Kisser

STONE DROVE OUT to the far reaches of Brooklyn to the elegant Palladian house with a view of the water that was the home of Eduardo Bianci.

Stone’s relationship with Eduardo went back some years, to a time that predated even his brief marriage to Eduardo’s daughter, Dolce. Dolce was an extraordinarily beautiful woman who turned out to be deeply disturbed, with homicidal tendencies, which were directed mostly at Stone and cost him considerable discomfort, including the pain of a bullet wound. Dolce, now safely ensconced in a suite of rooms in Eduardo’s house, was tended by an elderly aunt and professional nursing help. No one but Eduardo had seen her for years.

Stone was admitted to the house by Eduardo’s wizened butler, who, according to Dino, previous to—and perhaps after—his employment by Eduardo, had pursued a highly successful career as an assassin, specializing in the Sicilian stiletto. He greeted Stone with a tight smile, or grimace, depending on interpretation, and led him to the rear garden, where Eduardo waited, seated at an umbrella-shaded table near the edge of the pool.

Eduardo, who was unaccustomed to rising for anyone short of the Holy Father, did not rise but extended a slender hand and gave Stone a warm handshake and a broad smile, revealing either amazing teeth or gorgeous dental work, Stone had never figured out which. He was dressed, as usual, in a dark suit, a white silk shirt, and a muted pin-dotted necktie.

“Stone,” Eduardo said in his smooth, rich baritone—the voice of a much younger man—“how very good to see you. It has been far too long.”

Stone took a seat. “It’s good to see you, too, Eduardo. Oddly enough, I was on the point of telephoning you yesterday when I returned from lunch and got your message. You’re looking extremely well.”

“and I am grateful to my ancestors for the genes passed down to me. My father lived to a hundred and three, and my mother only a year short of that. When she died, my father remarried shortly afterward to a woman of fifty. He told me he had considered a woman of thirty-five but did not wish to be burdened with more children at his age.”

Stone laughed. The butler appeared with an ice bucket, opened a bottle of Pinot Grigio, and poured them each a glass. “I hear from Dino that Benito has been accepted to Choate, which is wonderful news.”

“Yes, though it means I will see him less often. I think it will be good, though, for him to be out of the city and in the companionship of boys who will grow into leaders in this country.”

“Not those sorts of plans,” Eduardo said, shaking his head. “He will excel at whatever work he chooses. Eventually, he will, with my advice and that of his mother, look after my interests until they become his own.”

“My interests are broad and deep, ranging from Wall Street, which has been a disappointment lately, to Silicon Valley, with many stops in between.”

Eduardo shook his head slowly. “No. At a board meeting many months ago I heard of this awful bundling of mortgages. I looked into it and immediately resigned from three boards and sold all my bank shares over a period of weeks, well before the crash. A bit later, I moved to cash in the market. Now I have begun to buy again, companies with futures and at very good prices.”

Lunch was served: medallions of pork in a garlicky sauce, with tiny, crisp potatoes and perfectly cooked broccoli.

When the plates were taken away, Eduardo leaned back in his chair. “I am given to understand,” he said, “that you are involved with two men called Sharpe and Larsen.”

Stone was once again astonished at Eduardo’s apparent knowledge of everything about everybody. “I met them both recently,” Stone said. “Beyond a couple of dinners I am not directly involved with either.”

“I must tell you, Stone, that it is dangerous to invest with Mr. Larsen, as I have reason to believe that he has created a Ponzi scheme along the lines of that perpetrated by Bernard Madoff but on a much smaller scale.”

“The gentleman has ventured into waters that are rather thickly populated by others of more experience and cunning. In addition, he has attracted the attention of the police, and when his business associates learn of this, his existence will become uncertain.”

“I will certainly heed your warning,” Stone said. “And I will tell you, in confidence, that I have had a hand in pointing the police in his direction.”

Eduardo looked surprised, an expression Stone had never seen on his face. “Have you, really? That speaks well of you, Stone.”

“I’m afraid that Mr. Sharpe has gained some sway over the soon-to-be-wealthy daughter of a client of Woodman & Weld, and I was asked to see what I could do about it.”

“I had heard that she had been seen often in Mr. Sharpe’s company, and I was concerned. Her father is a friend of mine, and I have bought a number of artworks from him over the years. I hope that your endeavor will be successful soon, for I fear there is not much time.”

Dessert was served, a light, Italian cheesecake. Then, over coffee, Eduardo radically changed the subject.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Stone said carefully. Not since the divorce Eduardo had effected for him had he mentioned his daughter’s name to Stone.

Stone nearly choked on his coffee. “If, in your judgment, that would be a good idea, then I would be happy to see her.”

Eduardo laughed his little laugh again. “That was an artful lie, Stone,” he said, “but in my judgment, as you put it, I think it would be good for Dolce to speak with you for a short while.” Eduardo turned and looked over his shoulder toward the rear terrace of the house.

Stone followed his gaze and saw Dolce, clad in a pretty, summery dress, standing on the terrace. His heart stopped. Then she began walking slowly toward them.