“This means you can’t bring any more girls in here, Dino,” Elaine said.

“Don’t worry, Mary Ann would kill me in my sleep. She’s Sicilian.”

“You’re in a lot of trouble,” Stone said, “but sure, I’ll stand up for you.”

“It’s a week from Sunday,” Dino said.

“That’s moving pretty quick,” Elaine said.

Dino shrugged. “So, it’ll be a seven-month kid, so what? Happens all the time in my neighborhood.”

Elaine waved at a waiter. “Bring a bottle of champagne, the good stuff. Dino’s got a lot to celebrate, here.”

They celebrated.

Elaine looked at Stone closely. “You’re looking almost human these days,” she said. “A few weeks ago you looked like death.”

“Hard work on the house,” Stone said. “I’m getting used to it.”

“He’s getting over the broad,” Dino said.

“Ahhhh,” Elaine said.

“You’re right,” Stone agreed, “I am.” And he was, except for an occasional spear through the heart, when he thought about her. He had stopped thinking at all about Sasha Nijinsky and Hank Morgan.

On the Friday morning before Dino’s wedding, Stone received a letter. He recognized the handwriting immediately.

Dear Stone,

Please pardon the familiarity, but, although we’ve never met, our lives have been so intertwined that I feel you are a friend.

I’m sorry that my problems at least indirectly resulted in your leaving the police force, but I understand that you are now doing well. I saw your name in the Times, on the list of those who had passed the bar exam.

I think, perhaps, the time is coming when we should meet. Maybe you would come to dinner sometime soon? It would be so nice to meet you, at last.

I’ll be in touch.

Best,

S.

Chapter

40

They sat at a table in the little room in back of the bar at Clarke’s. The mirror behind the bar had been replaced; everybody seemed to want to forget the incident, and Dino was obviously welcome.

“You’re looking better,” Dino said. “You put the girl behind you for good?”

“What else can I do?”

“We’ve all been there, Stone, believe me. Thank God that’s all over for me.”

“I’d like to think so, Dino.”

“Believe me, it’s over. When you marry a Sicilian, it’s for life, and that can be short if you fool around.”

“How are things at the office?”

“Looks like we got two serial killers on our hands.”

“The taxi killings, I guess.”

“That’s one of them. It’s the most trouble, too, because every time another cabbie gets greased, the rest of them go bananas and block a major artery for the day.”

“I read about it. Any suspects?”

“Negative.”

“What’s the other case?”

“That one’s even weirder. We got two men and two women in the past seven weeks who just went poof. Right off the street.”

“Where?”