR and gave us names, dates, places and anything else we wanted. Believe me, this time Dattila is nailed.”

“If you can keep Gus alive,” Dino pointed out.

“And Herbie, too,” Stone mentioned.

“Gus is already in the safest house you ever saw, but that reminds me, where’s Herbie? We’ve got to put him on ice.”

“My best guess is he’s in East Hampton at an aunt’s house or, more likely, at the first singles’ bar he could find.”

“What’s the aunt’s name?”

“I don’t know. She’s married to a very successful plumber, though, if that helps.”

“Let’s see, this means that the aunt is Bob Cantor’s sister?”

“Very possibly.”

Dierdre dug a cell phone out of her purse and pressed a speed-dial number. “Hank? Get hold of Bob Cantor. Young Herbie is at Cantor’s sister’s house in East Hampton. Get the address from Cantor, find Herbie and ice him down good; I’ve already got the material witness warrant. The office will give you a copy. Right, see ya.” She put away the phone.

“It may not be as easy as that,” Stone said, “given my experience with Herbie, but it’s a start.”

She leaned into his ear and whispered, “After you’ve bought me a huge steak, we’re going back to your place, and I’m going to do to you everything you always dreamed about—every orifice, every position, as many times as you’re good for, kiddo.”

“Is a porterhouse big enough?”

“Why, Stone, I’ve never heard you call your dick a porterhouse, but I like the reference.”

Stone waved for a waiter.

45

They were sipping double espressos over the remains of the porterhouse and the cognacs that Elaine had sent over.

Stone spoke up. “Before you and I leave here I have to offer a disclaimer.”

“Offer away,” Dierdre said, sipping her cognac.