“That’s swell of you. When does the new airplane arrive?”

“It’s sitting in Wichita, ready to go, but the FAA hasn’t certified it yet.”

“Why not?”

“Some sort of technicality, they tell me.”

They watched the maître d’ make their Caesar salad, then ate it and waited for their steaks to arrive.

“Don’t worry about Pat,” Dino said. “As you always say, ‘Women are like cabs—there’ll be another one along again in a minute.’”

“I have never spoken those words in my life,” Stone said, outraged. “I have too much respect for women.”

“Well, maybe you didn’t actually say that, I just read your mind.”

“I’ve never thought it, either.”

“Now we’re back to why they keep dumping you.”

“Can you suggest a solution to that problem?”

“Stop being so nice.”

“I don’t know how not to be nice. What should I do, beat them?”

“Pat seemed to respond well to that.”

“No she didn’t, she took out a protection order against him.”

“She knew that wouldn’t stop him, and it didn’t.”

Their chateaubriand arrived; the maître d’ presented it, sliced it, and served it.

They had just taken their first bite, when Dino’s phone rang. “Uh-oh,” he said, then put it to his ear. “What? Say again.” He listened. “All right,” he said wearily, “I’m on my way.” He put the phone back in his pocket. “I gotta go.”

“What is it?”

“Does it matter? It’s always something. We’ll continue your education on the treatment of women at our next meeting.”

“Oh, I’ll really look forward to that.”

“And you’ll have to eat my chateaubriand.”

“If I do that, I’ll explode. I’ll take it home and have it for lunch tomorrow.”

“That makes me feel so much better,” Dino said. He got to his feet, and a young woman appeared with his coat. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

“What was it they used to say on Hill Street Blues? ‘Be careful out there.’”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dino said, then left.

—

Three-quarters of an hour later, Stone left the restaurant with a doggie bag and a recorked half-bottle of wine. He stepped onto the sidewalk and looked up the street to the other side, where Fred, his driver and factotum, sat in the Bentley. The headlights came on, and the car started. It had just begun to pull away from the curb when another car roared past it, nearly hitting a fender, and screeched to a halt just past Stone.

Two large men in suits spilled out of it and were all over a man who had just passed Stone on the sidewalk. They threw him against the wall and began searching him, while he protested.

“What is it?” he asked, and he had a slight accent of some sort. “What did I do?”

“Shut up,” one of the men said, backhanding him.