Kisser

STONE OPENED HIS EYES and gazed at the ceiling. It was moving around. He held on to the mattress to steady himself and got his feet on the floor. He barely made it to the bathroom before he knelt at the throne and emptied his stomach.

He lay down on the bathroom floor, pressing his hot cheek against the cool marble. From the bedroom came the sound of Joan buzzing him. He struggled to his feet, splashed cold water on his face, staggered back, sat on the bed, and picked up the phone. “What?”

“That won’t work; I’ve been on the phone with you for too long.”

She laughed. “You have to be in my office in an hour for a meeting.”

“I’m sorry,” Stone said. “I thought you said I have to be in your office in an hour.”

“You have to be in my office in an hour,” she said, “for a meeting.”

“Tiffany, I don’t have any current business with your office. What is this about?”

“We’re all meeting in an hour,” she said. “It’s a strategy session.”

“Can you hold on for just a minute,” he said. He pressed the hold button, ran into the bathroom, and threw up again. He ran some cold water on a facecloth and went back to the phone, swabbing his face. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about, and if I did, I wouldn’t come.”

“Your Lieutenant Doyle requested the meeting,” she said.

“He’s not my Lieutenant Doyle; he’s just a cop I know.”

“It’s my understanding that the commissioner has placed you under his command.”

“That’s not what the commissioner says; I called him.”

“Okay, it’s not a lie; it’s just a perversion of justice.”

“Once again, Stone, be in my office in an hour for this meeting. The commissioner will be here, and if you’re not, he’ll notice.” She hung up.

Stone wanted to collapse into bed again, but he got to his feet and threw himself into a cold shower, regretting it immediately. He shaved, cutting himself twice, struggled into some clothes, and went downstairs. He went into Joan’s office, poured himself a cup of coffee, and began sipping it.

“You were right,” Joan said. “I should have called an undertaker.”

“Too late,” Stone said. “I have to go downtown to the Federal Building.”

“Among others. She said the commissioner is going to be there, too, but that may have been just to scare me.”

“Sure did. I don’t want him messing with my retirement pay.”

“It’s not beneath Brian Doyle, who hates me because I make more money than he does.”

“If I talk about this anymore, I’m going to throw up,” he said.

“Again. Will you drive me downtown? It seems to be raining outside.”

Stone found his trench coat and an umbrella and followed her to the garage.

MORE THAN slightly damp, Stone stood in the line at the metal detector and waited while a woman emptied her handbag onto a steel table and then put everything back, one item at a time. He was cold from the heavy rain, and his trench coat was soaked, being very old and no longer waterproof.

He emptied his pockets into the tray, put his umbrella on the conveyer belt into the X-ray machine, and passed through the metal detector. Beep. He took off his belt; the large silver buckle must have set it off. Beep.

“Take off your shoes,” the uniformed woman said. “Sometimes it picks up the nails in the heels.”

Stone took off his shoes, put them on the conveyer belt, and stepped through the metal detector again. No beep.

The guard at the X-ray machine pushed his shoes toward him with the back of his hand. “You always wear two different shoes?” he asked.

Stone stared at his shoes. The man was right: one black and one brown. “Only when it’s raining,” he said.

He got his shoes back on over socks that were wet from treading in the pool of water that other people had left behind and went upstairs in the elevator. He found the office and presented himself to a receptionist who reported his presence.

Stone opened one of the double doors that led into a large corner office, furnished in the federal government’s best taste plus a few personal touches from Tiffany. She sat with her long legs propped on her huge desk, reading glasses poised on her nose, a thick document in her lap.

Stone looked at his wrist, but there was nothing there. “I seem to have forgotten to wear a watch.”

Tiffany got up and led him to a sofa at the other end of the room. “Let’s sit here for our meeting.” She sat down, crossed her legs, and leaned into him.

The phone on the coffee table buzzed. Saved, Stone thought. He got up and moved to a chair beside the sofa.

The door opened and Brian Doyle entered, accompanied by Mitzi and the loyal Tom.

Tiffany got up and greeted them. “I suppose you all know Stone,” she said.

“Yeah, sure,” Doyle replied, and Mitzi gave Stone a big smile. They sat down and looked at each other.

“I think we should wait for the commissioner to arrive before we start,” she said.

There was a knock at the door, and a secretary opened it and stepped back. “The commissioner,” she said.

The commissioner, a fireplug of a man, marched into the office and took a seat at the end of the sofa nearest Stone. He looked at Stone’s feet.

“Barrington,” he said, “do you always wear two different shoes?”