“Oh, yeah. He goes on trial next week.”

“I guess he does.”

“Has he been harassing you?”

“I get a call from him about once a week, demanding money.”

“Did you give it to him?”

“I did not.”

“So you’re finally done with him?”

“Completely.”

“I’m glad.”

“So am I.”

“Are you feeling like a New Yorker yet?”

“A little. I’ve been working so hard that I haven’t gotten around much—just to the grocery and back, mostly.”

“You need to hire more help.”

“I’ve got a new woman starting next week.”

“How many does that make?”

“Three, plus me, and we’re all pilots.”

“That would make a good ad.”

“We’ve already booked a page in Flying and AOPA Monthly.”

“I’ll look for it.”

Stone’s cell rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Dino. Where are you?”

“Key West.”

“At the Marquesa?”

“Yep.”

“You bastard.”

“I invited you, but you were busy.”

“Don’t rub it in.”

“I like rubbing it in.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Dino hung up.

“That was Dino.”

“I figured,” she said. “How is he?”

“Busy.”

—

Gene Ryan tossed his bags onto the bed in his new place. He looked around: seedy, but adequate. He had abandoned the house; everything he now owned was in the car. The motorcycle had been at the bottom of the East River since the day of the shooting.

This was all Barrington’s fault, he remembered. He was unemployed and had run through most of the five grand he’d been given by Jerry Brubeck. He had a few grand more saved up, but he needed to get some cash flowing before he got around to killing Barrington. He would plan it well next time, take no chances, give him two in the head, the way he’d been taught. But right now, he needed to get laid.

He left the apartment and went in search of a good neighborhood bar.

Chapter 37

Stone was lying by the pool on Saturday morning, sunning himself after a good breakfast, when his cell rang.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Stone, it’s Pepe Perado. How are you?”

“I’m very well, Pepe, and you?”

“Excited about coming back to New York. Are you in town?”

“No, I’m in Key West for the weekend. I’ll be back in New York Monday afternoon. When are you coming?”

“I’m arriving Monday at midday, and I need your advice: the Waldorf Towers are booked up next week. Can you recommend a good hotel convenient to the Upper East Side, where I’ll be apartment hunting?”

“Yes. Try the Lowell, on East Sixty-third Street, between Park and Madison. It’s small, elegant, and very comfortable. If they’re booked, try the Carlyle, on Madison at Seventy-sixth Street.”

“Got it. Can I buy you dinner Monday evening?”

“Of course. Come to my house for dinner, and I’ll book something, unless you have a favorite.”

“No, I’ll let you choose.”