22
STONE AND DINO were lounging by the pool when the FedEx lady arrived. Stone signed for the package and thanked her.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Dino asked.
“It’s addressed to Evan, in care of me,” Stone said.
“So?”
“I don’t think I should open a package addressed to somebody else.”
“Give it to me,” Dino said. “I’ll open it.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Stone said. “Why are you so curious about a contract?”
“I want to know what Evan’s old man is getting for the company.”
“But it’s none of your business.”
“What the fuck difference does that make?”
“I mean, it’s my business, sort of, but I’m not opening the package. Are you accustomed to reading other people’s mail?”
“Every chance I get,” Dino replied.
Stone’s cell phone rang, and he answered it.
“It’s Evan Keating. When do you expect to have the contract?”
“It came about ninety seconds ago.”
“Have you read the contract?”
“It’s addressed to you. If I have your permission to open the package and read it, I’ll be glad to do so.”
“No. Your message said something about lunch?”
“Do you know the Raw Bar?”
“Yes.”
“Forty-five minutes?”
“Fine.” Evan hung up.
“He wouldn’t let you open the package,” Dino said. “Serves you right.”
“No, it confirms my judgment,” Stone said.
STONE SAT IN the Raw Bar, gazing out over the marina and smelling the frying seafood. He glanced at the front entrance and saw Evan Keating and Gigi Jones arriving, and he waved them over.
Evan came over; Gigi went and sat at another table. “Good afternoon,” Evan said. “May I see the contract, please?”
A waitress approached.
“Shall we order first?” Stone asked.
“A pound of stone crab claws and a Heineken,” Evan said.
“Conch fritters and iced tea,” Stone said, and the waitress left.
“Now may I see the contract?”
“Not yet; I want to ask you some questions.”
“Questions?”
“How do I know you’re Evan Keating?” Stone said. “I would hate to deliver a confidential document to the wrong person. How about a picture I.D.?”
Evan took out a wallet and handed Stone a Florida driver’s license. The face matched the name. “Now may I see the contract?”
“I’m not finished with my questions.”
“What else could you possibly want to know?”
“How did you get the knife wound?”
Evan rarely seemed to register anything, but at the question he registered surprise. “How the hell did you know about that?”
“That’s not pertinent,” Stone replied. “How’d you get the knife wound?”
“From a knife.”
“Who was holding it?”
“A bad person.”
“You don’t really want to see the contract, do you?”
“A drug dealer. I was buying a little cocaine, and we disagreed over the quality and price.”
“And why do you know enough about cocaine to be able to judge quality and price?”
“Experience,” Evan said. “On widely separated occasions.”
“What happened after he knifed you?”
“Gigi rendered him unconscious, and we left.”
“Gigi is a handy girl to have around, isn’t she?”
“Sometimes. At other times she’s just a pain in the ass.”
“Or the neck,” Stone said, rubbing his own at the memory. “Did you pay for the cocaine?”
“Gigi stuffed the money in his mouth.”
“Are you likely to meet up with him again?”
“I certainly hope not. Gigi might kill him next time.”
“He might kill you and Gigi next time,” Stone said. “You should consider that before dealing with the criminal element again. Did the hospital report the knife wound to the police?”
“I told them the cut was from a gaffing hook while fishing. How did you know I went to the hospital?”
“It’s where I would go, if somebody knifed me.”
“Now may I see the contract?”
“Give me an account of your whereabouts and activities since you graduated from college.”
“You really are a very curious guy,” Evan said. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because I’m a very curious guy,” Stone replied.
“Maybe I should sic Gigi on you.”
“You may tell Gigi for me that if she ever again approaches me from any angle, I’ll break her pretty face.”
Evan burst out laughing. “I’d like to see you try that,” he said. “How did you meet Gigi?”
“We hooked up in Miami.”
“In South Beach?”
“How did . . . never mind. Yes.”
“How much business have you done with South Beach Security?”
“I had an account there when I lived in South Beach,” Evan said warily.
“Did you do any illegal business with them?”
Their food arrived, and Evan used it as an excuse not to answer the question. They ate in silence for a while.
“Do you really think your father poisoned your Uncle Harry?” Stone asked finally.
Evan regarded him evenly over a crab claw. “I think it’s well within the realm of possibility. If I ever see that contract, I can give you a better answer.”
Stone handed him the FedEx envelope.
Evan ate the crab claw, wiped his hands carefully on a paper towel from the roll on the table and ripped open the package. He seemed to be speed-reading, flipping the pages rapidly. Then he stopped halfway through and read more slowly.
“Well?” Stone said.
Evan stuffed the contract back into the envelope, ate another crab claw and sipped his beer. “Yes,” he said. “I think my father poisoned Uncle Harry, and you can pass the word to him: no deal.” He tossed a fifty-dollar bill on the table, then got up and left without another word, taking the contract with him.