Stone left the house by the rear door and walked into Turtle
Bay Gardens, the common area behind all the Turtle Bay houses. The paths were lighted, so finding his way in the dark was not a problem. He walked across the garden and used his garden key to open the door leading to Second Avenue. He looked both ways for a full minute, then stepped out into the street and hailed a cab.
Fifteen minutes later he was seated at Elaine’s with a Knob Creek on the rocks before him, and Dino was working his way toward him from the front door, table by table, greeting acquaintances. Finally he plopped himself down and accepted a Scotch from a waiter.
“So, how was your day?” Dino asked.
“I hardly know where to begin,” Stone said.
“Just begin, and don’t be a pain in the ass.”
“Okay, Herbie’s off the hook for Cheech’s murder; they’ve arrested his buddy, Gus, whose fingerprints are on the knife. Herbie’s gone to his aunt’s in East Hampton, I hope to God.”
“And?”
“And Joan’s on vacation, sort of, to keep Devlin Daltry from killing her.”
“And?”
“And that’s about it.”
“That’s funny, you seem to be forgetting the part about why Devlin Daltry might want to kill Joan.”
“Oh, that.”
“I know it’s probably of little consequence to you, but when a beautiful woman gets her head cut off, I would have thought that that would have been the first thing on your mind. Charley Sample called me.”
“Oh, and Dierdre Monahan almost got me into bed, but I was saved by the D.A., the Old Man himself.”
“See? You did it again?”
“I don’t want to even think about it,” Stone said, taking a large pull on his bourbon.
“Stone, if you don’t talk about it, get it off your chest, you’re gonna have nightmares for a year.”
“Do I have to?”
“It’s for your own good, pal.”
“Dino, I want to hunt down Devlin Daltry and kill him slow, to quote Carmine Dattila.”
“I know you do.”
“I mean, I really, really want to do that. At lunch today, I was actually thinking about fucking Dierdre Monahan, after she asked me. I was desperate for something to think about besides Celia sitting in that porch chair without a head.”
“Well, fucking Dierdre Monahan is something you’ve done before, and when in your right mind, something you’d do again in a heartbeat, right?”
“Well, sure, I guess so, but how could I think about that when I was fucking Celia only a couple of days ago? I must be a terrible excuse for a human being.”
“Stone, nothing is more human than sex, expecially with women as beautiful as Celia and Dierdre. Thinking about sex with either of them is a great defense against having to think about Celia with no head.” Dino mopped his brow. “Jesus, I want to kill Daltry myself. Maybe if we go down to his studio he’ll give us an excuse.”
“I’d love to do that, I really would,” Stone said.
“Yeah, but it’s my job not to do that, and not to let you do it, either.”
“I know.”
Stone looked up to see Dierdre Monahan coming through the front door. She gave him a little wave, then stopped and said something to Gianni, the headwaiter, who picked up a remote control and changed the TV channel to New York 1, a 24/7 local news channel, then cranked up the volume.
Dierdre came over and sat down. “Well, hi, guys,” she said. “Who does a girl have to fuck to get a drink around here?”
Stone waved at Gianni, who came over and took an order for a cosmo. Dierdra was still wearing the dress she’d worn at lunch, Stone was pleased to see. He stopped thinking about Celia.
“How was your limo ride back to work?” he asked.
“The Old Man was really sweet, wasn’t he? Either that, or he figured out what you and I were about to do and saved me from a fate worse than death.”
“Probably that one,” Stone said.
“Stone and I were having lunch, Dino, and…”
“He already told me,” Dino replied.
“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.