He walked slowly downtown, window-shopping and looking at the career girls on their way to work. He was going to specialize in career girls after he got his law office open. He stopped and looked for a long time in the window of an expensive men’s store. He was going to buy good suits like that and get a better haircut, too. Also shoes. Alot of men who were trying to look good stinted on the shoes. He hated cheap shoes; they made the whole outfit look cheap.

He continued downtown, checking his watch from time to time. Just after ten would be perfect, he reckoned, and this had been confirmed by what he had read in the paper.

He reached Mott Street and increased his pace a bit. He turned and walked quickly down to where he could see the sign for the La Boheme coffeehouse. A black Cadillac sedan sat at the curb, its engine idling.

He had it all worked out; he knew exactly what to do, from start to finish. He opened the door to the coffeehouse and walked quickly in; the door closed itself behind him. He kept walking at the same pace, not hurrying, heading for the table at the rear. He walked straight up to it, raised his hand and fired two shots at Carmine Dattila’s head, then he spun around, waving the cop’s pistol he had borrowed at people who were half out of their chairs. He was surprised not to see any weapons; he had half expected to be shot himself. He went quickly to the door and backed out into the street, still holding the gun out before him.

Half a dozen men fell on him from different directions. He dropped the gun and offered no resistance. A moment later he was handcuffed and in the back of a police car. “Hey, where did you guys come from?” he asked the driver.

“We’re all over town, pal,” the driver replied.

Stone lay on his back, breathing deeply, emptied of the ability to do anything about his desire for Eliza Larkin. She sat up in bed, naked, eating a piece of toast from a tray and reading the newspaper.

“How many times was that?” Stone asked.

“I don’t know exactly,” she replied, “but you will astonish me if you have anything left.”

“But you do?”

“I don’t have to get an erection,” she explained. “And I’m in pretty good shape, so I expect I could go all morning, if you have any interest.”

“Interest, yes; strength, no.”

“Interest is good,” she said, patting his belly.

Joan’s voice came from the intercom. “Assistant District Attorney Monahan is on line one,” she said, articulating the title carefully. Good Joan.

Stone held a finger to his lips for Eliza to see, and she nodded. He picked up the phone. “Hello?”